Page 9 of Unlawful Lies

Not with the heat of her body against mine. Not with the way she smells, sweeter than any bloom around us, and her distinctive taste of old soul and innocence.

Honestly, even if the two old fucks did shoot each other, I can’t bring myself to care. Not when I still taste Nicola on my tongue and feel her clenching underneath my fingers. The timing of the gunshot couldn’t have been any better.

Or worse.

I haven’t quite decided how I feel about the whole thing yet. Guess I have to see what fresh pandemonium we walk into.

Her fingers link through mine, and I stomp my way back through the house while pulling her at a breakneck pace. The door to the office is already open, and several men from both operations have poured inside. Yet there are our fathers, Giovanni and Arden, both holding literal smoking guns pointed at the other.

Only Arden breaks eye contact to stare at me.

There’s a bullet hole in the wall near Father’s head and a shattered picture frame behind Arden.

I drop Nicola’s hand, shaking my head and stalking in between them with the foolish confidence of a man in his twenties with nothing to lose. “Can’t leave the two of you alone for a goddamn second,” I tell Father.

And my head snaps back, pain ripping from my cheek after he pistol whips me. “You don’t talk to your father like that, boy. Respect your elders.”

My face burns, and the frustration inside of me shifts into something much more insidious. Something that skirts the line of hatred, but not for the family I’m supposed to hate. Tears prick the corners of my eyes. But toward my father for treating me like a goddamn pussy in front of our enemies.

I snap my spine into place and square my shoulders, staring him dead in the face even as smoke from the spent bullet burns the inside of my nostrils. “Yes, sir.”

Obedience is key, and pride is the price I pay for it. No matter how old I get, things will never change.

“He brought it on himself,” Arden argues belligerently. “Damn fool doesn't know when to quit.”

Father pauses only another moment before he clicks the safety back on the gun and lowers his arm, making the first move to disarm. “Perhaps if you hadn’t shown up to our meeting drunk, things might have gone a different direction.”

I glance over my shoulder to where Nicola froze in the doorway. Her gaze meets mine, and her statement is palpable enough to be shouted even though she refuses to speak.

Where did they hide the guns if neither one of them was supposed to be armed?

Sneaky fucking bastards.

They will fight to the end despite any contracts signed or their tentative truce. Hell, these two are like dead men, still standing at arms, still ready for battle. Honor.

My gut tightens and twists.

I’m willing to bet Arden made the first shot as well. He wouldn’t have drawn his weapon without provocation. Talk about lack of trust.

“This is absolutely ridiculous and would not be an issue were you not so voracious in your appetites,” Father tells Arden as he slides the gun back into the inseam of his jacket. “You’ve become greedy. Seems to me it’s led to more than a few oversteps.”

Arden’s face is dead calm, although the ruddy blush from being drunk has somewhat faded. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he says slowly, cocking his head to face me. “Perhaps you need to ask your son about greed.”

Father takes immediate offense and bristles. His cheeks quiver, and a muscle near his temple ticks. “That’s enough.”

“The first thing you’ve been right about all day, Gio.” He snaps his fingers and Nicola, who had been holding back behind the guards at the door, now steps forward.

She clears her throat and holds her head high. Our time in the garden never happened.

“Tell me about the painting, Salvatore,” Father demands. “I’m done messing around with you and your attempts to stall. We both know this meeting goes beyond your pretense of excuses for overstepping.”

“What painting?”

“Stop playing dumb.” The tremulous grasp Father has on himself threatens to unleash. He sneers at Arden. “The portrait of the steed and the hart that has always hung above the fireplace in my den. You admired it on your last trip to the house and it disappeared a week later. It’s valuable.”

Arden shakes his head and says, “You’re losing your mind, old man. Are you so blinded by your rage at my overstepping that you’d accuse me of stealing?”

“Of course you would take the painting. Why not? Your girl likes pretty things.” Father sweeps his gaze toward Nicola, and I bristle but make no move against him.

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