Page 22 of The Sicilian Brotherhood I

I mounted the bike.

“Get on.”

She obeyed my command without resistance and hopped onto the back of the bike, wrapping her arms around me.

“Hold tight.”

She squeezed on tighter.

“Where are we headed?” I asked.

“Where are we now?”

Since we were leaving, she might as well know.

“Connecticut.”

“My friend Skye is in Brooklyn.”

“Not too far then.”

She didn’t reply, but she hung on tight. I could feel her warm body pressing into my back, holding onto me for protection but always anxiously frittering with fear. It was like she couldn’t relax around me. To be honest, I could hardly relax around her.

Dahlia held a mirror up to my life and from the moment I’d met her, I saw myself through different eyes. I saw myself through the eyes of a woman who isn’t a gangster, who got dragged down a dark path but wants nothing more than to claw her way out.

Too bad, I’d have to drag her deeper. That asshole ex of hers took something that belonged to him so it was only fitting that I had his girl with her beautiful walnut skin and her tight ass straddling me on the back of a bike.

The drive was long, slow and boring. We had no stops and I stared intently at the road, focusing on our next move. One night was all we’d need to plan. Sleep could wait for when I had the diamond between my fingers. I couldn’t stop thinking of Raimondo, of the time that I’d suspected him of such a thing in Milan last summer and how he’d denied it. I clenched my teeth in rage. If there was one liar in our ranks and if he had been my right-hand man, who else would betray me?

Dahlia shifted on the back of the bike and it occurred to me that she’d betray me the fastest, faster than any of them. She was quiet, but I knew not to underestimate a woman like her. Despite her lithe figure and the doe-like features that gave her the appearance of innocence, she’d seen unspeakable things.

I could tell she hated gangsters. One of them had broken her heart, after all. You know what they say. Hell hath no fury, and all that.

When we veered off into Brooklyn, I had her guide the bike, moving her body where she wanted me to go. She wasn’t a bad riding partner. Most chicks on the back of a bike can’t hang or stay paralyzed with fear the entire time. Dahlia was fearless, moving her body effortlessly with the beaut between our legs.

We approached a small brownstone with a light on upstairs. I sputtered my bike to a stop.

“Can we park on the street?”

“Yes.”

“Will she let me in here?”

Dahlia scoffed, “Will she feel like she has a choice.”

I scowled at her, but she made a good point.

“Lead the way.”

She walked up to the front door and then I heard footsteps across the floor.

“Mommy! Mommy! I think Aunty Dahlia’s here.”

“She has a kid!?” I hissed.

Dahlia nodded, “Yeah, she has a kid.”

I shoved my gun deeper into my pants. Guns and kids didn’t mix. Kids and I didn’t mix. I stood behind Dahlia, trying not to betray my concern about whether coming here was the right choice.

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