Page 15 of The Sicilian Brotherhood I

I'd used my moments downstairs to burn pictures of them into my memory. There was the woman. She was a classic Italian beauty with red hair, large brown eyes, and an effortlessly thin figure. I’d gathered her name was Elena, but I still didn’t know the boyfriend’s name.

The boyfriend was scary and glared at her whenever she spoke out of turn. I could sense she was afraid of him, the same way I’d been terrified of Franco. Her boyfriend had short brown hair, tattoos all over his right arm, demarcating the men he’d killed and the jobs he’d pulled off around the country. The mark of the Sicilian Brotherhood sat proudly on his shoulder, the Latin motto weaving through the open mouth of a black and grey etched skull.

The other new face was a tall, red-headed man with a spitfire temper to match the hair. He didn’t speak much but when he spoke, he was usually disagreeable. He had fewer scars than any of the others, but I didn’t mistake that for him not being dangerous.

In the light, I got a better look at Raimondo. He was scarier than any of the others. He was as tough as Giacomo but colder. His eyes glowed like hot charcoals in his sockets. He towered at about Giacomo’s height but he was larger and more threatening. His matted dreadlocks carried the faint smell of dried blood as if he’d worn them into a medieval battle.

His terrifying frame and his threats from the night before sent chills down my spine. I heard creaking up the stairs and feared the worst — Raimondo, coming for me, coming to take me now that Giacomo was away for goodness knows how long.

I didn't know what would happen to me or when he'd return.

As far as these men (and woman) were concerned, I was Sardinian. I knew little of the Sardinian’s movements in America and of the biker gang’s activities. I knew only what Franco told me, which was little, for my own protection he claimed. There was one thing he’d let slip since we’d started planning our wedding — my only bargaining chip with the murderous Sicilians that had taken me captive.

Each one of the Sicilians was suspicious of me, but they had nothing to worry about. My loyalty to Franco had died the moment he’d jilted me at the altar and betrayed his sister to be slaughtered like a pig. Poor Ana. A knot tightened in my chest as I thought of her.

She’d never deserved betrayal of that sort.

Boots creaking across the hardwood sent my heart racing. It was him, I was sure of it.

When the door opened, I breathed a sigh of relief as the beautiful auburn haired woman opened the door.

“I am Elena, may I come in?”

I didn’t nod or respond. Her politeness was only a cover. Whether she entered the room or not had nothing to do with what I said.

“You are Dahlia, no?”

I nodded.

She smiled, “Good, good. Are you okay? Do you need water?”

“No,” I snapped, “I need to be left alone.”

She appeared taken aback and in turn, I mumbled an apology under my breath.

“Do not worry,” she said, “I won’t hurt you.”

“You won’t, but perhaps someone else will.”

“Giacomo promised you would not come to harm,” she said, approaching me and pressing her arm to my shoulder.

I recoiled and she snapped her hand back. My revulsion didn't stop her from smiling.

“You do not have to be afraid. If you are not loyal to the Sardinians, Giacomo may have work for you.”

“Work for him or get killed, now those sound like good options,” I said dryly.

The sarcasm was either lost on her or she was ignoring my smart-aleck remarks on purpose.

“When you get to know him, you will see.”

“So what’s your angle here, Elena? Be nice to me to get me to talk? I’m not stupid. I know that women in this world can be just as bad as the men.”

She smiled, “I could say the same to you. You could be lying, no? About what you know?”

“Yeah, well I’m not lying. And if they kill me now, they’ll never find out.”

She winked, “Smart. Play your cards close to the chest.”

---