Page 1 of His Pretty Little Duet

Prologue

Clay

12 months earlier

Sitting in the front pew,under the stained-glass windows crowning the District's oldest church, alongside the daughters of the man in the polished mahogany casket before me, I feign my attention. My eyes set ahead, but my muscles tighten as vengeance rolls through the room.

It's not that I do not grieve this man.

I do.

I grieve alongside his family—my family—the council officials, and hundreds of members of the city who saw Jimmy Storm as a kind of philanthropist.

Grieving him was always a certainty.

My jaw clenches in a solemn smile as I feel something is amiss.

I stare respectfully forward while behind me the presence of my father, brothers, and their partners is ripe with sadness,bitterness, and betrayal. Jimmy would be proud he still affects them so.

Despite the fact my brother and I executed him ourselves, it isn't problematic grieving with his admirers as we shared a kind of affection for this man.

He was a second father to us.

But that is the way it goes.

His time was up the moment he betrayed theCosa Nostra.Stole one of our own. Lied to another made-man. Spent money he had no right to spend.

Greed and hubris were his biggest sins.

Still, he had loyal followers...

In the adjacent pew, the Family heads from Sicily listen like devout Catholics as the priest recites psalm after psalm, their conscience is as clear as mine, their minds without shame, but surely, they too feel the electrified air. See the side-eye glances.

Usually, I am the most powerful man in the room, but today, I'm matched by many. This is the first and last time this number of Family members will be in Australia.

Caporegimesand Bosses from Sicily and from across the country are spread throughout the room. Between these four walls is the most dangerous place in the world; a gathering like this rarely happens. The last time was probably back in '57 at the Apalachin meeting, where my American Family was raided and arrested by the feds. It's bad business bringing everyone to one location, but for Jimmy Storm's funeral... they came anyway.

We stand to pray.

The fact my six-foot-five frame towers above most is not lost on me as right now a shot to the back of my head would be child's play. Even so, I stay at my full height. They wouldn't dare. If someone did, they better aim true because I'll have him gutted while his heart still beats.

Aurora, Jimmy's eldest daughter and my wife, stands quietly beside me, her whiskey-coloured eyes misted over but not a tear to be seen—for she is no fool either. She isCosa Nostraroyalty. So, her father's death came as no surprise to her. I've never kept a secret from my wife, and she has never made me regret that stance.

When we sit again, Aurora holds her hands in her lap, and I tear my eyes away from the priest at the altar to watch her worry her wedding band around her long, elegant finger. A piece of jewellery equal parts a platinum shackle and a crown. We do not have a traditional relationship—nor a sexual one—our union is based on business. Being my wife is the last claim she has to this empire now that her father has been overthrown.

Still, she is my partner.

Exhaling hard, I reach for her hand and hold it, stilling her nervous fidgeting.

She squeezes my fingers.

Beside her, her younger sisters share muted sobs while wafting black silk hand fans at their flushed faces. Despite the millions we give this church, air-conditioning doesn't seem to be a priority in the midst of a scorching Australian summer.

The ceremony runs for hours.

Each time we stand to pray, the back of my neck prickles under the eyes of Jimmy's beloved citizens. The narcissist in him was very skilled at playing Gandhi, disturbingly so. A skill I have honed as my own, but Jimmy still sails through this procession like a phantom. Even now, the guests that idolised him breathe life back into his corpse.

Jimmy Storm was the heart and teeth of the District, enlightening and adoring his followers while gnashing and shredding those who challenged him.

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