Page 88 of Sinner's Fury

There, sitting on a desk in his parents’ study was the world’s oldest desktop computer. Smiling, I walked over and sat, my fingers running over the long-forgotten IBM Personal Computer. The computer was definitely older than me, possibly older than Christian, too, because I couldn’t remember when the industry did away with the floppy disc drive, upgrading to CD-ROM.

“This is so cool,” I whispered, looking for the power button. Finding it, I sat back and scanned the study while I waited for the ancient machine to boot up. There were so many pictures on the wall. Everywhere I looked, there were photosof Christian’s parents, his siblings, family throughout the years. More importantly, everywhere I looked I saw joy on their faces.

I never had that growing up, and I desperately wanted that for Drew. I was determined to give him the childhood I was denied.

It sucked growing up under Mother’s watchful eye. To her, everything was a lesson or a rule I needed to learn to navigate the world she designed. Even when the Golden Skulls killed her and brought down her organization, sometimes I still felt like I was that little girl, waiting while she started another game for me to learn. The woman was relentless. All that mattered to her was that she came out on top. In her world, there was no room for failure. Failure meant death.

Maybe that was why I truly never gave up researching, always learning everything I could about the players in Mother’s Grand Game as she sometimes called it. The game never ended as she always introduced new characters, a new nemesis to throw me off my game. I learned over time that everyone was a suspect, even myself, because the rules of the game always changed.

In a way, the game emulated the intricacies of human nature. There were too many variables. There was no way to depict what a singular person would do until put in a position for them to choose. Put that individual into a group setting and the possibilities were endless.

This looming war with the Soulless Sinners and the Golden Skulls was a prime example. Two strong leaders vying for supremacy, each with their own goals in mind, connected by one common variable. Theoretically, the two men would fight until one man was left standing. But thanks to that one common variable, they’d been hesitant. Add in adversaries and innocent bystanders, and both men would easily go off script, butstepping away from what they’d been previously known to do would be hard.

This game that Mother started long before I was born, was designed with no winner in mind. Only the destruction it created along the way.

I knew that now.

Even if Montana and Reaper were able to wipe everyone associated with Mother’sSocietyoff the map, they would still lose the game, because there would always be someone waiting in the wings to challenge them again.

Seeing the black screen blink on, I sat up and smiled while the Windows 95 screen flashed before me, and when I saw the AOL icon off to the left, I reached for the computer mouse, hovered the little arrow over it and double-clicked, which eventually brought up the computer’s internet program.

Clicking on the dial button, I watched in amazement as the little blue man moved his legs like he was running to connect to the server. The unfamiliar sound of the noticeable tone, like nails on a chalkboard screeched until I heard the computer clearly say,‘You’ve Got Mail’.

Clicking on the world symbol with two rings around it, I brought up the internet search button and started typing.

Lost in my task, I didn’t know how long I had been sitting there when I heard the front door open and close.

Frowning, I laid my pen down and slowly got up, ignoring the new screen that popped up. Making my way out of the study, I had just entered the living room when I clearly heard someone say, “Please sit down, Ms. Mitchell.”

Walking further into the living room, someone flipped on the lamp next to the couch, illuminating the room, where I saw a finely dressed man sitting on Christian’s mother’s sofa and two men stood off to the side.

Not moving, I looked at each man tentatively when the one sitting added, “We are not here to hurt you. We’re just here to talk.”

“Famous last words from a man pointing a gun at me.”

He smirked, laying the gun on the coffee table. “There. Better?”

“No, but I’ll take it,” I said stiffly, taking a seat on the opposite couch. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“My name is Renaldo Romano, and I was hoping you would be able to help me with something.”

“What would that be?”

Leaning forward, the handsome man asked, “I would like to know why yourself and Christian Moreno were in Irish territory yesterday where two men were found murdered?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I easily lied.

Renaldo Romano leaned back on the sofa and sighed. “Do you know who I am, Ms. Mitchell?”

I nodded. “Renaldo Romano, head of the Romano Family here in New York City. A descendant of Anthony Romano, you’ve controlled the Romano family since intruders murdered your father a few years ago in a home invasion. You have two living brothers, Rico and Romeo, and a deceased sister Ava who was raped then later killed by Boris Petrovitch’s men, after she and her former friend Tia Andrews, attended a party hosted by Boris. You recently put your name up for consideration with the Italian Council for a seat at the table and were denied because of your family’s, shall I say, unsavory associations. You previously aligned yourself with the Soulless Sinners and the Russian Bratva, but that’s changed recently, hasn’t it?”

The man said nothing as he listened and watched me.

I could have told him more, had he asked, but I really wasn’t in a talking mood. I wanted him out of Christian’s mother’s house, preferably before Christian woke up.

“I must say, you are very informative. So, it’s true then?”

“What is?”

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