Page 7 of Lucky Shot

I straighten out my body, even though my balls feel like they’ve crawled inside of my stomach, and swipe at the blood trickling down my cheek from his punch. Fear and curiosity wage war with my anger, as I take in his distraught appearance. Does it pain him to know that we areprecariously at the point of ending our friendship, and that he’s the fucking cause of it? “Why did you send that to me, huh, Nico? You know damn well I’m not going to allow you to hurt her, especially not to soothe your injured pride.”

He stops pacing back and forth, his shoulders rounding, his head dipping down, and a crestfallen look crosses his face. He looks contrite, a look that I’ve rarely seen on his face. Nicolo is always so sure of himself, and every move he makes. “I need your help, Aiden. I need to bring her back home with me, so this war between our families can end, before there’s no one left standing. She won’t listen to me, and I don’t want to have to hurt her unless forced to.” His stormy eyes meet mine, and I see the despair that he’s been trying so hard to hide over the last two years. “You’re right. I was one of the main reasons she ran. I was a cunt to her, and what I did to her, she didn’t deserve. You can help me bring her back home safely. She’ll listen to you, and I can spend my life making it up to her.”

“Why would she listen to me, Nicolo?” I hold my breath, praying it’s not what I think it is.

“Because she’s always been in love with you, Aiden. If it were you she was supposed to marry, she wouldn’t have run in the first place.”

Damn, he knows.

Chapter seven

Phoebe

The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end again. I’ve had the creepy sensation that someone is watching me since I arrived on campus this morning, but every time I turn around and scan my surroundings, I don’t spot anything out of the ordinary, or anyone spying on me. Everyday life is transpiring around me, with students sitting out on the grassy quad in mixed groups studying, others hurrying to classes with exhausted expressions, and others just milling around and chatting.Get it together, Phoebe, before you give yourself a heart attack,I admonish myself, as I walk toward the campus coffee shop, my shoulders so tense they ache. I pay for my coffee and move over to the condiments section, while discreetly listening to the two girls at the table next to me, go on and on about their love lives, and how they think their boyfriends are cheating on them, with girls in their sorority that are supposed to be their friends. Ugh, I’m so glad I don’t have those kinds of problems on top of everything else I’m already dealing with. I’m so invested in eavesdropping on their conversation that I don’t realize someone has come up beside me, and is just standing there silently for a moment. Jesus, so much for being aware of my surroundings.Great job, Phoebe!

“Hey, pretty lady, are you done with classes for the day?” I look up from pouring sugar into my takeaway coffee cup, and meet the deep brown eyes of Dwayne from my language class.Dammit!I try to contain the groan that seeing him always brings. It’s not that he’s a bad guy, in fact, he seems kinda sweet, but he’s very persistent, and something about him just gives me a vibe that I can’t explain. I’ve turned down his date invitations numerous times, but he doesn’t seem to get the hint, much to my dismay. “Almost, one more to go for the day,” I reply, not wanting to come off as rude. You never know how a guy is going to take rejection. I quickly replace the plastic lid on my cup, and prepare to make a hasty retreat. “Why don’t we grab an early dinner after you’re done tonight? Maybe we could exchange thoughts on the paper Professor Smythe asked us to write?” His attractive face is filled with optimism, a perky dimple popping on his cheek, and I take the time to check out his long, lean frame. He’s tall, and built like a sexy swimmer, with dark chocolate, short-cropped hair, and a perfect smile filled with straight white teeth. I like the jean jacket over a flannel look he’s rocking, with a pair of distressed dark jeans, and black hightopConverseon his feet. For a second, I can’t really remember why I keep turning him down. Maybe if I agree just once and it doesn’t go well, he’ll finally leave me alone. Perhaps he’ll realize, after spending an hour with me, that I’m not worth his time and effort, and I won’t have to keep dodging him.

I self-consciously tighten my fingers around the strap of my backpack, allowing its heavy weight to comfort and reassure me. One date won’t be that bad, and it might even be fun. What’s the worst that could happen? He realizes I’m not all that and finally leaves me alone. Wasn’t I just chastising myself that I have no friends, and don’t do anything except go to school, and work? I take a deep breath, trying to reassure myself that everything will be alright if I just let loose a little bit, and actually enjoy my college experience, instead of spending every waking moment panicking and hiding. “Okay, how about French Fry Eddies over on fourth? I’ll meet you there at six, after I’m done with classes?” The shocked look on his face tells me he was fully prepared for me to turn him down once again, and it makes me feel bad.

“Seriously? Umm, yeah, absolutely. I could come get you from your place, or campus, if you want?” Unease immediately rises within me, and I know he doesn’t mean to be off-putting, but it’s giving me clinger and happy puppy vibes already. I almost take back my acceptance of his dinner invite, and end up biting down on my bottom lip to stop the words from leaving my lips, which then has him focusing his sight on my mouth. I don’t want anyone to know where I live, and I refuse to get in a car with anyone, especially someone I don’t know well. I need to be able to run at a moment’s notice if my family finds me, so I can’t take the chance. “No... that’s okay. I would rather drive my own car. I’ll... meet you there.” I give him a‘take it or leave it’look, and honestly, a huge part of me hopes he leaves it.

That creepy sensation washes over me again, and I quickly dart a glance from below my lashes around the coffee shop at the patrons.Nothing.No one is even looking in our direction.“Trust your intuition. It’s rarely wrong,”a deep voice from my past whispers in my mind. Shit, I have to figure out who’s watching me, and if I’m in danger. Who the hell am I kidding? I am always in danger. From the first moment I drew breath at my birth, as my father’s only daughter, I’ve been plagued with people wanting to harm, or use, me for their nefarious reasons. I push all those thoughts to the back of my mind. I don’t have time for a pity party right now. “I’ve gotta go to class, but I’ll see you later, okay?”

I don’t bother to wait for his reply, taking my coffee and moving around him toward the door without a backward glance. I start a fast-paced walk toward the sciences building for my last class of the day, biological science. The sunshine glares down on me, warming my exposed arms, and the clean grass-scented air brings me happiness. The sensation I was feeling begins to abate, as I climb the stairs to the gothic looking stone building, but it never completely leaves me. As I enter the brightly lit lecture hall, and find a seat at the back of the room closest to the exit door, I search through the pockets of my bag, reassuring myself that my can of mace and small blade are still there, ready to use to defend myself if needed. I debate placing the blade in the side pocket of my pants, but decide that might be overkill, and I don’t want anyone to catch me with a weapon. There’s a sure way to get myself expelled from school, and on the news.

My classmates begin to enter the room and take their seats, and the middle-aged professor walks to the lecture podium to begin the class. I finally relax into my seat, sipping my coffee as I prepare to take notes. The rich, creamy taste of vanilla and hazelnut help to soothe some of my frayed nerves. It was all in my head, I’m becoming a nut, I smirk to myself. As the professor starts to discuss the use of one of his techniques, the door to the classroom opens and closes quietly, and a large male in a dark slate hoodie, dark jeans, a black baseball cap pulled low, and carrying a black backpack, makes his way into the row opposite mine, hunkering down in his seat. There’s nothing about him that should trigger the reaction I’m currently feeling. He hasn’t even glanced in my direction, but my heart is ready to burst from my chest. My hands get all clammy on the keyboard of my laptop, and the professor’s baritone voice becomes background noise to the ringing in myears. I struggle to take a deep breath, my chest feeling tight and my vision blurring. I must make a sound, because the girl sitting next to me lays her hand on my forearm, and the sensation almost has me jumping out of my seat with a scream. “Hey, you okay? You look really freaked out right now.”

Her voice, touch, and words, snap me out of my panic attack, and bring me back to myself. “Uh... yeah, sorry. I... I thought I saw... a mouse.” I try to come up with a valid excuse, for why I look like an unhinged psychopath about to have a meltdown right now. “Oh my God, gross. I would freak out too, girl,” she whispers, and goes back to taking her notes. I try to calm my racing heart, and not make it obvious I am staring at the guy in the hoodie, who’s got his own laptop out, and is facing the professor, and not even looking at me. After a few deep breaths and a large gulp of my coffee, I refocus on the lecture, and convince myself that I’m just imagining things. Maybe I should stop watching serial killer documentaries when I’m sad and lonely.

The rest of the class goes off without any meltdowns, and once I’m packed up, I look over, and the guy in the hoodie is already gone, but I notice a sheet of paper lying on the top of the built-in desk area where he was sitting. I glance around, checking to see if anyone is looking, and make my way over to the seat, staring down at the paper, to see if it’s his class notes he’s forgotten. What I witness has my heart in my throat, and my knees buckling, and it forces me to reach out and grab the back of the seat in front of me, to hold myself up. On the sheet, there’s a message directed at me, written in thick, black block letters.

No,this isn’t happening. I’ve been so careful. Has someone from my past found me, or is it some creep from the college? Should I pack up and run? I crumple the paper in my hand, stuff it inside of my bag, and tighten my hand around the blade. I will not allow anyone to take me back without a fight. I refuse to be a canary in a gilded cage.

Chapter eight

Nicolo

“Hey, I need a favor, and it has to stay between us,fratello,“ I stare into my brother’s unamused stoic face. His blue eyes, an Amato trait, look clouded and filled with worry. He’s rocking more dark, unkempt facial hair than I have ever seen him wear, as if he hasn’t even had the time to shave in days. His clothes, which are usually designer, immaculate, and pristine, are a wrinkled mess, like he’s slept in them. He looks exhausted, and like complete dog shit. One glance at his normally clean, tidy, and organized, desk behind him shows the numerous discarded cups of espresso on the surface, and the overflowing takeout containers in the trashcan don’t bode well either.Damn, how long has he been in here?Milano has OCD tendencies and is a neat freak, so looking around at his unkempt space makes me feel dread, and I don’t even know what I’m afraid of. My big brother has always been my protector, but now it looks like he needs help. I just don’t know if I have anything to offer him but more grief.

I know my demanding father is riding him hard, forcing him to take on so much more of the family business, both the legal and illegal sides, to prepare him for the inevitable transition of power. Guilt rises within me, knowing I am about to put more worry on his weighed-down shoulders, and I’ll have to blatantly lie to him about what is going on. I want to avoid having to choose between my relationship with the older brother I adore, and respect, and the woman who is destined to be mine. There is no way I can tell him this is about Phoebe Murphy. He’ll go straight to my dad, or murder her himself.Can you blame him after what she did? After all, you never confessed your part in any of it.

“I can’t give you any more money to buy whatever, Nicolo. I’m not a fucking bank with unlimited cash,” he gruffs, as he turns away and runs his tattooed hand through his dark, thick, messy hair. It always amuses me when I see it. It’s designed to look like a sinister vampire skull, complete with an opened mouth and long, jagged fangs ready to rip you apart, and when he grips something, it looks like the skull is taking a bite out of it. To say my very traditional Italian father lost his shit, when he came home at eighteen with it, was an understatement. Yet, Milano refused to have it removed to placate my father, and I’ve always been proud of him for standing his ground against Vito Amato. Not many men dare to look my father in the eyes and deny him, and the ones that do, other than my brother, have ended up taking a long dirt nap.

“I don’t need money, well, not at this exact moment.” I smirk, trying to lighten the mood and get him to crack a smile. “I need you to facilitate safe passage into another territory for me and Aiden.” There’s no point in lying to him about this part. He’s the only one on this side who knows Aiden and I are still best friends, regardless of this stupid war between the Irish and Italian mafia families of Illinois. I know he’s sick to death of the killing happening on both sides, and he’stried actively in the past to rein in my father’s need for bloodshed, but Vito Amato is not easily brought to heel when he’s humiliated and offended. Both of which he was feeling when his youngest son was left standing at the altar, by the Irish mafia’s runaway princess bride. You would think he was the jilted groom, with the way he’s been furious and wrathful ever since, instead of me. Dark blue eyes narrow on me, as Milano turns all of his attention in my direction, and it’s unnerving, as if the fucker has superpowers, and can see inside of my head to the secrets that I’m keeping from him. “What territory, and why are you and Aiden going anywhere together? Do you know what would happen to you if Dad were to suspect you were still best friends with one of the Irish, Nico? Do you both have death wishes?” His large, muscled arms cross over his wide chest, pulling taut the material of his dark pewter button-down shirt, that disguises his skin covered in further artwork, as he leans his ass against the edge of his massive chrome and walnut wood desk.

I want to shrug off his words and concerns, but I can’t. He has a valid reason to be worried, despite my nonchalant attitude. I have no idea what my father would do, if he found out that I never cut off my alliance with Aiden, despite promising him that I would. I straighten my shoulders and hold my head up high, preparing for the argument that is about to commence between us. I channel him, and every Amato that has come before me, and had to hold his ground when things were deadly. I may be the younger brother, but I have no intention of being steamrolled over. I need Milano desperately to do this for us. The Amatos have a seat at the Head Council of all the mafia families here in the States, and oftentimes, he’s the one who attends on behalf of ours.

I can try to enter California, and the Mikhailov territory, under the radar, but if I’m caught, it will start a war with another larger, more powerful family. Then my father really would disown and murder me, that’s if Dimitri Mikhailov allowed me to continue breathing, once he learned who I was. Here goes nothing and everything at the same fucking time. “California.Specifically northern Cali.“ I clench my jaw, awaiting the explosion, and I don’t have to wait long, as my brother’s face goes a disturbing shade of chalk. “Have you lost your fucking mind? You want to enter Russian territory?”

He doesn’t even wait for me to get a word in before he’s yelling. “Absolutely fucking not, Nicolo! Dimitri Mikhailov is a predator, waiting for a reason to strike us, and you, beingyou, are likely to give it to him! I already have my hands full, dealing with shit here with the Irish, and fighting off the fucking cartels, and Triads, trying to get a piece of our action. Fuck, no!“ He slams his palms down on the top of his sleek desk violently, and everything on it shakes. I just wait for his tantrum to fizzle out, since Milano is not quick to explosive anger. He’s much like our father, a predatory and a long-game thinker, unlike me, who tends to think about the consequences last, and goes in guns blasting. This reaction is not unexpected, especially if other shit I don’t know about is happening. I wouldn’t put it past both my father and him, purposely keeping me out of the loop. Neither one believes I’m capable of ruling, which is fine with me. I don’t desire to be the head of this family ever, and I’m not looking for glory, or any more responsibility than I already have. “Something else bothering you,fratello? This reaction seems a little overboard for you.“ I completely ignore his slight about me being too weak to deal with the head of the Russian mafia. It’s not like I don’t know that I’m a disappointment to my father, and a worry to Milano. He and Aiden have been cleaning up my messes since I was a little boy.

I watch, fascinated, as he takes a few deep breaths, forcing his iron-willed control to reappear, and just like that, his cold and calculating mask is back in place, and you would never know he even lost control for a moment. My father is scary, don’t get me wrong, but Milano Amato is going to be this world’s nightmare, when he finally steps into the helm of the Amato family. The other families should be wary of what’s coming when he does. My brother is about to become a savage king, and none of their territories will be safe from him. “This war with the Irish is a losing battle, Nicolo. You know it, I know it, fuck, the whole family, and our soldiers know it. Dad can’t see it or doesn’t want to. So many have already died needlessly for his bruised pride, and now he’s making under-the-table deals with the ColumbianCabanocartel, and he won’t tell me what’s going on.”

The hairs on my arms stand on end at his words, and a shiver runs down my spine like someone just walked over my grave.Shit, Diego Cabano runs that cartel.That guy’s an unhinged psychopath, with a penchant for murder, mayhem, and destruction. I heard he kidnapped his wife, and locked her in a hole in the ground in a jungle, when she tried to leave him. Like, who the hell does that? That right there is a real-life psychopath. An image of Phoebe prisoner in a jungle, wearing next to nothing, like some‘Jane of the Jungle’enters my mind, and all of a sudden, I don’t think it’s such a bad idea. I will my hardening cock to settle down, so my brother doesn’t end up punching me in the face, for the disrespect of getting a chub in his presence. “Hey, doesn’t that Cabano guy have a daughter or something? Didn’t Dad mention her recently, saying she was beautiful and cunning?” At the look he gives me, I want to take back my words and forget I ever brought her up. Whoever this daughter is, Milano obviously can’t stand her.Note to self, stay the fuck away from the Cabanos.

“Give me one good reason why I should set up this safe passage, Nicolo. What’s in California that you need to go there in person and risk your life, Aiden’s, and our family’s for?” His glare centers on me, and Iknow he’s trying to read me. The worry in his grimace makes me tighten my hands into fists. I have to be strong and hold out, even if it means deceiving my brother, who I love.

“You need to trust me, Milano. I won’t put the family in danger. I am going to end this war between us and the Irish, once and forever.” He stares at me, the wheels in that majestic brain of his turning, and finally gives me a curt nod. “I’ll make the call, and negotiate with Dimitri or Ronan, but brother, if you fuck this up, and they don’t kill you, I will.”

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