Page 87 of Her Dark Salvation

“Life isn’t always pretty. Even I know that.”

I snorted.

“And I want the truth.”

She might regret that decision after this conversation.

“I was in the Mafia. For a long time. Then, I got out. Or, at least, I told myself I got out. But you never really leave. Not when you’re made, and not when it’s all you’ve ever known. So…” I looked down at her, and she shifted to meet my eyes. “The real answer? It’s complicated.”

“I want to understand.” Her words didn’t hold any judgment or fear, and I believed her. “You were part of Big Frankie Valenzano’s crew with Luca’s father, weren’t you?”

“He was my best friend.”

“And a blood demon?”

“Mm-hm.”

Memories surfaced, highlights I cherished and those I wished to forget. She was quiet, wanting a story, but didn’t know the questions to ask. Nostalgia and my need for a connection with her got the better of me. I stared at the ceiling, and my lips parted before I could stop them.

“Big Frankie was Don when me and Tony joined. We were lucky; he knew us for what we were. He’d fallen in love with a blood demon—Vinnie’s mother. Spotted the signs right away. Welcomed us into the family. Said he needed a couple reliable runners, ones he could use with his outfit of blood demons.”

“Are there a lot of blood demons in Boston?”

“More than anywhere else in North America. We emigrated from Italy around the same time as the other European immigrants looking for a better life. Classic tale… Someone moves to a city, you follow, knowing there will be at least one other person who speaks your language and understands your struggles. Then more people follow…”

“You or your parents?”

“My parents. They had nothing. Decided life couldn’t be any worse in America. Especially with all the stories making their way back to the villages from those who’d made it, who’d found work, or so my papà tells me. Turns out, there were only so many jobs to go around. Papà struggled with English. At first, he couldn’t find work for more than one, two days at a time.”

“So, you became a runner for Big Frankie,” she whispered.

“It was better than the alternative. Watching my parents and little sister go hungry. Living in a rat-infested basement.”Walking in on Mamma selling herself.I swallowed the words. “We needed the money.”

I’d never shared those memories with anyone, never even had the inclination to try. But Anna understood me. She saw me. And the partnership I was missing, the partnership I’d grown to crave, deepened with every word.

“How old were you?”

“I was twelve.”

“Twelve?!” She sprang off my shoulder and sat upright, a horrified expression on her face. She gripped the sheet covering her chest like a life vest, like if she held on tightly enough it would save her from my truth. It wouldn’t.

I reached for the spare smoke I kept stashed in the drawer of the nightstand. I lit the cigar and held it between my teeth, puffing it to life as I shifted myself back against the headboard. “Vieni qui,” I commanded around the cigar and urged her toward me with the curl of my fingers.

She eyed me like she might eye a wounded puppy. I needed to disavow her of that notion entirely. If anything, I’d been the one wounding the puppies.

I grabbed her around the waist, spun her back to my front, and pulled her between my legs, settling her against my chest. I wrapped a forefinger around my cigar and took a deep pull before removing it from between my teeth. “That was a long time ago,” I said. “Multiple lifetimes ago. The world was a different place back then. My family needed help. I had an opportunity to help them. I took it.”

“But you were so young.”

I shrugged and dragged on my cigar. “Maybe by today’s standards, but back then?” I blew smoke rings, and she followed them as they expanded upward and disappeared into the darkness. “Big Frankie was good to us. Treated me and Tony like part of the family. From his perspective we were. We were Italians and we were blood demons. We ran messages between his made guys. We were their eyes and ears on the streets. Most of them used restaurants and bakeries as fronts. We got paid in bread and pasta and a little cash. Back then, that’s all we needed. That and Sources.”

I took another drag. She wouldn’t want to hear the next part of the story. The part where Tony and I grew up and realized we could have more than the bare minimum we needed to survive. The part where we became two of the most ruthless men in Boston. The part where we pulled ourselves out of poverty with other men’s blood.

“Sources.” She rested her head on my chest and turned her face up. “That’s what Luca’s date called herself. She asked me if I was your Source.”

“I’m not surprised. Luca uses his Sources like escorts. If she’s only ever sourced for Luca, she might think that’s par for the course, but it’s not.”

“It’s not?”

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