Page 4 of Little Nightmare

I blamed my new unfeeling emotionally incapable bodyguard, the only person I’d gladly shove in front of a movingtrain just to see him react, or at the very least flinch. Ace “the matchstick” De Lange.

2

ACE

The one where dreams go and Lie.

The doors creaked open. I didn’t give a shit. Maybe I should, but there were more important things going on than a death.

Everyone looked like they were mourning—but I knew the truth, someone in one of those seats was behind this and I needed to find out who.

Most murderers attended the funerals of their victims.

The average person walked by a serial killer at least thirty-six times in their short life—the number grew if you were in the mafia—the number grew even more exponentially when you were part of the five families—and even more so, when you were a De Lange.

I checked my watch.

I was late on purpose, by ten minutes. I wanted to see the last person walk in. Anxious people tend to pay attention to the other guests more than normal, but nobody turned around when the doors closed loudly behind me.

Interesting.

I looked up at Raven and held my emotions in check. Let her see me from her little pedestal.

Let them see me from the pews.

Let the memory of what my family did crawl up and down their spines like a ghost they can’t get rid of. I was used to it. I’d shut down my emotions to the constant stares a long time ago. It helped that I’d been sent to Italy post college. I’d needed to get away from her, from the stares, from the families. Ivan had been next in line, and according to the whispers, because of who my father was—I would have been next. Then again, I never knew him before the barrel of the Abandonato gun was facing him and my uncle. By then it was too late. He’d already sold my mom to a drug dealer for more drugs and had starved me so much as a child that the first time I was given food I didn’t have to fight for, I hid some in my pillowcase.

It made sense in my mind. If I had to run, I’d have food and I could shove clothes in there plus the only blade I’d ever been given by Dante Alfero himself when he took me in and told me he’d make a man out of me.

The only problem was he had twin daughters who drove any sane breathing man to drink—heavily. I’d kept a wide berth not that it mattered. They were everywhere—like the very air I breathed. Tempest was at least semi-quiet where Raven felt the need to talk even in her sleep.

I let out a rough exhale.

I'd only said yes because it was Dante asking.

Any other person I would have laughed in their face. Coming back was already the plan once Ivan, my cousin, continued to rebuild the arm of the De Lange family.

And it was my job to be by his side even if it meant I was his silent weapon.

I did better without words anyway. I used my knife and only used my gun when I had to. While most of the family appreciatedwhat Ivan was trying to do—there were still some people pissed off about being under the Campisi rule. It was normal to have checks and balances, but since the De Lange family was out of the fold for so long, some had gotten bitter and resentful.

And my new job?

Protect the remaining heirs at all cost—Raven Alfero included.

Dante Alfero, boss of the Alfero family, with the twin daughters who were a pain in everyone’s ass—Raven was known as the black widow of the Alfero family, she was unpredictable and when her bodyguard was originally hired everyone took bets to see how long he’d last.

It was a joke at the time.

Nobody expected him to get too close to her—he knew the rules and so did she.

Nobody expected him to die that swiftly, that quickly. He was better than that. None of it made sense.

The fucking bastard had to have known something we didn’t.

It wasn’t a mistake, though. I’d take the information I knew to my grave.

What he did, he did on purpose and it still made no sense. The sort of gunshot, the intel behind their location, and the lack of whispers surrounding the situation. What an asshole.

---