Page 5 of Curse

Staying a few steps behind, I follow her down toward the water, weighing my options. If she is Mikey’s wife, she could recognize me at any point, and that would really fuck me up. It’s possible we’ve been introduced at some event or other. I don’t pay much attention to the wives of soldiers—even though some of them pay a little too much attention to me. The fact that I’m an asshole helps put a hard stop to most of that bullshit.

Even though I’m a capo and Aurelio’s right-hand man, fucking a made guy’s wife is the quickest way to find yourself embedded in a concrete slab, and I don’t have any interest inpussy that comes with drama. If being with a woman could fuck with my life in the Demonio family, I leave it alone. In my experience, that’s any pussy that you keep around for more than one night.

Another thing: if this is Mikey’s wife and he died in that crash, I need to tread even more carefully. She’s family. When women and children are left behind in our world, we take care of them. It’s part of our code. The details are usually well below my pay grade, but in this case, there’s no one else to do it. Which adds an extra layer of irritation to this whole thing.

I take my time making my way up the dock. There are local and state law enforcement at work pulling wreckage out of the water, but no one seems to have found any survivors.

Stopping a few feet behind her, I wait. Whether she’s a worried wife or a grieving widow, I can’t have her talking about mafia connections to some small town cops. We’re surrounded by a bunch of Barney Fifes, so I’m not too concerned. But you never know who’s going to decide to start asking questions and start trouble, want to make a name for themselves by taking down the Demonio family.

The Demonio family has been running New York for twenty-five years, been a player for over a century. We’re known up and down the coast and across the country.

But as far as anyone in uniform down here—or anywhere, for that matter—needs to know, this plane crash was an unfortunate accident, and the people on board were just average citizens.

My mystery woman is inches away from me now. Her heels aren’t sinking into the ground, so she’s a little taller than she first seemed but still short, the top of her head barely grazes my shoulder.

The wind blows the smell of her shampoo in my face, an interesting cucumber and basil scent. It’s giving me a different reason for wanting to throw her over my shoulder and drag her out of here.

Too bad it’s not that easy.

4

Siena

“Speak.”

I’m rudely jolted out of my fear and confusion.Speak?! Who talks to people like that? I hate him instantly.

“Who the fuck areyou?” I ask.

He looks at me over the top of his glasses. “I’m the one who’s in charge here. What. Do. You. Want.”

I roll my eyes and turn my back on him, making my way to the dock. I’m fuming, but I have zero interest in wasting precious time on some arrogant prick. Emily needs me, and these shoes were a bad fucking idea.

As I approach the lake, the scene unfolds like a grim tableau. The sun’s glare off the shiny remnants of the small plane floating along the water’s surface is making my headache worse.

I turn my attention instead to the long wooden pier that shoots out into the center of the wreckage. Worn-out boards creak under the weight of officers and divers, who are laying out recovered items to dry on the dilapidated dock.

The air is thick with the acrid scent of fuel, and my stomach roils as I make my way toward the officers slowly. I still have no idea what to say, how to ask what I have to ask.

The man in the suit steps up behind me, watching me watch the officers. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I think my sister was on that plane.” The sound of my own voice surprises me. I didn’t mean to say anything, much less something so honest and vulnerable, and I instantly hate myself for it. I am surprised that I sound so steady when I feel sick inside.

“Your sister?” He comes around to stand beside me, staring at me like he expected something different.

“Yes, Emily Briarone.” I watch him expectantly, hoping he’ll give me some sign that he recognizes the name, that he’s found something that would be helpful to me, but as soon as I do, he turns back to the lake.

I follow his gaze, watching as law enforcement works to pull debris out of the water and into the boat. “Bellamorte Briarone. She’s married. Her husband may be on the plane, too.”

“So that makes you…”

“Siena,” I whisper, not even sure why I’m answering him.

“You know for sure she was on the plane?” he asks gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest like maybe he thinks I’m lying to him.

“I think so.”

Something about this man feels both safe and dangerous. He clearly isn’t here to help me, and he’s speaking to me like I’m both an intruder and his employee, but there’s an air of protection about him.

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