Page 10 of Hexed
I take another sip. “We’re not moving here.”
“What? God no. I’ve been desperate to escape this place since the second I was old enough to walk.”
“Yet you insist on going back,” I reply.
“Daddy wants to throw us an engagement party, and I’m trying to mend some fences,” she corrects, shrugging.
“Ah.”
I couldn’t give a fuck where we have the engagement party her family wants because everything worth a shit will happen back in New York. I drain the glass of champagne and reply to the text from my right-hand man, Giovanni.
Tell him to pick up his phone and learn to use it like everyone else. Any news on the spot in Brooklyn?
We’ve known each other since we were kids, and after Peppino got himself clipped and I took over his businesses, becoming part of the Mafia’s administration as the family’s new underboss, I promoted Giovanni fromsoldatotocaporegime. Now it’s Gio who runs my crew while I’m stuck hiding behind bulletproof glass in fancy buildings, talking about real estate like a pussy.
Regardless, in this life, it’s important to surround yourself with people you can trust, and he’s the only one I do.
Honestly, I think real estate is boring as fuck.
I’ve always been more of the rough-and-tumble type. Having to legitimize myself to keep the Feds off our case doesn’t interest me, but I learned early on that it’s part of the gig. You have to at leastlooklike your money is coming from aboveboard sources. And these days, a lot of it is. But not all of it.
And the way we get most of our contracts is questionable at best.
I brush my thumb over the knuckles of my opposite hand, remembering what it used to feel like when I could use them as an outlet, reveling in the fresh cuts and bruises that would sting long after I got whatever point I needed to get across.
About to handle that situation right now, actually. How’s South Carolina?
I glance out of the window. Right now, we’re driving through what looks like the heart of Atlantic Cove, passing by a large white Ferris wheel and some small shops lining the boardwalk and the ocean just beyond. They’re surrounded by planted palm trees, hotels, and residential buildings; tall, glassy skyscrapers disappear into the low-hanging clouds that cover the sky. It’s an odd mix of old and new here, a war between conserving history and gentrification. I wonder which part Trent Kingston handles: the tearing down of buildings or the preservation.
There’s a long wooden bridge that disappears out into the water, with a wrought-iron arch that says “Atlantic Cove Boardwalk” in faded steel writing, a vibrant pink seashell at the very top. As we continue to drive, it’s impossible to miss the kids running around the sandy beach with gigantic smiles on their snot-covered young faces.
My chest smarts, and I reach up to rub at the dull ache, then text Giovanni back.
Kitschy.
What the fuck does kitschy mean?
What am I, a dictionary? Look it up.
Stronzo
I smirk at him calling me an asshole.
Aria’s foot bounces, and even though I can only see the rhythmic motion from my periphery, it’s enough to irritate the fuck out of me.
“It’ll be fine.” I smile widely, trying to soothe her anxiety. “Parents love me.”
Her posture relaxes, and she grins back. “Ilove you, and that’s all that matters.”
I don’t respond.
We drive past the beach until the tourism thins, the crowds dying out until they don’t exist. Skyscrapers change to small single-story houses with mobile homes sprinkled in, and not long after, I stop being able to see much at all. Eventually, we make it to a large gated entrance with a sweeping driveway.
Aria rolls down her window, showing her face to the camera, and then the fence is opening. Perfectly manicured trees line both sides of the windy pathway until we reach the circle drive in front of an old-school estate, which has big shutters on the windows and large white pillars that frame a wraparound porch. There’s a stone fountain with a mermaid sculpture right in the center, her mouth and hands pouring water continuously into the pond below.
“This is where you grew up?” I ask Aria.
I’m not sure why I’m surprised. She was born into luxury, which is honestly just another glaring difference between us. My family built our fortune and power from the ground up, but it wasn’t until I was in my twenties and Pops becamecapo di tutti capithat we really lived like kings. Before that, I was just a kid of asoldato, running loose around the streets of Brooklyn, causing trouble and using my pops’s name to get out of it.
