Page 53 of Sapphires and Snakes
“Three,” Gemma’s voice is barely audible.
“You had six posted.” I know this because I ordered it.
“Yes.”
I set my drink on the side table, my gaze heavy on Gemma’s head. She won’t look up, won’t meet my eye. It might be an effort to show deference, but it’s pissing me off more than anything. “Where were they during this?”
She glances at Juno, like he can help her. He can’t. No one can. Not tonight. She presses her hands together, tucking them between her thighs. “Unaware.”
I stare at her, muscles locked so tight they are trembling with the need to unleash. Gemma folds herself tighter, head hanging lower with each second I let pass without speaking. Her throatbobs. I watch and wait until my other capo starts fidgeting with discomfort, air thick enough throughout the room that it clings to hair and skin.
“Unaware.” I chew on the word. “And where were you, Gemma?”
She flinches. “At home.”
Icy calm flows over my scalp and down my spine. I’ve reached that place in the inferno where everything is quiet; where the heat has turned from white-hot rage into mind-numbing stillness. My vision sharpens. My awareness heightens. Everything is focused.
“Do you know the extent of the damage caused tonight?” My voice is soft enough, I know she must be straining to hear.
Gemma doesn’t answer.
“You’re lucky the kids are unharmed. You’re lucky Zarina”—her name burns like lava on my tongue—“did what you could not and negotiated their safety. You’re lucky this wasn’t worse.” I pull off my own ring, the ruby glimmering as I set it on the side table beside Zarina’s, and know I’ll likely never wear it again. But I don’t feel the pain of that thought, not in this headspace. Not with the promise of violence so close, I can already feel the echo of the oncoming punch in my knuckles. “But you’re responsible, Gemma.You. No one else should have sacrificed their freedom, their life, to stop the Accardis. Least of all a Gallo.”
Gemma raises her head finally, but she still won’t meet my eye. “Shouldn’t it be her responsibility?” she says with a furrow of her brow. “She’s the reason they were there in the first place.”
My answering silence is so still, it screams. The other capo grimaces, and Gemma sucks her lips as if she can pull the words back into her mouth. But it’s too late for that.
Finally, my lips stretch into a smirk drenched in threat. “Bold for a failure.”
She tries to backtrack. “I didn’t mean it.”
I unbutton my cuffs, rolling up my left sleeve then my right. “You did.”
“No, no, I just meant?—”
I stand, widening my shoulders, stretching my fingers. “On your feet, Gemma.”
“Boss,” she tries to beg.
But it’s too late for that, too. Juno tries to vacate his seat, but Darius forcefully shoves him back down. He slumps there, accepting his role as witness.
“If anyone had died tonight, you wouldn’t have the chance to fight back. But since I’m feeling… benevolent, I’ll allow it.” Benevolence has nothing to do with it. Hunger rakes its claws down my muscles, my organs. I need violence like I need breath, or I might combust. “Any blows you land will not be held against you.”
Gemma sets her jaw. “I’m not fighting you.”
“Either way.” I shrug, coming to a halt in front of her chair. We’re close enough that the toes of her shoes knock against mine. I loom there, let her feel the density of my presence and the brutality barely contained within it. Whether she stands or not, lifts a fist or not, the impending detonation of energy is unstoppable.
“Tamayo,” Gemma sighs like I simply need to see reason, “this isn’t my fault?—”
Fuck that. My fist moves without thought, landing directly in the meat of her gut. She doubles over, clutching her stomach and breathing hard. I bend over, lips at her ear. “No more excuses, Gemma. Time to take responsibility.”
Gemma shoves me off her, forcing distance between us so she can stumble off her chair, toward the door. I let her. I stalk around the sofa, the chairs, the side tables. There’s nowhere for her to go. The door to the club is guarded, the service door locked. She’s trapped. There’s no escaping this. No escaping me.
Gemma fruitlessly yanks on the club door. My feet carry me to her, weighed down with certainty. Rage gathers inside, builds up and up and up, until it’s finally ready to explode, like a star in the dark depths of space.
And I don’t attempt to rein it in. Not until it’s sated.
I snatch her collar and yank her away from the door. She careens backward, catching herself on a chair.
