Page 91 of Luciano (Belles & Mobsters 1)

Grace

“Thank you,” I said to the Uber driver. I knew Luciano wanted us to take his driver so he knew our whereabouts. If Ella and I failed, I couldn’t risk any of what we were about to do to be pinned to Luciano. For Matteo’s sake.

The likelihoods of Ella and I killing Benito King were slim to none. If we succeeded with our plan, we’d run again. Somewhere the King family couldn’t find us and sell us like stock. But first, I’d make my uncle and grandmother pay… for everything.

Needless to say, we haven’t made it to Luciano’s fundraiser yet. If my uncle was there, it would be easier to handle my grandmother alone. She wouldn’t expect it, so we might have an element of surprise. Getting rid of one then the other might be our only way.

My five inch Louboutin’s hit the pavement as we exited the car. The large, wedding cake style marble steps opened a magnificent view to a large mansion. The Romano Mansion that had been in my father’s family for centuries. That I had never stepped foot in till I was twelve, after my uncle murdered my parents.

Taking one step at the time, Ella and I slowly made our way up to the entrance where the old butler awaited all guests. If he recognized me, he hid it well.

“Good evening,” he greeted us. I nodded without a word. “The ballroom is straight ahead and take the second double door entrance on the left.

I didn’t bother telling him I knew where it was. Ella and I both did. When her parents were killed by my uncle’s actions, he only took her in so he could protect his investment. He would make money off her, one way or the other.

We continued on, our heels slapping loudly against the marble floors. Although there was a party in full swing, it felt eerie, the echoes of our heels rattling my nerves.

We paused at the entrance of the ballroom, my nerves teetering on the edge. The glitzy, flashy ballroom of my ancestor’s estate disguised all kinds of ugly. The wealth of the Romano family was made on the blood and tears of innocent women. I understood why my parents wanted nothing to do with my father’s family. The knowledge of how they made their money tainted every single thing in its vicinity.

The room got a few notches quieter, the air just a bit more tense. Or maybe it was just me. My grandmother always made me feel small, unworthy. She hated me as much as she hated my mother, blaming her for taking her first-born from her. She blamed my mother for my father abandoning the family, when it was her filth that made him turn his back on the Romano name.

“I’m your grandmother, Sophia Romano.” I had never known my father’s family was alive. Neither one of my parents mentioned it. This woman didn’t even come to the funeral.

Should I hug her, I wondered. I took a tentative step when her voice stopped me. “You are a firstborn female, and the only female, born to the Romano family line.”

I didn’t understand the words, nor the meaning behind her words. My eyebrows crunched in confusion, staring at the woman that stared at me with distaste.

What have I ever done to this woman?

My hands clenched around the book I held. It was actually an album with my parents’ pictures. The only object I brought along. They forbid me to bring anything, not even my clothes.

“You look more like your mother than my Kennedy.” My grandmother’s dark eyes flashed with cruelty and hate. “But you’ll make a good belle for a mobster when you come of age.”

I wrapped both my hands around my album, pressing it against my aching heart. I didn’t understand what this woman was saying. If Grandma and Grandpa Astor were still alive, I’d live with them. But they died last year. And now I lost my parents. It felt like I lost all my family, to be left alone in this world.

A single, lonely tear rolled down my face. I had cried many of those since my parents died and the ache never eased.

“Wipe that shit off your face, girl,” my grandmother smirked.

I just needed my own room, so I could hide and watch the photos of my mom and dad. It would ease the sting to think about our happy times. Just think about happy times, my mother always said.

As if my grandmother read my thoughts, her eyes lowered to my chest where I gripped the album like my life depended on it.

“What is that?” she questioned.

“A book.” Technically not a lie.

A slap across my cheek had my head whipping to the left, a burning sting flaming across my right cheek.

“Don’t ever lie to me again, girl.” I swallowed hard, a terror settling into my bones. I had never been hit before. “Give it to me.”

“No.” My voice was small but firm.Don’t ever let them clip your wings, Grace!My mother’s words were still with me. Did she know this was going to happen?

She took a step forward, and instinctively I took one back. But not fast enough. Her cold hands grabbed the collar of my dress and a shredding sound tore through the front of the driveway. From the corner of my eye, I spotted ravens. Their cawing sound rattled me to my bones, and I was just as frightened as they were by this human. The loud, spooky black birds flew away, leaving me alone with the stranger in nothing more than my underwear.

I gripped the book, covering my chest, and I felt my lower lip tremble, threatening violent sobs to let loose. I bit it hard, to keep any sounds from coming out.

“The book.” Her wrinkled hand extended; she tapped her foot impatiently.

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