Page 3 of Corrupted Queen

In reality, she just had a gun to her head.

I scoop Harry into my arms and hope to God he doesn’t start to cry. I peer out the window again in time to see the two men emerge from the office and head toward the far stairs.

After my run-in with Andrew Walsh, I promised that, going forward, I would always have an exit plan. That’s why I picked this motel, shithole that it is—the external hallway has a set of stairs on either end of it.

I dart out the door and keep my footsteps as light as possible as I sprint to the other stairs. I don’t think the men see me, as I hear them banging on my door a second later.

Too late, fellas. I’m out of here.

2

Gabriel

I rise from the table, collecting the papers in front of me. “That will be all for now.”

Chairs scrape back all around the table. Mirko Bernadino, one of my five capos, is the first to leave. His eternally sour grimace has been driven even further down his cheeks over the course of the meeting. I don’t blame him. It has been a long time since we have discussed good news.

The other capos follow close behind, but my lieutenant, Antonio Linetti, and consigliere Vito Gambaro hang back.

Antonio is scrolling through his phone and looks up after a second. He is nearing his fifties, but the only indication of his age is his wrinkled forehead, and the reading glasses he pulls out for restaurant menus. He is nearly as tall as me, clocking in somewhere around six foot three, with arms as thick as tree trunks. With his shaved head and heavily inked skin, he’s been mistaken for a Neo-Nazi enough that now it really pisses him off.

Vito is almost Antonio’s opposite. He’s stubby-looking, like a thumb, and his thick hair is matched by an even thicker beard that, despite my best advice, continues to grow longer and longer. Vito and Antonio are the two people I trust most in the world.

“My men will have the Marzano bomber in custody soon,” Antonio reports.

“I wish I’d known that before the meeting,” I comment. “It would have been nice to have some good news.”

“Agreed,” Vito says, pouring himself a drink from the side table.

Antonio slips his phone back into his pocket and gives me a nod. “I’m going to go pick him up and bring him back for questioning.”

“Thanks, Antonio.”

He lumbers through the door and Vito presses a glass of whiskey into my hand. He slumps into the seat at my left.

“Were we fools to think that, after dealing with Andrew Walsh, things would get better?” he asks.

Vito is usually the last to lose hope. It’s not a good look on him.

“We regained control of the docks,” I point out, taking a seat. “We would never have achieved that while Andrew Walsh was alive.”

The Bellucis used to control the majority of the docks, and then a couple of years ago, my father made a play for power that backfired and left us with nothing but a measly strip. By killing Andrew Walsh, I was able to retake our original territory.

It was supposed to be our turn of fortune. Instead, it has been anything but that.

“Yes, but now the monkey on his back has jumped to our back.” Vito drains his glass and sets it on the table.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say.

“Refusing to talk about it won’t make it any easier.”

This is common ground for Vito and me—him wanting to discuss an issue that I am closed down to.

I shake my head, swirling the amber liquid around my glass. “My present priorities are maintaining control where I can and bringing Alexis and Harry home.” I look up at him, meeting his reassuring charcoal gaze. “Have you heard anything from Gio?”

Gio Demarco was the man Vito assigned to bring Alexis to the hospital a month ago, and also the man who let her get away. He insisted on leading the hunt to retrieve her due to the injured pride of being outmaneuvered by an emaciated woman toting a baby.

“Not yet. From what I understand, that Clara girl is being a tough customer. She will make the call soon.”

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