Page 2 of Dark Rivals

ARDEN

It’s pouring down freezing rain by the time I get back to the house, and the burst of warm air against my cold cheeks is welcome. The stately hallway is dark, but more importantly dry, and I shuck off my Wellingtons into a corner. A little jingle of a collar and tiny toes against the marble come a few seconds later, followed by the fluffy sight of my dog, Prince.

“Come here, boy,” I say, grinning as the little fluff ball of a Pomchi comes bounding toward me. When he reaches me, I pick him up, then head into the front room where I know my mother is waiting.

Delilah Rossi, the leader of the Rossi Syndicate and one of the very few females in the mafia scene in Chicago with high power and respect, sits in her favorite Victorian wingback chair, feet propped up on a matching cushion. Always old fashioned, she has today’s newspaper opened, nearly covering her face.

The fire blazes and pops as I set down Prince, letting him run over to Delilah and jump up on the cushion, settling at her feet. A familiar spot for the dog to watch the goings on of our family.

“How was it?” she asks.

“It was bad,” I say absently, bending down to pet Prince again as I warm myself by the fire. “He probably suspects. Actually, he definitely suspects.”

Grey probably suspects. I hate him so much I can’t even say his name. Though there may be peace between the families on the outside, old rivalries run deep, and the Calvos family and the Rossis haven’t gotten along for centuries. There’s always been hatred, but it’s been contained. Now, I’m not so sure.

I could tell in the way our gazes caught right before Greygot into his car, my adrenaline still rushing through my veins like fire. I had hoped that he would see me—I didn’t go out of my way to be seen, but I wanted him to know that I was there. Our family had nothing to do with Matthew’s death, but I knew he would suspect it, especially considering the killer did use our family’s signature style, and I wanted to taunt him. Make his blood boil just as much as he makes mine heat.

We’re like the Hatfields and McCoys but worse. Because we’ve got drugs, guns, booze, money, and power. Chicago bows at our feet. Our feud isn’t some backwoods squabble over a few acres of cheap land. We’re the real mafia, organized crime on a scale that would make the government jealous, and people die when they get in our way.

My mother doesn’t even look up from her paper, snapping the page contemptuously as she turns it over. “Of course he does. But he’ll see very quickly it wasn’t us. What business do we have disrupting a peace that has lasted almost a century?”

A lot, actually. I know for a fact that Matthew Calvos is one of the most hated men in the circles we run, and I know that if there was a club for hating Matthew, my mother would be the president. But I also know for a fact that we wouldn’t dare lift a finger against one of the other syndicates.

Would we?

I cock an eyebrow, even though she’s not looking at me. “We hate the Calvos Syndicate,” I say slowly, never sure of my mother’s volatile tempers. I don’t think she would do something behind my back this big, but would she?

“Of course we hate them.” She snaps the newspaper shut. “Everyone does. But even I’m not a big enough fool to murder Matthew Calvos, as much as everyone would like to think.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest—” I start, but wisely stop. She doesn’t want to hear it.

“Just because I am the only woman syndicate leader in Chicago doesn’t mean I get treated like a special snowflake.” She sets the paper aside and gently pushes Prince off the cushion. She doesn’t like when he sleeps at her feet, though it happens often enough. “In fact, quite the opposite. You’ll know what I mean when you take over, Arden,” she says, her voice softening a little bit this time.

“I know.”

I do know. As much as my mother can have tempers, we’re of the same blood, the same breed. I love her more than any other person in the world, and she’s right.

“When does Lawson come back?” I ask suddenly, wondering about my older brother.

We’ve never been close, but I’ve missed him for some reason lately. Two years my senior, my mother makes it no secret that I’m her favorite—yes, she plays favorites. So much so that sometimes it seems like she couldn’t care less about him, which surprisingly never has made him bitter, or at least, he’s never seemed bitter. I know that someone like Grey Calvos would be pissed as shit if he had a younger sister who was going to become heir before him.

Delilah’s lips tighten into a firm line. She doesn’t like talking about it, but I still want to know. “I haven’t heard anything from him yet,” she says.

Lawson has been undercover for the past couple months now on a mission that, for some reason, I know nothing about. He was here one day and gone the next, leaving us with little explanation, though I get the feeling my mother knows more than she’s letting on. Why she isn’t telling me makes me want to throttle her, because she never keeps such important information from me.

“Delilah,” a deep, slightly accented masculine voice says from the hallway before I can comment on Lawson. Surprise filters through me when I recognize Kenny, one of my mom’s favorite freelance street criminals.

Yes, there is such a thing. Even among the lowly soldiers completely unrelated to the family, there’s always a hierarchy.

“Kenny,” I say, jumping up from the couch I’d sat down on. I stop myself before I accidentally do something stupid, like pull him into a hug. “What are you doing here?”

His gaze softens a little when he looks at me. Kenny and I were friends when we were little, but when I started getting more involved with the business, naturally, we had to spend less time together. Especially considering he’s not actually part of the syndicate, nor holds any position of power, someone like me can’t be fraternizing with him in any shape or form, even if it’s as simple as friendship. Besides, he’s technically neutral ground—loyal to no one but himself. To us, he’s a risk, even if to me he was once a friend.

“Hey, Ari,” he says, using my old childhood nickname, despite my mother’s frown. His flirtatious smile is just part of who he is, and I know it doesn’t mean anything. “You’re lookin’ good these days.”

I blush in spite of myself. “You too, Kenny.”

“What do you want?” Delilah says sharply, interrupting us.

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