Page 3 of Dearly Betrayed

Better me than one of them. Better suffer in hell than live with the guilt.

I’m strong. I’m Papa’s daughter. I learned to survive a long time ago, and if anyone’s going to make it through this miserable situation, it’ll be me.

“Alright, Chim,” I say, looking at him. “Sell me to the Americans.”

“Alright, Fallie. The wedding’s in three days, and I’ll be there the whole time, I promise.”

Some fucking comfort that is.

Chapter2

Jayson

“You know it’s got to be this way.” Adler stands behind me as I lean against the balcony railing. Dozens of stories below, the ocean crawls against the sand like a gray tongue. That damn water stretches forever, crawling with strange life. An entirely different planet, upside-down to ours. Right about now, I’d rather be down at the bottom of the sea than having this conversation.

“I was there fighting the damn war,” I tell him, not turning around. I swirl a glass of whiskey as the cold ocean breeze blows through my lightweight cashmere sweater. I’m in all black, head to toe. If anyone asked, I’d say it’s a mourning thing, but truth be told I’m always dressed like this. One less choice to make if there’s only one color in my wardrobe.

“Which is why it’s got to be you. Besides, the rest of us are already married.” Adler comes up beside me and stares straight ahead. My big brother, the head of the Costa Family, the entire operation resting on his shoulders. He’s only two years my senior, but the stress makes him seem older. Gray streaks his beard and his hair. Lines spiderweb around his eyes.

“Must be nice,” I say even though that isn’t fair. My brothers got married long before this choice had to be made. “You can’t blame me for not wanting her.”

“The girl’s pretty, from what I hear.”

“I don’t really care about that.”

“I know. I’m trying to come up with something that’ll take the edge off.”

I grunt at him. I don’t want to be smoothed over. I don’t want the pain to dull, not right now. I’d rather down this whiskey, throw the glass into the sky, and follow it down. “They murdered Jackson. They killed a dozen more of my soldiers.”

“You killed their patriarch and a couple dozen of their cousins and brothers. That’s how these wars go.”

“He was my best friend.” I grip the railing tight enough to turn my knuckles white.

I can still see him bleeding in my arms. Coughing up crimson, his lips splattered with it. Grinning, showing red-stained teeth.I’ll be alright, man. I’ll be alright. Trying to comfort me in the end when we both knew he was fucked. That’s the kind of friend I lost. More like a brother, more like a piece of my soul.

I should’ve been the one gagging up my life on the floor of some shit Italian restaurant, not him.

Adler raps his ring finger against the railing. “I know you’re still hurting over it, but if you don’t do this then the fighting keeps going. If that happens, we lose more friends, more family. You really want that?”

“You know I don’t.”

“Then marry the girl.”

“Fuck her. And fuck the whole Grady Clan.” I take deep breaths. The salty air smells like seaweed mixed with the rotting kelp stench of the bay.

Two years of killing. Two years of fighting, of blood in the streets. For over ten before that, I ran the European division of our family without any problems at all. I kept confrontation to a minimum. Fighting is bad for business. We were profitable, raking in money from rich Russians, wealthy French diplomats, loaded English bankers, all while successfully building a shadow empire.

I was confident. The continent was poised at my feet. Ready to prostrate itself.

At least until we expanded into Ireland and the Grady Clan decided they’d had enough.

War doesn’t make money. Every smart businessman knows it. Only the gun makers and the generals want war—everyone else is better off cutting deals instead of killing each other. I tried to avoid an outright conflict, but the Gradys felt like it was either push me from their turf or lose their way of life.

Two brutal, ugly years. So much was lost, and for what? I’m still where I was at the start of it, still managing my Irish properties, while the Gradys lick their wounds and offer this joke of a peace agreement.

I’m expected to sacrifice myself to make sure it holds.

Even though they started this fucking miserable fight.

---