Luciano: Chapter 22

“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.

“No.” Stubbornness was one of my weaknesses. It was something my mother and father always told me.

My grandmother shifted her gaze behind me. “Take her to her room.”

One of the housekeepers gently nudged me, and I followed her into the house with a relieved breath. My body shivered as I followed the maid’s rushed steps, whether because of cold or fear, I wasn’t sure.

This place would never be home. I knew it the moment I stepped my foot through the door.

Two days later, I found my album burning in the fireplace, and along with it, every single, happy piece of my childhood.

I straightened and raised my chin, shoving all my fears into a dark corner of my mind. We could do this; Ella and I didn’t survive the last three years to cower now.

“Ready?” Ella whispered next to me.

“No, but we’ll get it done anyhow,” I murmured, under my breath.

I strode through the room, like I owned it, placing a smile on my face.

“Ah, Miss Romano, so nice to see you.” It was my grandmother’s bodyguard, Charles. He knew very well I was married.

“It is Mrs. Vitale.” Luciano’s voice came behind me, startling me. They must have taken a direct route to my grandmother’s to get here so quickly.

I glanced behind me to find him with Cassio, Nico, Massimo, and Luca. There was also a couple, and a man I hadn’t recognized before. I should have objected to Luciano’s interruption, but I was glad to see him there. He was the lesser of two evils.

Charles ignored him. “Your grandmother will be pleased to see you.”

He strode away, and I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Fancy seeing you here, wife.”

“Why?” I retorted back. “After all, I used to live here. Remember?” They were the worst years of my life but no sense dwelling on that now. My eyes travelled over the group. “And you all are here, why?” I questioned them with a raised eyebrow. All of them watched me, like they were debating whose side I was on.

My son’s side. My side. Ella’s side. I’d ensure we’d get out of this alive. Somehow.

My eyes traveled to a young woman and her companions. It was obvious those three came together. Her dark hair and brown eyes complemented their blonde features. It was an odd contrast, but it worked in their favor. My eyes traveled over her slim features, and I only now noticed she was pregnant. The swell of her belly attractively accented her soft features.

She looked small, too frail and short next to the two tall and stocky men. They both looked like some damn MMA fighters, their large frames towering over the woman. Those two men had to be brothers with the eyes they shared, the palest blue eyes I had ever seen. Even their facial structure was similar. She held hands with one of them, leading me to believe they were an item. And the way that guy held her protectively told me he’d kill anyone that even dared look at her wrong.

The other man stood on the other side of her. But unlike the other guy that only had tattoos on his hands, this guy was all tatted up. He even had tattoos on his face. In fact, every visible inch of skin displayed striking and beautiful ink. He looked scary and beautiful at the same time.

“Grace, this is Vasili Nikolaev and his wife Isabella. They live in New Orleans.” Ah, another mobster! I should have known. “And Alexei Nikolaev is Isabella’s brother.”

I frowned. “Ummm, incest?” Shit, did I say that out loud?

The tattooed guy growled, and instinctively, I took a step backwards, right into the hard, marble chest of my husband. “No, not incest,” the beautiful, face-tattooed guy answered darkly. “Isabella and I are half-siblings by my mother.”

“Alexei and I share a father,” Vasili deadpanned. At least he wasn’t growling at me. “It’s a bit complicated.“

“Yeah, family tends to be pretty damn complicated,” I muttered.

Alexei nodded, as if agreeing. I wondered what their story was. I bet they didn’t have some historical agreement of selling their daughters hanging over their necks.

My eyes indulged, traveling over his ink and inventorying each visible tattoo. From the ones on his face, the ink peeking above his starched white dress shirt, down to his tattooed hands and knuckles. Fuck, he was beautiful. I never cared much for tattoos until Luciano. But this man took ink to a whole new level. The ink on this man, it packaged the cruelty etched on his face, the art and ruthlessness, into one fine, deadly specimen.

“Grace, you have come back.” The interruption came in the form of my grandmother’s cold voice. My mouth pressed into a thin line, and something in Alexei’s eyes told me he understood exactly where I was coming from.

My heart rate sped up and anxiety kicked up a notch, but I kept it hidden. After all, I got really good at hiding my emotions since I started living under my grandmother’s roof.

She offered me her cheek to kiss in greeting. I leaned in stiffly to kiss the offering and felt like Judas. Because I came to kill her. But I remembered the lesson well from the last time when I refused to kiss her cheek. She starved me for two days. It wasn’t something easily forgotten.

“Grandma,” I murmured.

“I see you are still hanging out with the riff raff.” Her eyes traveled over Luciano and his friends and ended with Ella. Her lips pursed at the sight of my best friend. “I thought you left your husband, my little Belle.”

Don’t let her taunt you. Don’t let her taunt you. The words played on repeat in my brain.

She purposely called me that, reminding me that was my only worth to the Romano legacy. Well, I didn’t give a fuck about the Romano legacy.

A hard gleam entered her eyes. She was hoping to get Luciano worked up. He kept his calm, although I felt more than saw him stiffen.

Never looking his way, I answered. “No. Someone must have given you the wrong information about my marriage status. I kind of like being riff raff, so only appropriate I hang out with them. Don’t you think so, Grandmother?”

I wasn’t a little girl anymore. I wouldn’t take her mental beating, nor my uncle’s physical abuse.

She smiled, although it didn’t reach her eyes. “Will you play for us today, dear?”

“No, I-”

“Your mother’s piano is here,” she cut me off as if I hadn’t spoken. “Tonight will be your last chance. We are getting rid of it.”

I blinked in confusion. “But why? It was in Mom’s family for centuries.”

“It has no purpose here.” We locked gazes, her dark black eyes staring me down, challenging me. Unlike my uncle who didn’t mind physical punishment, my grandmother preferred mental torture.

“I’ll take it.” The words escaped me before I thought better of them. She liked to take away everything I cared for or loved. Now that I expressed that I wanted it, she’d rather burn it to the ground than let me have it.

“You were always so sentimental, Grace,” she mocked me. “It will be your downfall. That piano is worthless. Just like your little family.”

Unspoken threat. Unspoken humiliation.

I took a step forward, when I felt Ella’s hand wrap around my upper arm. I envisioned myself wrapping my fingers around her neck and choking her to death. I wanted to kill that mean, old witch. The only thing she was good at was bringing misery to people.

Before I could think of a comeback, my husband stepped in.

“You watch yourself, Sophia Romano,” Luciano got in her face, a menacing and ruthless mobster in full mode. “My wife might keep things civil for your party, but I won’t have any qualms about ripping out your throat and seeing you choke on your own blood among your guests.”

My grandmother didn’t even bat an eyelash, but I did see her guards near her. Of course, she wasn’t scared when she never fought her own battles.

“The piano is worthless,” she continued, as if Luciano never spoke. “You don’t have a daughter and won’t have a chance to spawn another child.”

Luciano growled next to me, but I put my hand on his bicep, squeezing lightly.

“Truthfully, it belongs to me, Grandmother,” I spoke, seemingly calm although every ounce of blood inside me boiled with fury. The interruption was welcome because it diverted her attention from Luciano to me. “After all, my parents left it all to me. Didn’t they?”

“To be turned over to you on your twenty-fifth birthday.”

“Or when I got married.” My lips curved into a fake smile. “And I am married.” I glanced sideways at my husband. “Aren’t I, darling?”

“We sure are married, Tesoro.” Luciano smirked at my grandmother, his eyes shooting all kinds of menace her way.

“Go play one of those vulgar songs you like so much,” she continued as she strode away, ignoring both of us. “Say goodbye to your mother’s legacy. The last heirloom and generation of the Astor family will soon be gone in ashes.”

I dug my fingernails into the palm of my hand, focusing on the pain to ground me. She wouldn’t win. My uncle wouldn’t win. The Astor legacy would never burn into ashes. Because Matteo was part of me too.

I turned my head towards my husband, locking eyes with Luciano. “Call your father and tell him not to leave the house with Matteo,” I spoke low, my voice shaking.

Without another word, I walked away from the group, my back stiff as I heard my grandmother make the announcement. I could feel his eyes, staring at me even with my back to him. Oddly enough, it was comforting to know that my husband was here. It gave me the extra courage I needed.

“Everyone, thank you so much for coming,” she greeted the audience. “Grace Romano will be playing a piece for us tonight. I am sure many of you have heard of her world famous mother, Aria Astor, who captured the world with her voice as well as took my firstborn’s heart.”

There was a double meaning to all her words. The blame she placed on my mother when in fact it was her own actions that cost her the firstborn. She lost her own son, nobody else did it for her.

“Grace Vitale,” I interrupted with a tight smile, speaking into the microphone to ensure everyone heard. “Not Romano.”

Her beady, cruel eyes flashed to me with hatred and I smiled. She would pay for her sins if it was the last thing I did before I died. Death of my grandmother and uncle would mean protection for Matteo. And for my son’s safety, I’d sell my soul to the devil.

It was the Romano’s turn to lose.