Athena
I watched Luciano walk out of the lounge, stunned by all that I had witnessed. What in the world? Had he just fought his best friend because of me? Crap!
I pulled my veil tighter over my face and bit at my lower lip. Had he seen me? Was that why he had displayed all of that? No, it didn’t seem likely. He had not glanced at the corner I stood in. Not even once. He did not know I was there. Hell, I’d bet he wouldn’t have thought I would be here in his wildest dreams.
My mind replayed the scene I had witnessed over and over trying to make sense of it. Luciano and Luca had a spat. Luca had said something offensive about me. Well, it wasn’t that offensive. He’d called me a bimbo. I’d expected he could do better than that. There were so many other creative insults aside from bimbo for fuck sake.
Luciano had taken great offense apparently. But I had seen him fight himself. I had seen him withdraw trying to control himself from most likely doing something he would regret.
But man I was fucking thrilled when he bashed Luca’s face into the table. Everyone stopped to watch. The singing, the laughing, and even the unholy pounding that happened in the corners stopped. One of the women beside me had whispered to the other that she had never seen the two friends fight.
Should I feel honored that Luciano was defending my honor even when I was there? Or should I feel extremely appalled? Appalled, my head seemed to choose. But his words from earlier that day, I could hear them in my mind.
…. Why does there have to be another motive, Raven? I just wanted to spend time with you…
“Fuck!” I whispered, searching the lounge area for my escape route. It was a total fucking mistake coming here. I’d wanted to get the mission over with, infiltrate the Mafia house, and find documents and records of the mafia lord.
I’d hurried and busted my ass to be in here because I badly wanted to incriminate Luciano so I could leave him and run from these damned conflicted feelings he stirred up within me.
Why would he want to spend time with me without any ulterior motive? It did not make any fucking sense! And it did not fit my perception of him.
I didn’t want him to be nice. He had no right to be nice. To make me… to make me feel guilty for turning him in. He deserved to be turned in.
Taking deep breaths, I pulled on my veil and walked out of the lounge, following the door Luciano had used. I had to find where they kept records. But the mafia whore asking for where records were kept sounded highly suspicious.
“Ah crap, I have to hurry,” I whispered. This was my only chance. And considering I had knocked out a woman just so I could steal her clothes and infiltrate the hideout, I had to be successful. If that woman woke up, she would spread the news of a spy in their midst.
Shit would hit the fucking fan.
When I stepped into the corridor, Luciano was nowhere to be seen. I walked down the length of the hallway, peeking through the doors to find out what rooms were behind them. Damian had dropped the idea of me finding a way to get in.
I had recorded Luciano when he had that stupid brawl with Luca, defending my honor and shit. He had even gone ahead to declare himself the mafia lord and all. Fantastic. However, I had to confirm something before I left. The earpiece in my ear buzzed, Damian was around the corner waiting for me to come out.
“Did you get the recording already?” He asked.
“Yes,” I replied briskly.
“Are you almost out?” He asked again and my eye twitched in irritation.
“No,”
“Why not?!” He demanded.
“Because I need to confirm something. Quit tailing me,” I hissed, keeping my voice as low as possible as I walked. Men littered the corridor, sucking at women’s faces, flaunting their guns and pecs, and hollering like wild animals. I weaved through them, trying to keep me as inconspicuous as possible.
“What?” He asked as I turned another corner only to see it had a staircase.
“I need to see,” I said, running up the stairs lightly. “If he killed my father,”
Damian groaned in frustration. “Why do you need that now? Would it change anything?”
I paused in my steps as his question struck me. If I found out that Luciano had no hand in my father’s death, would it change anything? Fuck! What would I do? It would mean my father’s killer was still out there and I was barking up the wrong fucking tree.
I patted the phone I had buried in my bra and shook my head.
No. Luciano killed my father. The Moretti Mafia symbol had been branded on my father’s chest! He was shot in the head! Heaving another breath, Marched forward, finishing the set of stairs.
The hallway I came to was much quieter. Almost deserted. This had to be where the records were. Quietly, I tip-toed to the doors that lined the hallway, opening them slightly and peeking through them until I came across a room that had a rather humongous shelf in it.
After ensuring that no one in there could blow my brains out, I stepped in. Damian was right. The mafia kept records of those who owed them and those who had dealings with them.
“You found the records room?” He asked.
“I did,” I replied, going through the list of names in one of the books I found on the table.
“Have you seen your father’s name?”
“I will if you quit disturbing me!” I hissed through clenched teeth, struggling to keep my nerves in check. If I got caught here, I was dead meat. I whipped out the phone. “Damian, I’ll send the video to you now, just in case Luciano gets a hold of the original copy.”
“Sure thing,” he grumbled. “Just out of curiosity and shit, what’s your father’s name?”
I remained silent, focused on sending the video. When it was done, I tucked the device in my bra and continued reading through the names of the mafia dealers. My eyes stopped over a familiar name and my world came crashing down.
“Robert Hernandez,” I whispered. My father’s name stared back at me, written in almost faded ink. I traced his name to the role he played in the mafia. A weapon dealer. My father… My father was a weapon dealer for the mafia.”No. It has to be a lie,”
All the other names had a red mark on them which meant they were eliminated. But not my father. If the records were true, then Luciano never killed my father. The impostor did.
I laughed. A wild cackle that shook my bones. I couldn’t help it. It was either that or I burst into tears like a fool. I felt like one. I had spent over five years of my life, trying to get back at Luciano for killing my father. I had lived all those years, thinking he ruined my life.
There’s no way… there was no way my father worked with the mafia. He would never work with the mafia. Damian said something, but I couldn’t hear him. I couldn’t hear anything above the loud ringing in my head.
I stepped out of the records room, shocked out of my senses, deaf and blind to everything else. Dad. My dad… A dealer. For the mafia. Then what was the basis for everything?
Why had I joined the FBI trying to vindicate him when all along he was just like them? Had I given myself the goal of revenge as a goal so I could survive the hellish years? None of the Thai made fucking sense.
I had no idea how I made it to the courtyard of the mafia house. I must have walked there in a daze and was shaken out of it by a man grabbing my arm. I looked at the hand wrapped around my upper arm and then at the man before me.
He had a rather ugly look on his face and his lips moved, saying words I couldn’t hear. I blinked rapidly and then squinted, trying to bring my head into focus.
“I said, Who are you?!” He demanded. “Has anyone seen this woman before?”
“No!”
I looked around to see a crowd of men, women, and children gathered around me. No wonder I couldn’t hear from Damian anymore. He had probably scrammed for his life. This was it, wasn’t it? I had chased the wind for the past five years and I was about to get mauled for it.
Fucking perfect.
“Get your hands off her right now!”