Corrupted Queen - Nicole Fox Page 0,82
I have been skulking around, trying to fill in myself. I feel the sudden urge to stop him before he arms me with the weapon I need to take him down.
“Let’s run away together,” I blurt. “You, me, and Harry. We can leave all of this behind.”
It’s a crazy thought driven by an even crazier impulse—the impulse to escape. We could go far away from the mob and purple heroin and the New York Union and Debbie. If we escape together, we can leave our sins in the past and finally be together.
Gabriel’s eyes light up. He looks as though he is considering it.
But then his eyes dim, and he gives a short shake of his head. “I can’t run, Alexis. This world is all I’ve ever known. It’s my legacy, the work of generations of Bellucis, and I’m needed here.”
I feel stupid for even suggesting it. Naive. Like a schoolgirl who believes that if she runs away in the middle of the night, the fairies might take her away to live in the trees, where they will drink dandelion dewdrops and eat lavender flowers.
“Of course,” I say, laughing at myself.
“Besides,” Gabriel continues, “I still have to exact vengeance for Vito’s death.”
“Vengeance?” I frown. “But Patrick Walsh is dead. Have you not already gotten your vengeance? Isn’t that like case closed?”
Gabriel shakes his head and walks back around the desk, all business. “I don’t know who killed him, and I consider all of Patrick’s men equally guilty. I will paint the streets red with their blood.”
My stomach churns. The stern press of his brow makes him look fierce, like a man capable of atrocious things. There is a darkness there, swirling under the surface.
My avenging angel.
“This whole thing started with vengeance, didn’t it?” I remind him. “Our fathers died for their crimes, which should have been punishment enough, but that wasn’t enough for Andrew Walsh.”
“This is different.”
“Is it?”
We stare at each other, as though sizing the other up. His mouth tilts ever so slightly at the corner, a tiny tick as though I amuse him. Or impress him.
Before either one of us can say anything, Harry’s voice crackles through the baby monitor. “Mama? Mama?”
I clear my throat. “I have to go.”
Gabriel nods, and I leave, my gut twisting apprehensively. My feelings for him, I now realize, are all too real. As is the compulsion to drop this investigation and be with him the way I want. He’s a deadly creature, a beast.
But can I tame him?
26
Gabriel
With Patrick Walsh dead, the remaining Irish have carved up his territory and begun to fight amongst themselves. This has afforded my men and me a rare moment of peace. There have been no attacks on Italian property since his death, and though I am sure that someone will try to avenge him eventually, for now they are all too busy trying to cut themselves the biggest piece of the pie to bother even looking in my direction.
I intend to make the most of this lull, using it as an opportunity both to tighten up defenses and to relax. My men are stressed, tense, and I will not waste this chance to reinvigorate them. Even if that means that I must take a break myself.
We sit around a large circular table in the private back room of Little Italy, my favorite pizza place in the city. To my left is Dom, who is eulogizing Vito and commenting on the beautiful service the day before. Beside him sits Mirko, then Antonio, and finally, to my right, Silvano Gambaro, Vito’s brother.
It was Vito’s wish that if anything happened to him, he would be succeeded in his role by his little brother, who he has been priming for the opportunity for several years. I don’t think Vito intended to die so young, though, and I’m not sure his brother is ready yet. He is in his late twenties, and recently finished his master’s degree in business management.
He’s whip-smart, I’ll give him that. Vito suggested that he would provide the kind of impartial advice I would need in a world where my second was dead. I am curious to see if he was right.
Dom finishes his sermon and we all toast our fallen soldier. I glance at Silvano as we drink. He looks like a younger version of Vito, without the horrible scraggly beard that he’d sported in recent months, despite my best advice. His sharp gray eyes take in those around the circle. He is studying them, I