Elite (Eagle Elite) - By Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,61

even if she were, we could use her to pull out the De Lange family.”

Nixon looked from Grandpa to me. “Using your own granddaughter? I think we’re done here.”

“I think so.” Grandpa rose from his seat. Nixon and Grandpa embraced one another and kissed each cheek before saying something in that stupid language they were always speaking in.

Nixon took one last look at me and shook his head slowly. My heart was in my throat. I felt tears start to pool in my eyes as I looked from him to Chase. At least Chase mouthed sorry before turning back around and following Nixon out.

“One more thing,” Grandpa said.

In a flash he pulled out his gun and shot at Nixon’s feet. Nixon didn’t move. He just stared at the ground then back up at Grandpa with cool indifference.

“Noted.” Nixon nodded and his group left.

Chapter Twenty-five

If I wasn’t so horrified, I may have laughed that my backwoods grandpa just fired a crazy-looking gun at my boyfriend’s feet.

But it wasn’t funny. What the hell kind of alternate universe did I just walk in to? My legs suddenly felt heavier than before. Spots appeared in my line of vision. I tried to steady myself by holding on to the table next to me, but my arms weren’t doing what I wanted them to do, instead they flopped near my sides, hitting the table. And then my legs gave out and everything went black.

****

“Trace? Sweetheart?” Grandpa was hovering over me with a cold compress against my cheek. “There you go, take some deep breaths. You fainted.”

I licked my dry lips and looked around. Several men in suits were standing behind Grandpa as he held the compress against my face.

“I don’t understand.”

Grandpa swore. “Give us a minute.”

A man put his hand on Grandpa’s shoulder This time Grandpa stood and very calmly spoke in what I was now beginning to assume was Nixon’s and everyone else’s native language. It wasn’t Italian, that much I knew.

“What language is that?” I sighed heavily and leaned against Grandpa as he helped me to my feet.

“Sicilian.”

My blood ran cold as memories flashed through my fuzzy brain. Memories of a life I had long ago forgotten. The woman in the kitchen speaking to me in a language I once thought foreign. A language I actually knew.

“I think… I think I know it.”

“You should. It is all we spoke when you were young, but after the accident…” Grandpa cleared his throat. “We chose to forget in order to protect you. After all, we could take no chances.”

I swallowed the dryness in my throat and followed him to the couch.

“How are you feeling?” Grandpa set the compress onto the table and poured me a glass of wine. I examined the glass, feeling somewhat awkward that my grandpa would serve me alcohol, but if it helped my nerves I was all for it. I took a few careful sips, hoping it would take away the nightmare in front of me.

“How do you think I’m feeling, Grandpa? Really?”

He chuckled. “Always straight to the point.”

My nostrils flared as I watched him play with his thick white hair near his ear. The room was eerily quiet now that the men with guns had gone outside for a timeout. My fingers itched to pull out the cell phone in my pocket. Nixon. How could he lie to me like that?

Answers. I needed answers. Nixon had always evaded my questions. Perhaps it was for my own protection, perhaps not. But it ended now.

“I want answers.” I gave Grandpa a steely look.

He nodded once. “Your full name is Tracey Angelica Alfero. You are the daughter to deceased mafia hitman Mario Adele Alfero. Your mother’s full name was Nicola Alessandro De Lange.”

“De Lange? As in Dean De Lange? And Phoenix De Lange?”

Grandpa nodded.

“So… I’m related to Phoenix?”

Grandpa laughed. “No, not technically. I guess very, very far down along the line you would be cousins a few times removed.”

“And they were killed?”

Grandpa clasped his hands together in front of him and leaned forward. “A hit was ordered on your parents without my knowledge or that of your father. To understand why, you need a bit of a history lesson.”

I nodded, fully ready for any information he could give me.

“The De Lange family is the weakest of the mafia families still located in the Chicago area. That is to say, they are the weakest in the states. In Sicily, it is quite another situation. At any rate, your mother was promised to one of