Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,22

in the other, then see which one fills up the fastest. As a kid, I ignored it. Much like I did most of the life tips she imparted during the rare hour or two she found herself coherent.

But it wasn’t until years later when I was fifteen that it finally clicked. When I hadn’t eaten in three days. When I was desperate and reckless.

The day I met the devil.

Seventeen years ago

Same shit, different day. I’m sitting next to a gutter, my stomach gnawing a hole in itself, when some asshole in a designer suit walks out of the deli behind me. I try to ignore him, but the smell of meat and cheese is driving me crazy. So, yeah, I watch this lucky bastard. I watch him straighten his tie, take one bite of a meatball sub, then throw it in the trash.

And I lose it.

A damn meatball sub flips a switch in my head.

So, I fall in line behind the asshole who tossed it, and just as he rounds the corner onto a side street, I make my move. Within seconds, I have his wallet in my hand without causing the slightest flutter of his suit jacket. Feeling smug, I slow my stride, ready to turn back, when a strong hand grabs my wrist.

Run.

But I can’t. All I can do is stare at the inked hand holding me in place. Colorful tattoos cover his skin, but once my eyes lock on the biggest one, my heart pole vaults into my throat.

An ornate cross spans his wrist to his knuckle, a scroll twisting around it bearing the words ‘l’unica famiglia’. That’s when I look at his face.

Fuck.

Of all the men in LA, I had to pickpocket Luciano Ricci. A fucking made man in the Vitoli crime family.

Time tangles itself in a tight little coil only to spring apart in a spray of movement, metal, and rapid Italian. One minute, I’m facing a gangster on a crowded street, and the next, I’m facing an alley wall with a gun pointed at the back of my head.

Luciano nods and one of his men twists my arms behind me like a pretzel. Locking his fingers behind his back, he paces around me, tilting his head side to side like a lion assessing his prey. Finally, a cold smile spreads across his face. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t done that, boy.”

Wish in one hand, shit in the other, then see which one fills up faster.

It’s ironic that it takes standing in a dirty back alley, with a gun pressed to the back of my head for that phrase to finally make sense. Wishful thinking is nice, but it’s not reality. This here? This is reality.

And reality sucks.

Just like a handful of shit.

“Kill me.”

He blinks. “What?”

“Are you deaf?” I shout. “I said pull the trigger and get it over with.”

In two wide steps, we’re face to face. So close I can smell the marinara on his breath. “Do you know who the fuck I am?”

“You’re Luciano Ricci. You answer to Marco Vitoli, and I’m pretty sure he’d be pissed to hear you got pickpocketed by a fifteen-year-old street rat.”

Daggers shoot from his eyes. I guess he’s waiting for me to elaborate, but I don’t. Finally, he grabs my face. “Boy, do you have a death wish?”

“Maybe I do.”

Luciano smiles. The men behind me laugh. I stare all of them down. I might only be fifteen, but by God, I’m no pussy. If I’m about to die, I’ll die like a man.

But there’s no gunshot. No pain. No bright light, or demons rising from hell like Mom keeps warning me about. Only Luciano’s smirking face as he nods toward the men behind me and lowers his hand.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Dominic.”

“Well, Dominic, you keep fucking with the wrong people and someday you’ll get your wish.” That tattooed hand clamps around the back of my neck. “But today is not that day.”

Without another word, he steers me toward the black SUV idling at the far end of the alley. It isn’t until we’re seated in the back and traveling down Hollywood Boulevard that he pulls out a cigar. We sit in silence as he takes his time unwrapping the cellophane. By the time he lights the end, the short fuse I have left burns to the ground.

“Look, I—”

“Death wish, huh?” He chuckles in between puffs. “Well, let me give you a piece of advice, Dominic.” He jabs the cigar at my chest. “If you want something, you make