The Woman in the Trunk - Jessica Gadziala Page 0,63

asked, expecting an answer, needing me to admit I wasn't.

"I thought I was following through with the oaths this family has made."

"You don't get to make those fucking decisions. Those are my fucking decisions," he raged, flipping the gun in his hand, whipping me across the face with it.

And I had no choice but to stand there and take it.

In the mafia, if you raised hands to a made man, you signed your death warrant.

That was just any old made man.

You simply didn't raise a hand to a boss.

That didn't happen.

Sure, he might kill me for what I'd done.

But if I put hands on him, I would be dead for sure.

I was placing my bet.

Taking the beating so I might live.

And my father had always been good with a beating.

It was harder now that I was taller than him, bigger and stronger than him. But he managed to make up for those shortcomings with a boundless amount of rage.

It wasn't long before I was tasting blood, and felt the tell-tale crack of a broken rib, the sharp pain that accompanied it.

A part of me couldn't help but wonder what Giana was thinking as I stood there with my arms at my side, taking a beating.

Did she think I was weak?

Did she think I was afraid of my father?

Or did she understand what was happening?

As the gun collided with my jaw, I finally swallowed my pride enough to glance over, finding her shifted up onto her knees, the chain straining against the wall because she had tried to move closer, wanted to do something.

Her wide eyes were on mine.

Fearful.

Concerned.

For me?

For her?

Maybe I would never know.

Because my father's rage only seemed to grow when I didn't cry out, didn't curse, didn't beg for mercy.

"Get on your fucking knees," he demanded, making me suck in a deep breath as I moved to do so.

I wasn't a man who truly understood fear.

Fear did nothing.

Acceptance of inevitable fate was a prouder way to go, in my humble opinion.

I could feel the cool of the cement through the knees of my slacks as I carefully went down closer to Giana, as I reached discreetly into my pocket, pulling what I was looking for out, tucking it into my fist, waiting for the opportunity to give it to her, to give her a fighting chance.

If I didn't make it out of this, I wanted her to be able to.

Emilio would find a way to help her. He would know I would want that.

I lifted my chin, staring up at my father, who somehow managed to look like an even smaller man at that angle.

"You are not the mother fucking boss of the Costa family, boy," he roared, lifting the gun.

I'd seen him shoot many men in my life.

From a car.

From a street corner.

From a window.

Across a room.

He didn't often do up-close-and-personal killing.

I was starting to see why.

His fucking hand was shaking.

Hard enough that the gun was trembling, and his aim was for shit.

Maybe I could make that work to my benefit. Turn just right at the exact right second. Get a graze instead of a direct hit.

I doubted he would shoot me when I was down. It wasn't a power move. His men were watching.

"You want to be a Capo dei Capi, you need to kill the current one," he added.

In that moment, it sounded a lot like an invitation to my ego.

But it wasn't that easy. It never was. If I killed my father to take his place, the other families would decide to kill me for my disloyalty. And then they would all go to war to pick the next Capo dei Capi.

If I went that route, there was no way I was going to make it out of this.

At least I stood a chance that my father wouldn't feel the need to be lethal.

"Family over everything," I countered, shaking my head. "Always," I added.

They were good final words, if this was the end.

The men would repeat them.

My father's reign would be questioned.

Especially if he killed me after them.

There was a rumbling sound coming from my father before his finger slid to the trigger.

My hand moved outward slightly, looking like I was bracing myself.

When his gaze didn't follow the movement, I slid the saved item out of my hand, passed it to a confused Giana, feeling her slide it into her own fist, hiding it.

There.

It was done.

Come what may.

Chapter Twelve

Giana

The handcuff key was still cool in my palm when the shot rang out. The sound