Page 1 of Wicked Mafia Beast
One
Onyx
The study smells like cigars, old leather, and betrayal.
I breathe through my mouth, shallow and silent, pressing myself deeper into the gap between the heavy curtains and the cold window glass.
I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be in my room, playing the dutiful daughter, pretending I moved to Chicago to grieve my mother and stay close to family.
Instead, I've spent six months building a case that will destroy every last filthy Malone living. Starting with my father and his snake of a brother.
And now I'm trapped behind a thick, dusty curtain. My heart slams against my ribs, cold sweat slides down my spine and it’s hard to breathe as I listen to my uncle and father discuss my fate like I'm livestock.
"She's a liability." Seamus's voice slithers through the room. Low. Unhurried. The voice of a man who never has to raise it because people obey him the second his lips start moving. It’s that or you're dead and he replaces you with the nextdirty gun-for-hire. I know because I’ve witnessed the depth of his depravity up close and personal. Wiping blood off silk is impossible in case you are wondering.
"Your daughter has been investigating us, Declan. Building files and asking questions that will draw the wrong people’s attention. I told you to leave the bitch in New York," he continues.
My stomach drops so fast my knees almost buckle.
Sweat prickles along my hairline, cold like tiny needles. For the hundredth time today I wish I would stop forgetting to grab a clip for my hair.
How does he know? I've been so careful. I’ve stuck to using burner phones, encrypted emails. Damn, I’m so paranoid I only meet sources in coffee shops three towns over.
"That's not possible." My father's voice is weaker. It's always weaker. The man hasn't won an argument with his brother since before I learned to walk. Maybe longer. Hell, maybe never.
"Onyx wouldn't—" he tries again with a fraction more steel to his tone, but my uncle just steamrolls right over him.
"Wouldn't what? Betray her family?" Seamus laughs, and the sound scrapes down my spine like a razor on bone. I've heard that laugh before. Right before he broke a man's fingers one by one at a dinner party. The man apologized for bumping into him, but Seamus only laughed and it sounded just like this.
"She's been doing exactly that for six months. One of the editors she contacted owed me a favor. He sent me everything she submitted."
My entire body flushes with heat only to have ice chase it until my fingers start trembling.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
I knew the risks. I knew someone might talk. Journalists get burned by sources every day. But I was so close. Three more weeks. Three more weeks and I would have had enough evidence to drag every filthy Malone secret into the light and watch this empire burn to ash on the six o'clock news.
My palms turn slick against the curtain fabric. I wipe them on my jeans, one at a time, terrified of making even the smallest sound.
"What do you want me to do?" My father sounds tired. Defeated. The way he's sounded since Mom died. If I could see his face, I know I would find him looking at the floor while he’s rubbing at the wedding band on his finger.
He sounded just as defeated before she died as he does now. Only back then I didn't want to see it.
"I've already made arrangements." Seamus moves across the room. I track his footsteps the way a rabbit tracks a hawk's shadow, mapping his position by sound alone. Closer to the desk now. Farther from me. Not far enough. I’d love for him to walk himself into a six foot hole, but wishful thinking never really comes true.
Seamus clears his throat like what he is about to say chokes even a cold-hearted bastard like himself up. Ha. Not likely. Rat bastard is probably choking back a laugh instead of tears.
"Society 69 is holding an auction Saturday night. Virgin lots fetch premium prices, and Onyx's... purity... has been verified. Itshould earn me enough to buy a few more expensive favors I’ve had my eye on."
The words hit me like a fist to the chest. The air leaves my lungs. My knees threaten to buckle and I lock them hard, digging my nails into my palms until pain keeps me upright.
Virgin auction. He's planning to sell me at a virgin auction. Like cattle. Like furniture. Like I'm not his blood, his brother's daughter, the girl who used to sit on his knee at Christmas and believe he was just a strict businessman.
My brain hit overdrive on all the low down scammy and scummy ways my uncle has cursed my life just by being related. Like the time he eliminated the competition at a race track where his race horse was sure to win. Yeah, the horse won. But only after my uncle secured the win by having me feed the horse a poisoned carrot. I was eight at the time. Not so fun times after I learned the truth.
I know where at least two bodies are buried and I know my father knows even more.
And now I’m getting placed on the auction block.
