Page 2 of Fatal Scheme

Leave the family.

Leave California.

Taking another look at my dad one last time, I turn on my heel, letting him rest as I prepare the last of my things. I’ve said my goodbyes to everyone on the property, from the maids to the chefs, to the guards stationed around our fortress, and there’s nothing left to do but go out into the world and show them exactly who Carter Cassini is.

There’s one the last duffle bag left on the floor of my childhood bedroom, all of my things reduced to suitcases and travel bags, but I take it all before following the hallway until I reach the grand stairs, reminded of all the ball gowns I’ve debuted down this exact corridor.

This house is more than a home, it’s my own little corner of the world, and as I shut the doors behind me, I silently vow that I’ll be back soon.

New Jersey fucking sucks.

It hasn’t been more than two weeks and I already hate every single person I’ve come in contact with, except the girl that shares this apartment with me, and one professor who complimented my first name.

Thankfully, I’m fitting right in, since everyone here behaves like total jerks, as if it’s a statewide personality trait to be an asshole, and I have no interest in knowing anyone except my targets.

Spending my nights holed up in this apartment has given me nothing but time for history lessons, and I’ve mastered everything there is to know about the Masseria family, from their origin point, down to their current leader, and active chain of command.

My targets are two mid-level kids, born into the Masseria and Kelly families that have since merged, to create a powerhouse that rules this quadrant of the Hudson.

Years ago, they joined together to defeat a smaller family by the name of Ricci, except they’ve staged a comeback, and trained their men to wage a war in an attempt to settle the score, which has begun to boil over in terms of their decades-long feud.

Soon enough, bodies will be dropping, but first, I need to get inside – closer.

Before coming here, I researched the two men I’m assigned to, and signed up for classes ensuring I’d be able to get near them, but so far, they’ve kept their distance, as have I.

I’m watching from afar, learning their habits, and attempting to make friends like dad suggested, if only to dig up dirt. They’ve attended this college for three years now, and if I know anything about kids that grew up in the mafia, it’s that there’s always bodies buried nearby.

It’s time to unearth those bones, spread them all around campus, and light a fire big enough to cause an inferno with the secrets I plan to distribute like candy.

“Hey, Carter, can I borrow some blush?” My roommate, Ellie, calls out, and I sigh, opening the door to her smiling face.

Don’t get me wrong, Ellie is a perfectly nice girl, someone I could totally see myself being friends with if I were a normal twenty-one year old, but alas, I’m not, and she doesn’t know anything about the boys I’ve marked.

Playing nice is a part of the job though, so I dig around in my vanity until I pull out a few options for her, and she yaps on and on about a party tonight, something else I’m not interested in.

“You should so come out! The girls are dying to meet you, and the boys are hosting a party a few streets over so we can walk!” She says cheerfully, opting to apply the blush in my mirror, rather than going back to her own room.

Flopping back down on my bed, I find myself missing my actual friends back home, all of which are members of the family, and understand exactly what it means to be a part of something bigger than yourself.

“I’m good, Ellie, thanks though. Raincheck?” I ask, keeping my temper in check as I manage to match her sweetness with a dash of my own.

“You’ve said that like four times, now! Besides, I hear some of the scarier guys on campus will be there, you know, the ones that are more your type than mine?” She hints, and I perk up, the thought of meeting my targets enough to get my attention.

“Why do you think they’re my type?” I quip, playing on her willingness to fall into girly conversations about boys.

“Because you’re dark and mysterious, something about twin flames and all that jazz,” she giggles, and although none of what she said is a valid argument, I continue to go along with it.

“I am not dark and mysterious.”

“Do you own anything that isn’t black? I mean, look at your room! It’s like a dungeon,” she fires back, and I bite my lip to suppress my laughter, knowing that she doesn’t have a clue as to what a real one looks like.

Sure, my curtains are total blackout, ensuring the sun doesn’t even think about breaching my room, and I’ve decorated minimally, barely unpacking my suitcases as my focus is always on my mission, but that doesn’t mean I’m the Queen of Doom and Gloom like she’s suggesting.

“Fine, I’ll come with you, but you can’t tell anyone about my attraction to dark and mysterious guys, deal?” I hold my hand out, and she practically jumps with excitement, clasping her tiny, manicured palm in mine.

“Deal. Now, let’s talk about what you’re going to wear!” She starts pulling open my closet door, shaking her head at the amount of black clothing I own.

I’m not a gothic chick, or someone that dons murderous colors purposely, the shade just looks good on me – with my deep italian blood, dark-olive complexion, and bright blue eyes, black just works for me.