Page 13 of Renata Vitali (The Five Syndicates)
I nodded. “Thanks.”
“Why do you think the Romano syndicate is sending you shit?”
“We don’t know that it’s the Romano syndicate.”
“Who else?”
I shrugged and ran a hand over my face. “No clue, but it’s a fancy gift, and clearly someone knows I exist.”
“That should worry you. Today, it’s fancy cigars—random outta fucking nowhere gift by the way. Tomorrow, it’s poison in your lungs, bro.”
“Yeah, but that’s what tomorrow’s for.”
“You’re a planner. You don’t say things like that.”
Lately, I was doing a lot of things I normally wouldn’t. I didn’t have a choice. I needed Angelo out of my life more than I cared about The Benefactor’s motives. Everything unhinged Angelo, and I let him take out his anger on my back with his belt to buy me time, but one day, it wouldn’t be enough. When that day came, I—or one of our own—would end up dead. I couldn’t let that happen.
I studied Cris, eyeing the stress lines between his brows. “Do you trust me?”
“With my life.”
“Then, trust me on this.”
He heaved a sigh and nodded. “I have a package at my place, too. Amazon Prime, so I doubt it’s a bomb or poison. But it was sent to my house, addressed to you. Kinda heavy. You think I should call in the boys to scan it?”
“No, it’s clean.”
The package was heavy because it was filled with textbooks. Six thicker than oatmeal textbooks for an ivory-skinned princess who hadn’t come to the library for six days now. Fuck. Where was this guilt coming from?
I toyed with the cigar case in my hand and nodded to Cristian. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow before school.”
He cocked a brow. “And you’re going to school, right?” When I nodded, he shook his head and grinned. “Just tell me who you’re banging, dude. You know I’ll pry it out of you. No one’s interesting in this town, but it can’t be the Vitali chick. She’s hot, but she’s a sloppy mess, and she never misses a class.”
Renata was more than hot. She was fresh air slapping me in the face, better company than I knew was possible, and the goddamned cure to loneliness. She was also off limits, which I reminded Cris. “Renata is a Vitali, and Vitalis are off limits.”
“If it’s not the Vitali…” He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, and grimaced. “Please, tell me it’s not Laura.”
“Hell, no.” I wasn’t banging anyone. I ditched a few classes and stayed out late most days to follow the instructions on the cigars, but again, I couldn’t tell Cris. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
He nodded, accepted the dismissal with ease, and stood. At the doorway, he turned and faced me. “Why are people sending shit to you through me?”
I did it because he lived alone. His dad was currently serving two life sentences in a supermax prison. I suspected The Benefactor had the same reasons. I just didn’t know how he knew this much about my life.
“Because you’re so popular.”
Cris barked out a laugh, shook his head, and left. When the door shut, I plucked the first cigar from the case, unraveled it, and read the message, my mind reeling.
Look after the mafia princess.
I sent her to you for a reason.
Another secret revealed. Another secret to keep. I collected more secrets than a priest in a confessional.
To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. When you swim, you don’t grab hold of the water, because if you do, you will sink and drown. Instead, you relax and float.
Alan Wilson Watts
There’s an island far off the coast of India, where a tribe of people live isolated. For thousands of years, they’ve lived with minimal contact with the outside world. They still practice hunting and gathering, make Stone Age weapons out of loose metals, and greet outsiders with arrows. Years of isolation bred distrust, and the sight of visitors is met with violence and hostility.
