Page 21 of Renata Vitali (The Five Syndicates)
forming his features. “What do you need us to do? Anything.”
“Right now, people in this town are convinced Angelo De Luca is good for them.” I’d been slogging my way through people, turning them away from Angelo step by step. There was still a considerable amount of people on the fence, and Manuel’s support would be the difference. “We need to convince them otherwise.”
Miriam nodded. “My dad has many friends that are soldiers and capos. I am friends with all the girls here, and their clients are all syndicate.”
“You’d need to be careful. Subtle.”
“I will. I can do it.”
And I believed her. Hell, The Benefactor must have believed her, too, or we wouldn’t be here.
I continued, “Some people will be on the fence. I can’t just show them my scars.”
“Why not?”
Manuel answered for me. “It’s suspicious. He can’t walk around without a shirt. People who cut, for instance, hide their scars. People will wonder why he’s not hiding them. Why now? If they ask those questions, it can be dangerous.”
I nodded. “I’ll need Angelo to hurt me where people can see. A black eye. Something on my face. Sleeves can cover arms. Pants can cover legs. It has to be the face.”
“And you can do this?”
I thought of Ren. She’d said it was difficult to hear me get beaten, and here I was, plotting more abuse. Hell, she’d just washed my scars, and now I was planning more marks. As soon as I realized I was even considering her, I pushed the thoughts of her away.
This was my syndicate.
This was my future.
It was the future I wanted.
… And it didn’t involve Renata Vitali.
Trusting is hard. Knowing who to trust, even harder.
Maria V. Snyder
Time passed oddly in Devils Ridge. Days seemed to drag, but nights passed too quickly. When it came to our nights in the library, they couldn’t come fast enough. Weekdays were easier. I had school to monopolize my time until the De Luca driver dropped me back off at the mansion, and I spent the rest of the day doing homework, taking naps, and waiting for one in the morning to come.
Weekends were the worst. I had no electronics, I saved reading for my library nights with Damian, and I could only sleep so much. There was nothing to do to pass time. Damian spent most of the weekends out of the house.
But this week, Angelo left for Oklahoma to seal another oil deal, and I hadn’t heard Damian leave his room. The housekeepers even dropped off his breakfast and lunch to his door. Still, neither of us approached the other. I spent the day lying in bed, mostly staring at the ceiling. In silence. So much silence.
In the jungle, silence is a sign of danger. Animals know to stay silent when a predator comes. The mafia world is a lot like the jungle, and I should have considered this with each passing second.
And then I heard it.
The first grunt.
I thought I was hearing things at first, but then it happened again. The sound came from the wall Damian and I shared. I sprung out of bed and inched closer. Another grunt. Dragging the nightstand to the air vent, I stood on it.
Angelo wasn’t here. This couldn’t be a beating. And when I peeked through the vent and caught a blurred image of Damian in bed, I knew it was definitely not Angelo. I couldn’t make out a clear image through the vent, so I scrambled off the nightstand and onto the bed.
I pulled the covers over me as if they’d protect me from the image spearing my brain.
Another grunt, but this time, he added, “Fuck, yes.”
A feminine moan filled my room, and she panted out, “Yes, Daddy. Faster.”
Damian groaned out, “Feels so good.”
