Page 5 of Damiano De Luca (The Five Syndicates)
Ripples of shock trickled into my bloodstream. The brunette turned, but I already knew who she was. Remembered the words she had speared me with before she’d left me. She’d promised revenge, and I’d been patiently waiting.
Renata Vitali was still the siren she’d always been—only different. Gone was the out-of-a-bottle blonde, replaced by a torrent of chestnut waves, which she had confessed was her natural color all those years ago. Full lips, the same come-fuck-me shade that laid squarely between ruby-slippers red and raspberry pink. Seductive eyes—part honey, part copper, framed by lashes thicker than Warren Buffet’s bank account. In the sea of heavily made-up women here, it struck me that she was still comfortable enough to wear her face bare.
Since she’d left, she traded her rich-girl sweats for a fitted black dress with a slit, barely-there pencil skirt. It was intoxicating. It was toxic. It was lethal. Even in ratty jeans and a hoodie, she attracted attention. Never on purpose. But this… this held purpose.
I had waited years to see her again, and now that I had, I didn’t know if I wanted her to stay or leave.
“Tessie, I’ve missed you.” Her smile flattened as she met my eyes. “D.”
D for Damsel.
She’d given me the nickname ages ago, and I was thankful she still abbreviated it in public. Small mercies.
Ariana started, which was a fair reaction. I was the new head of the De Luca family. Not many dared to use a tone with me, but Ren was
n’t just anyone. If anything, she had more power than everyone in this room—me included. It suited her. Damn, did it suit her.
I debated calling her “Knight,” but it was too intimate a first greeting for nearly ten years spent apart, so I settled for the nickname she loved to hate. “Good to see you, Princess.”
To be fair, she was a princess.
A mafia princess.
Ren’s eyes narrowed, tracking my every breath as I said goodbye to Tessie and followed her out the side of the church. It wasn’t lost on me that I was always following Ren, even when I didn’t realize it.
She reeked of strength. Wore it like a little black dress, hugging every delicious inch of her skin. Back when syndicates worldwide had engaged in costly, deadly wars, the Vitali family had been elected to run peace talks. Then, they became the mafia world’s government. The most powerful family in the underworld. Renata wore that power well.
It was weird seeing this side of her in public when she’d done everything she could to hide her strength back then. Most guys weren’t into girls who were smarter, more formidable, and just plain better than them. I was almost thankful for those douches.
That mentality had kept Ren single my junior and senior years of high school. Now, I guessed not. I eyed her ring finger, where a rock the size of the emerging hole in my gut rested. She followed my gaze to her finger, then lifted her chin and cocked a brow.
I met her stare. “Unapologetic and defiant as always, I see.”
“Because I’m wearing a ring, and you didn’t put it there?” She crossed her arms, and that damned ring teased me as it glinted in the light. “Save the chauvinistic bullshit for a damsel that would swoon.”
Her pun wasn’t lost on me. Neither was her attitude. I wouldn’t win this argument with Ren, so I didn’t bother trying. I reached for the door, one-hundred percent sure it was rude of the De Luca head to miss the funeral. Probably a thousand times worse for the Vitali representative—still couldn’t believe it was her—to miss it.
The door was locked. I pulled on it harder. Still locked. I’d never wanted to be a tight-wearing superhero and walk through the door’s metal more than I did now.
“Fuck.”
My eyes shifted to Ren and narrowed at how calm she was. It always unnerved me how cool and collected she never ceased to be. Like that time I’d caught her snooping in my room. Or when she’d pickpocketed my phone moments later.
I crossed my arms. “Did you plan this?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Da—” She cut herself off, but I knew what she’d been about to say.
When we were good, she was Knight, and I was Day.
When we were bad, she was Princess, and I was Damsel.
Needless to say, she was usually Princess, and I was usually Damsel.
I started to walk away, making my way to the front of the church. She made me feel unhinged, like the body my soul occupied wasn’t mine. We’d been away from each other for about ten years, but somehow, we’d instantly reverted to how we’d been.
“Damsel!”
Nope.
