Page 5 of Blood Queen
Instinct makes me pull my chin toward my chest. That’s a big hit. One that could start a war. Especially after what I did to Viggo Scarfo, Sal Scarfo’s only son. It’s as if Uncle Leo is looking for a meeting of The Commission. Not that I’m opposed. It provides me with an opportunity I wouldn’t normally have.
“Vegas?” I ask.
“Evany,” he snaps, rolling his eyes at my talking out of turn, but I don’t care. I glare at him. “Justice for Luca and Stefano.”
Stefano was a dick, but my cousin Luca was kind. He didn’t belong in this shitty underworld we’re a part of and his death hurt—really hurt. The death of both my cousins is a direct result of the actions taken by the Leonetti family.
I don’t let much hurt me anymore.
He grips both my shoulders. “Yes. Or do you like Mr. Leonetti?” Is it my imagination or does my uncle sound a little jealous?
“He’s always been warm,” I say carefully. Men make things so complicated. Am I supposed to like Leonetti better than him?Is this some kind of test? A hit that high up the food chain could be a test.
“Can you do the job?” he asks, squeezing tightly.
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. The word hangs in the air between us uncomfortably for a moment, and in that flash, I think perhaps itwasa test—one I failed. But then Uncle grins and releases me.
“He’s just an ordinary man, capable of the extraordinary.”
He heads back inside, and following on his heels I say, “Whatever you’re up to, I don’t trust it.”
“You’re panicking because you’re being asked to destroy a life, but the moment you remove emotions from the action, you will be fine.” He waves a hand dismissively in the air at me.
The study door flies open with force, and my Aunt saunters in. Her hair is overdone—stiff as a board. Her cleavage so deep that nothing is left to the imagination. She looks like a Vegas showgirl—and for all I know she could have been one before they met. Or hell, when they met. She’s constantly trying too hard to look respectable. Affluent. Controlled. But she always misses the mark.
“More like we follow a set of custom-made moral codes,” I say.
Uncle Leo stops dead in his tracks and spins on the soles of his expensive leather shoes to face me. His posture shifts more erect. Leaning in close, he whispers harshly, sending his breath skittering across my face.
“Get the fucking job done clean and stop running your mouth.”
I inhale slowly to steady myself. “Yes, Sir.”
4
Past
Istick my hand in the feed bag and pull out a handful. Offering my palm to the goats, I giggle when their tongues tickle my palm. The distinct sound of metal cutting through the air breaches my brain.
I lean left slightly and exhale. A throwing knife, sharp and lethal, lodges in the wooden post next to my head, and I whirl around.
Eyes bulging from my head, I yell, “Not funny!”
“You can’t afford to be complacent, Kid,” Papa says.
“I’m not. I was feeding the goats.”
He gives me a stern look. “You’ve always got to be prepared.”
I jut my hip out and slam a hand down on it. “For what?!” I cry out.
“Emotion will get you nowhere. Fifty. Now,” Papa grunts.
I glare at him before stomping to the metal bar that is lodged between two barn beams. I dry my palms on my shorts and leap up, grabbing the bar.
“One,” he counts.
By forty, my arms scream in protest, but I don’t quit. I pull myself up, chin over the bar ten more times until he counts fifty, and drop down. My arms hang like worms at my sides. They tremble and quake as if they’re controlled by their own separate nervous system.
