Crooked Heart (A Death So Sweet Book 2) Read online

  Me and Tony. Hugging. Who would’ve fucking knew.

  “I actually have a favor to ask you,” he whispered into my ear, slowly letting me go. He’d spoken it so lowly, so softly, I doubted Mike had heard him.

  Was this a secret favor? I probably wasn’t the best person to ask, but I’d give it a try, whatever it was.

  I gave him a nod, grabbing the hair spray can once more and giving my curls another round.

  Tony slipped a hand into his pocket. Whatever it was must’ve been small, for the next thing I knew, he was beside me once more, hardly any distance between us. I lowered the can, meeting his green eyes. His back to Mike, he blocked out what he did next, and that was slip whatever it was he’d taken out of his pocket right in between my tits.

  It fit snugly there, tucked neatly beneath the red dress, but still. I had no idea what it was.

  And why was he hiding it from Mike?

  Mmm. It wasn’t any of my business, I supposed.

  “If you get a chance,” Tony whispered, leaning towards my ear, his fingers brushing against my other shoulder and causing me to shiver. To Mike, it probably just looked like he was flirting with me. “Give it to Carl.”

  Carl? Carl as in Carl DeLuca? Why on this shitty, twisted earth would I ever give anything to Carl DeLuca? Unless… unless it wasn’t a good present. Unless it was something he wouldn’t like, like blackmail or poison or something.

  I once asked why the Lucianos didn’t go after the head of the family encroaching on their territory. I had even suggested sending me after them. I might not take them all out, but I’d dwindle their numbers, for sure. Sylvester and Maddox bowed to their father when it came to outright attacking the DeLucas; Daddy Luciano didn’t want a war.

  Tony, it seemed, did, and since I’d so recently found out that the DeLucas were more than just an annoying fly buzzing around the Lucianos’ heads—they were actually a threat, a threat that now knew Mario was dead—I was inclined to agree with him.

  I’d killed Mario, so it was only natural I leveled the playing field a bit, right? This was all conjecture, I guess, since I didn’t know what it was Tony had slipped between my tits, but still. Once Carter and I got to the Gilded Rose, I’d excuse myself to go to the bathroom, and then I’d see what it was, no Mike glaring over my shoulder.

  Tony was slow to pull his head away from the crook of my neck, and I lifted a hand, running my fingers down the side of his face as I whispered, “I will. Aren’t you going to wish me luck? Tell me to break a leg or something?”

  Those cute dimples deepened as he murmured back, “Don’t break a leg. Your legs are too fine for that.” Those words might’ve sounded cheesy coming out of anyone else’s mouth, and downright silly coming out of Maddox or Sylvester, but Tony? Somehow, when Tony said them, the smile on my face became genuine.

  How the hell could Tony seem so sweet compared to the other men here? Why was he not as dark and twisted as everyone else? I wouldn’t go so far as to say he was the light in the darkness that hung over this house, but he was definitely on his own level. He was Tony, and even though he was surrounded by as much death as any of the Lucianos were, it didn’t affect him.

  How I wished I could be like that, still be genuinely happy and sweet in spite of everything that had happened to me. I wasn’t, and I never would be. The sweet little angel I was when I was born never had a chance in this terrible world.

  “But I will wish you luck,” Tony added, lifting a hand to the one I still held against his face, pulling it down and bringing it to his lips. He kissed my knuckles softly, never once breaking eye contact with me—not until he let go of my hand and walked away, leaving me to wonder just what the hell had happened.

  Tony. I think I might like Tony, as weird as that was. And it was pretty fucking weird, yeah? I mean, what kind of girl was I to not only like the craziness that came with the Luciano brothers, Viper’s quiet venom, but also Tony’s sincerity?

  I guess a gal liked what a gal liked. Couldn’t change it. Didn’t know if I would even if I could.

  My eyes darted to Mike, who watched me as he always did. He’d seen that encounter, but he didn’t act suspicious or anything. I gave him a smile and got back to work, this time on my face. Not too much makeup; I didn’t need it. My skin was clear and glowing on its own. And, besides, way back when, the makeup trends were different, anyway.

  A classic look was what I was going for, and whether or not I achieved it didn’t really matter. I’d be up on that stage, singing my heart out to the Gilded Rose’s most valuable patrons tonight. It was a pre-opening night shindig, a party that the general public couldn’t just waltz into. I knew the Gilded Rose was supposed to be a DeLuca front, but for Carl himself to be there? Well, I guess I’d have to wait and see.

  A knock echoed on my door, and I turned to see Sylvester strolling in, wearing a button-up grey shirt tucked neatly into dress pants. I never saw him wearing anything less. It was either a suit or a dress shirt. Never jeans, never t-shirts. I wondered if he took after his father in that way, although, technically, Daddy Luciano wasn’t even his real father. Sylvester was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed man, whereas Maddox had black hair—at least on the side of his head that wasn’t shaved—and equally dark eyes.

  Maddox was the stereotypical mafia man. Sylvester? The opposite, but it worked for him.

  “It’s about time for you and Carter to go,” Sylvester spoke, eyeing me up as if he was seeing me for the first time. I guess I had that effect on these guys, what could I say? If I had a superpower, it’d be to make the crazy ones go even crazier.

  Not sure that was a power I should toot my horn about, but oh well.

  “Let me get my shoes,” I said, moving toward my bed, where my sparkling heels lay. Full of beautifully-cut crystals, they were shoes not many people could afford, but to the Lucianos, money was no object. It wasn’t an object to the Hardings, either—though I did wonder what happened to my parents’ fortune, since I’d run away before I was eighteen, and my brother was younger than me.

  Ugh, you know what? I didn’t care. Money didn’t mean shit.

  Sylvester walked with me to my bed, saying, “Let me.” My hand stopped mere inches from the shoes, and I turned around, standing inches away from Sylvester’s lean body as he reached for them. My breathing hitched; it was impossible to be this close to him, to not smell his manly scent and feel my body go off on its own, my mind wandering, wishing we could do other things right now. Things that didn’t involve me putting on a show for other people. Naked things.

  Sex. I meant sex.

  Leaning my ass on the side of the bed, I watched as Sylvester took the heels to the floor, kneeling before me. He set them down, measured in going for the nearest foot, his hand feeling quite rough on the soft skin of my ankle. His mere touch sent tingles up my leg, and I felt my thighs clench, wishing that hand could travel up a bit more.

  It didn’t, though. It merely put on one heel, and then did the same thing to the other foot.

  Sylvester was slow to stand, his breath hot on my face as his blue eyes stared down at me. “I don’t like that you’re going out there without me,” he whispered. His hands found my hips, holding onto me gently, so gently and tenderly it should be an illegal embrace.

  I didn’t do gentle. I didn’t do kind or soft. At least… I didn’t think I did.

  I thought about quipping that he could always come with us, but his face was an easily recognizable one. Anyone who knew Carter’s face was dead. That was the difference between the two men, and it was why I was pretty much going tonight alone, as shitty as it would make me feel.

  Singing in front of a crowd, being put on display… it was like my parents all over again, only this time I couldn’t snap and kill them all.

  My lips, a deep red lipstick freshly applied to them, curled into a smile. “I’ll be fine, Sylvester. Don’t worry. I’ve faced worse things in my life than an enemy gang.”

  His blonde brows furrowed, his eyes narr
owing somewhat. “The DeLuca’s are not a gang.”

  “They’re not?” I played dumb.

  “No, just like we’re not a gang.”

  I tilted my head. “You’re not? Then what are you?” It took everything in me not to grin, not to smile up at him as I teased him.

  “We’re a family,” he finally spoke, the hands on my hips digging in slightly. “A family you’re now a part of, Lola. You might not be able to wear the mask tonight, but remember, you’re our angel now. No one else’s.” Sylvester left me with that, pulling away from me without so much as a kiss.

  How rude.

  He did, however, grab the elbow-length gloves off my dresser and hand them to me. I slid them on, not saying anything, his words repeating in my head: I was their angel now. Their angel of death, their beautiful, fragile, broken beast whose wings were torn and the scars on her back long-since healed.

  Tonight I would be their angel who sang for the enemy, lured them in like a siren to crash their ships upon a rocky shore.

  Bring it.

  The Gilded Rose looked different tonight. Maybe that was because I knew we would have an audience. Me, mainly. Carter—AKA Aaron while we were here—was off with Newton, the owner of this fine establishment and the man who was responsible for hiring me. I was not their only act, but I was the best, or at least I was told. It’s why I was singing tonight, why I’d be singing on their opening night, when the public was welcomed inside the gentlemen’s club.

  And I didn’t mean gentlemen’s club like a strip club. Oh, no. I meant it like the old-fashioned clubs you saw in the movies, the ones where the air was filled with smoke more often than not and everyone had their own glass of whiskey. The kind of club that didn’t have dancing or any of that. It was a club that catered to the richer hearts around and not the kids trying to dance and hook up.

  There was a band tonight, as there would be for opening night. They were stationed in the back of the stage, and they’d received my setlist the day after I found out I was to be singing here tonight. I’d chosen a variety of older songs, songs that helped me lose myself in a past I’d never seen.

  I knew things weren’t so good for a lot of people way back then. I knew there were still inequalities people were fighting against today, women included. I knew that more than most, I think; it’s why I was the Night Slayer.

  Way back then, when Frankie was dominating the airwaves, it was a simpler time. Not in the racial or sexist aspects of life, but in general. There were fewer people around, which meant fewer bad people. There was less technology dominating our lives at every turn, less trolls online making fun of everything you did. The music had a finer quality to it. Smooth and easy, no autotune or any of that.

  A part of me wished I could go back to that time, but then, with how women were treated—as housewives and mothers only—I knew I’d snap and go on another murdering spree, so it was probably best I didn’t.

  After doing a soundcheck and making sure everything with the band was fine, I did slip into the restroom, away from Carter’s eyes, away from Newton and the bouncers and everyone else who worked at the Gilded Rose. No one tried to approach me; I didn’t know if it was because I was the talent or what, but I felt like an outsider.

  And I was, but that was okay. I was always the outsider, and I always would be, up until the day I died at the hands of one of the men I’d come to care for. Funny, wasn’t it?

  The restroom at the club held a small sitting room—something more restrooms these days lacked—and a few marbled stalls, along with matching sinks. It was all very fancy, all very gaudy; everything was lined in gold, roses sitting on the countertops and pictures hanging on the walls, hence the club’s name.

  I went straight into a stall, locked myself in, and pulled out what had been sitting between my tits this entire time, ever since Tony had come to see me in my room. I lifted it in the air, holding it between two fingers, staring at it. Even though I’d never seen anything like it before, I knew what it was. In my heart of hearts, I knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  Poison. Inside the small glass vial I held onto was poison. Poison meant for Carl DeLuca, the head of the rival family.

  Tony, Tony, Tony, I thought, a smile creeping along my face. What a naughty man you are.

  And then, of course, I did wonder: assuming he actually showed up tonight, which we had no reason to believe he would, how the hell was I supposed to slip Carl this stuff without anyone else looking?

  I stuffed it back between my tits, knowing the answer before I finished asking myself the question. It was simple, really. I’d have to use the other gift I was given: my looks. I’d have to use my voice to lure him in and my looks coupled with my body to get him alone. Once he and I were alone, well, distracting him would be easy enough.

  If Carl DeLuca showed his face at the Gilded Rose tonight, he was a dead man.

  As I pushed out of the stall, fixing my hair and running my hands along the dress, I wondered if Daddy Luciano would be grateful, if he’d finally agree to see me and thank me for taking care of his archenemy. He might still hate me for killing one of his sons, but surely it would be evened out a bit. And, besides, I was dying to meet the man that had raised Maddox and Sylvester. They were… they were my kind of crazy.

  Then again, Dickless-slash-Mario had been my kind of prey, so there was that.

  Regardless, I shouldn’t think of any of that right now, not with the night I had scheduled. I’d be singing for an eternity once the club was full of people who very well might be working for the DeLucas, possibly for the big man himself, and then, if that big man showed up, I’d have to figure out a way to get him alone. I knew the Gilded Rose had a few offices, rooms where he and I could slink back to for some privacy. If I used my body, batted my eyelashes a bit, surely I’d manage to ensnare him.

  But we’ll see. He might not even show. All of that might have to wait for a later date.

  Pushing out of the restroom, I meandered over to where Carter stood with Newton. Newton was a man in his forties, with dark blonde hair and eyes that whispered dark secrets. It didn’t surprise me at all to know he was close to the DeLucas, that this whole club was basically their front. He looked like a man who knew how to take care of business in more ways than one.

  Dangerous. Newton looked dangerous, but that word could be used to describe damn near any guy in this city. This whole place was full of killers and mobsters, people who would wade in blood just to show their loyalty to whichever family they followed.

  Newton’s dark eyes landed on me as I approached them, while Carter’s gaze took longer to move to me. Carter hated me, although I think he hated everyone. He just seemed to be the hateful type. Newton, on the other hand, would probably love me if he knew I was the reason Mario was dead, that the Lucianos had lost a son all because of my serial killer tendencies.

  Oh, he had to know. After what happened with Danny on the waterfront, I was under no impression the DeLucas and anyone who followed them didn’t know about what happened. They’d been told, and the rumor had spread like wildfire throughout the kingdom that was this putrid city.

  “My dear,” Newton spoke, his voice smooth and alluring, like he was used to playing the devil’s advocate, “I have to say, you do look stunning. Even if you couldn’t sing, I’m sure our patrons would still love to see you up on that stage.”

  It was meant as a compliment, and I tried to smile, to thank him for basically saying I was so beautiful I didn’t need any other talents. Yes, yes, the world ran on beauty. You had it easier if you were pretty, if you were the type of gorgeous that made men want to fuck you and women want to be you. What Newton didn’t know, though, was that my looks were not something I was grateful for. In fact, more days than not I wished I looked different.

  But that wasn’t possible, not unless I took a knife to my skin—and if I was going that route, I might as well just let Maddox do it, since he had a thing for knives.

  “How long do we have until t
he doors open?” I asked, sounding as helpless and girly as I possibly could, with nothing but the show on my brain. Oh, yes, I could not wait to get my ass up on that stage and sing for a bunch of strangers, could not wait until I graced this club with my voice.

  I hope you sensed the sarcasm there, because it was loaded with it. I could not want the opposite enough, really. A gal like me might be used to putting on a show, but that didn’t mean I liked doing it when I was forced to, and this? This was definitely not my choice.

  Then again, most everything in my life hadn’t been my choice, so here I was.

  Newton made a flick of his wrist, revealing he wore a watch beneath his suit. “Just less than thirty minutes. Five minutes before, I’ll take you backstage. Once we’re open, once the guests are settled, I’ll make an announcement, welcoming them all to the Gilded Rose, tell them I have some beautiful entertainment set up for the night, and that’ll be your cue to walk out and join me on the stage, where you’ll take over.”

  Seemed easy enough.

  Newton was slow to cock his head, studying me. He did not eat up my appearance as others might’ve, but he did stare hard at me, like he knew I was hiding something. “Nervous?”

  His question came out of the blue, and I glanced between him and Carter, finding Carter’s green eyes were dark with shadows, a stern, deadly expression on his face. The man really did not like being here with me, though I couldn’t blame him. It was like he thought I was going to fuck this up on purpose, get both him and I caught.

  No. After all, I’d made a promise to his dear Roman; I would bring us both back from this, and I would do it again and again, however long it took. However long I was forced to sing here.

  “No,” I said, earning myself a smile from Newton. “I don’t get nervous. I’m always ready to put on an act. It’s in my blood.” Not a lie, and that could reference more than just what I had to do tonight. Everything in my life was an act, in one way or another. It was ridiculously obscene how broken I was, and yet here I stood, somehow still kicking.

  The owner of the Gilded Rose laughed. “Good for you, dear.” He had a habit of calling me dear. I was not the kind of gal who appreciated that. I was not his dear, nor would I ever be. I was… well, I guess I wasn’t anyone’s dear.