Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect #9)

“Yes.” I lean closer to her to whisper into her ear. “We slept together last night.”

She chokes on her juice.

“I know what you’re going to say—I don’t know him. But you’re wrong.” I lift my glass toward the people gathered in front of the stage set up on the other side of the lawn. “Look at them. The crème de la crème of the Family. I’ve known most of them since we were kids. Many have been coming to our home, having meals at the same table with us. I know what they do, which schools they’ve gone to, the names of their children and pets, and I know with whom they cheat on their spouses. All that information, all the years I’ve known them, and I’m not certain if any of them actually like me. Or who might bury a knife in my back if the situation suits their favor. So, what good does knowing all that stuff do me?”

“You don’t even know the guy’s name, Nera.”

“I don’t. And I don’t need to.” I turn to face her. “You heard about Alvino and his men being wiped out?”

“Yes.”

“I was there. Alvino had one of his goons grab me and take me to some middle-of-nowhere church.”

My sister’s face pales.

“My demon came for me. Carried me out in his arms while they were raining bullets on us. That’s why I was distraught Friday night. He saved me, but I had no idea if he made it out himself. He took a bullet for me, Zara.” I meet her gaze. “I’m inlove with him. And after this party, I’m telling Dad that I won’t let him marry me off. Ever.”

Zara grabs my hand, squeezing it, fear and shock written all over her face. I squeeze hers back and smile.

“I know. You’ll understand it one day. You’ll find a man who makes your heart beat twice as fast. Who’ll make you feel like the world isn’t revolving unless he’s next to you. It’s scary and beautiful at the same time.” I press a light kiss on her cheek. “You should head home. I’ll talk to Dad and ask him not to drag you to any more of these. And then, I’ll tell him I’m choosing someone else over the Family.”

I watch my sister as she rushes inside the house, probably to look for a bodyguard to take her home, then turn around and head toward Dania who’s standing among a group of our friends near the stage. String lights similar to those dangling over the tables but with smaller bulbs are decorating the tree just behind the platform, making the whole setting resemble a wedding celebration. I guess it is, in a way, considering the announcement my father is going to make. He’s made a deal with Efisio, the new leader of the Camorra. And he’s going to announce it tonight.

But, I am concerned about how the rest of the Family is going to take the news of us partnering with Camorra, and I tried to convince Dad to keep it on the down-low for now, and, instead, try to pay them off before the annual meeting, but he wouldn’t listen.

My father, wearing a broad smile on his face and carrying a flute of champagne in his hand, climbs the steps to the stage. Everyone around starts to clap. Nuncio Veronese has always had a natural charisma that allowed him to persuade people to do things that otherwise would require threats. If anyone canmanage to pull this off without everything dissolving into a civil war, it would be my father.

Eagerly awaiting his address, the don’s inner circle gathers around the stage. All the capos, that is, except for Batista Leone. He remains standing off to the side, by a table with the drinks. It’s rather out of character for him. He usually tries to be as close to my father as possible. The underboss appears to be in a good mood but keeps fidgeting with his glass and throwing looks over the assembled guests.

Someone within the crowd yells out a sleazy joke, and my father laughs, throwing one back. Yes, he still knows how to smile, but his smiles seem to be reserved only for the Family now. He starts his speech by recollecting a funny story from his youth, and people soak it up with wide eyes. I watch him entertain the mob while I play with one end of the red scarf I’ve tied around my ponytail.

After my demon left this morning, I felt that familiar dejection that comes with each of his departures. But this time, my heart didn’t ache so much because I knew he’d be coming back to me, once he’s finished doing whatever he needs to do. He promised to return to me, and when he does, we can start anew.

I lift my drink, hiding my smile behind the rim of my glass. Maybe I’ll even offer him my hand next time he comes through my door, introduce myself properly. And he will finally tell me his name. But he’ll always be my demon.

The smell of mold invades my nostrils as I step inside the gloomy attic. A startled flock of birds rises into the air, taking off for the hole in the roof. That roof is a disaster, with multiple missing shingles and cave-in on its outer layer, so as the birds frantically make their way out, I’m not surprised to see more debris and pieces of broken tiles rain through the openings. The wood floorboards creak under my soles as I walk toward the busted window, leaving footprints in several years’ worth of dust and grime. The entire house is basically a ruin, and the lawn is covered with so many overgrown weeds that it took me ten minutes to find the back door. I crouch beside the window and set my big rectangular case on the rotten floor, causing another cloud of dust to rise into the air around me.

To enhance the precision of the shot when firing a sniper rifle, getting into a stable position on the ground and using the bipod mount for leverage is best. Unfortunately, that’s not an option here, so I need to improvise. I flip the left bipod leg down and then brace the rifle’s stock against the side of the window frame. Gripping both the leg and the frame with my left hand to support the weapon, I push past the piercing pain in my injured arm and lean into my shooting position.

The shit ton of strung-up bare bulbs over the garden’s lawn doesn’t provide much illumination, but the tree behind the stage is covered with enough of them to create a perfect backlight that gives me a great view of my target. I focus my aim on the middle of his chest, right beside the champagne glass he’s holding. Then, I slowly start raising the scope, letting the crosshairs slide up and halt on the bridge of his nose. I don’t hold my breath, keeping my breathing to its normal rhythm. Breathe in. Breathe out. Pause.

In.

My target raises his glass.

Out.

I pull the trigger.

From this distance, it takes the bullet a little over one second to reach its mark.

One second. Less than it takes to draw a breath. A single beat of a heart.

But it’s enough to shatter a fragile dream.

Enough to extinguish a tiny ember of hope.

I’m a second too late to notice a blonde woman with a red silk scarf tied to her ponytail standing in the crowd.