CLEMENTE, MY SHINING KNIGHT

"Brother."

I weave the knife between all five fingers with enough precision that the blade doesn't so much as graze me. Killing is an art, and I'm something of an artist in that regard. I find more comfort in weapons than I do in people – the senile variety that they are.

Only my brother is exempt. I glance at him now, and his lip curls up, cold with a faint hint of wickedness. He holds up his cuffed hands between us.

"It's time," I confirm.

He doesn't even blink as I use the knife to pick the lock of his cuffs, freeing him within the span of a breath. He grabs the knife and unlocks my cuffs in return. His skill with a blade is almost as lethal as mine, though in reality he's probably better.

We both let our cuffs slip off our wrists and clatter to the floor. The clinking sound of metal draws the attention of two guards, and they look over their shoulders at us. It's not like we were trying to hide.

"Inmates," the bulkier of the two barks at us, first glancing at my brother and then me. A muscle clenches in his jaw when he meets my dead stare. "Move quietly."

He won't stop us. No one will. Not unless they want to find their skin ripped like ribbons and bleeding out at our feet.

I rest my forearms on the top of the bars and stare straight at the scrawny guard. He nervously glances to his left-people do that when they're scared or lying-then forces his eyes back to mine and tries to square his shoulders like it means anything. His fake confidence doesn't fool me. I saw the flicker of fear in him; that's all I needed.

"Open this cell," I order. My voice is steady, and I mean it. Today has been coming for a long time.

The guard's pupils widen. He looks over at the bigger guard beside him, clearly waiting for orders. The smaller one is useless-inept, really. My sentence expired exactly thirty-seven seconds ago, and from the first heartbeat after that, I've been running things. He will answer to me now. The other guard, the bulkier one, is smarter; he turns his back to my brother and me instead of making the mistake of standing against us.

The corridor smells like bleach and old sweat. The lights hum and flicker. I can hear the faint jingle of keys hanging at the bigger guard's belt. The sound fills the tiny space between us, but it doesn't hurry me. I keep my feet planted, my forearms rigid on the cold bars, watching every small movement.

"Is there a reason we're still locked in?" my brother asks, dragging his tongue along his dry lips. He looks gaunt, like he hasn't had a real meal in ages. He's been waiting for this moment as long as I have-one hundred and fifteen days too long. His voice carries the same tired hunger I feel, but also the sharp edge of someone who knows the score.

The bigger guard swallows, finally aware that the situation has flipped. The power in the room has shifted-it's theirs to lose now. I wait for him to make the right move.

The scrawny guard jumps out of his trance when my brother whistles between his teeth as if summoning a lapdog, and then he shuffles over to our cell. His steps are slow and careful. I can practically smell his fear. He sticks out like a virgin in a whorehouse, this one. If I cared enough, I would tell him to grow a new set of balls before the rest of the inmates eat him alive.

He reaches for a set of keys pinned to his hip, hands shaking. My brother and I exchange a glance. He rubs a hand over his jaw in thinly veiled amusement.

"Vincent," I warn him. Barely. He'll do what he wants, like always.

He chuckles under his breath, and the guard visibly gulps. He has the sense to keep his eyes away from my brother and not provoke him. "Relax. I promise to play nice until we're out of this building."

"Ambitious of you. Your need to kill says otherwise."

The guard pauses with the key inserted in the lock. He looks between us, blanching.

"Aw." Vincent clicks his tongue. "You scared my new friend."

I check the time on the watch wrapped around the guard's wrist. Vincent may delight in dragging this out and having his fun, but I'm losing grip on my patience. My sanity is already in question, and reaching through the bars to choke the man responsible for my freedom is not something I can afford. There's only so much wealth can get you.

"If I'm not on the other end of this cell in five seconds, a bullet goes down your throat," I threaten. He knows who I am. He knows my words are not empty.

The idiot is still rooted in shock. Vincent beats me to it, slamming a palm against the bars with enough force to shake the cell. "Get this fucking open!"

So he's short on patience too. I guess there's only so much even my reckless and normally self-assured brother can take. Spending months in jail for a crime we did not commit is not something we will overlook. The second we get out of here, it will be a bloodbath. And we are starved for it.

The bulky guard growls under his breath and stalks to the cell, pushing his partner out of the way. He turns the key and pulls the door open before stepping out of the way. Vincent doesn't waste a second. His hand shoots forward to grab the other guard's arm and twists it violently around his back. The resounding crack is drowned out by the guard's agonising screams. Vincent lets him drop to the floor.

"If you're not going to use them, you don't need them," my brother snarls and sends a kick into the guard's mouth. A couple of teeth clatter out, and blood seeps down his neck. He passes out immediately, probably from the pain.

I crack my fingers to loosen up. At the rate Vincent is going, I'll need to be prepared for a fight sooner than I anticipated.

"I told you waiting until we were out of the building was too ambitious."

"He's not dead. It's called a loophole, motherfucker."

Idiot. I'm almost compelled to smile. Too bad I'm fucking drowning in anger and vengeance. There are debts to be collected, and I won't be wasting any more time.

"Our suits," I state rather than ask because everything should be ready. I had my men prepare for this weeks ago.

The bulky guard nods his head in a silent gesture to follow him. There's no way he isn't goddamn pissing in his shoes right now, but he holds his own. For that reason I stop myself from doing anything rash. Vincent moved faster, forcing me to be the responsible one while he swings his dick in victory. He had his fun, and I'm brimming with the need to release mine. I cherish my brother, but I could fucking kill him sometimes.

"Should I have let you take him?" He drawls, reading my mind.

"Fuck you," I throw back.

"No thanks. I intend to be balls deep in pussy and lots of it. As soon as I put a bullet in someone's head, I'm putting my cock in a warm cunt."

At least we're on the same page about something.

The warden is waiting by a door with his hands clasped behind his back. Weak and telling stance. If he had the fucking guts, he'd put his hands where I could see them because he'd have nothing to hide. He's nervous.

"Bad move," Vincent notes under his breath, humming. Of course he caught on as quickly as me. Our father trained us both, and he was the best.

"Your belongings are just in there," the warden says. His voice is a touch too loud, a touch too defensive. Vincent and I exchange a glance. Strike two. "You can get changed, and then I will discharge you myself."

Of course he'll discharge us. Why else would he be here? He's rambling about things we all know and don't need to hear. Distracted and anxious. Vincent looks at me from under his lashes, smirking. Strike three.

This time I move. My fingers curl around the warden's throat, my arm rearing forward to ram him against the wall. I lift him until his feet are off the ground and hold him in place without struggle. For me, anyway. He squirms and gags for air with his eyes popping out of his sockets. I take in a deep, calming breath. Already my muscles loosen and relax. How I fucking missed this.

"Something got you on edge?" My fingers tighten. "An ace up your sleeve you'd hoped to hide?"

He jerks his head in short and clipped movements. It's kind of hard to shake your head with a hand permanently indenting your throat. I widen my grip by just a hair, and he pulls in a greedy lungful of oxygen.

"No," he rasps. "I'm not hiding anything."

I can hear Vincent coming up behind me. "You've got to be really fucking stupid to lie to my brother when your life is in his hands. Are you really fucking stupid, Warden?"

He shakes his head with even more aggression. "No. I swear."

"On who?" I take a step forward and drop my voice to a whisper. "Your wife, Henrietta? Your daughter, Molly? Would you swear on them? Because if you're lying, it's their lives I take. And you get to watch."

"How generous of you," Vincent mocks.

The warden thrashes wildly against my grip. He becomes a madman at the mention of his family. Did he really think I wouldn't do my research and make sure I was prepared? My time spent in jail seems to have done more damage to my reputation than I thought. It's a good thing I plan on redeeming it immediately.

"Bastard!" He spits. "Don't you go fucking near them!"

The gall he has is...incredibly stupid. Vincent winces before a cackle tears out of him. The guard beside me visibly stiffens. And the warden instantly stops his fight. But the damage is done.

"I...no, I-" he stammers, chest heaving with panic. "I didn't mean to-no! It was instinct! You threatened my family, and-no! No!"

"Just because you tell me no doesn't mean I'll listen." I take the gun from Vincent, who snatched it off the guard. The warden continues screaming as I drag the head of it up, up, up, until the opening is sitting neatly under his chin. "Bastard, you said? Who are you speaking to?"

"Please," he whispers, gasping for air. His tears dampen my fingers still locked around his neck.

I click back the safety of the gun, and he cries out again, shaking his head. "Who. The fuck. Are you speaking to?"

"C-C-Capo."

"Say my name."

His throat bobs once, twice, mouth working nervously.

"Stop giving the air a blowjob and answer my brother," Vincent growls, slamming his palm above the Warden's head and sneering at him.

Caged between us brothers, he breaks out into a visible sweat. "Marino."

My finger settles on the trigger. "Repeat yourself. Loud and clear."

"Clemente Marino, sir."

"Better," I muse. "Hand me your phone."

His eyes grow impossibly wide with panic. Got him. Before he can even shake his head in argument, Vincent grabs a bunch of his hair and slams his head back into the wall. The warden cries out as Vincent leans down to speak harshly in his face.

"Again and again you deny my brother. Did he not abide by your stupid fucking prison rules from the moment we were incarcerated? I'm not sure what he's waiting for, but deny him one more time and I'll kill you myself. It won't be quick, either."

The warden moves, his quivering hand reaching into his pocket and handing his phone to me. My nostrils flare when I feel how wet it is and glance down to the front of his pants, soaked. I snap my gaze back to his dreaded one.

"I'm sor-"

I pull the trigger.

The bullet goes through his chin and out his head, his brain splattered on the wall behind him. His dead body drops to the floor when I release him, and in seconds he's covered in his own blood.

"Took you long enough." Vincent shoulders past me and into the room.

I turn to the guard who'd been watching everything unfold quietly. Never uttering a word or putting up a fight. He, unlike his boss, has brains.

"Tissue," I snap.

Wordlessly, he retrieves a handkerchief and hands it to me. I wipe my piss-covered hand and then the phone before throwing the cloth to the ground.

"What happened here?" I ask him calmly, twirling the gun in my hand.

He hesitates just a moment. "The Warden tried to attack you when you mentioned his family. You shot him out of self-defense."

"And the cameras?"

"A glitch in the system. Went down two minutes ago."

We both know they didn't. I nod once. That will do.

Normally I don't have to take such precautions. I have power in this city and have judges and policemen eating out of the palm of my hand. Or I did, until a rival Familia got my brother and me locked up. Our status was shot to shit, our Familia even more so. All for what? They pointed their fingers in the wrong direction, and now we will point our guns in theirs.

I meet Vincent in the room and set the phone on the table between us. He buttons his suit jacket, already changed, and scrunches his nose.

"Smells like piss."

"At least your hand isn't covered in it."

"That's what you get for straying," he smirks. "Stick to your pain-in-the-ass big brother act and leave the reckless shit to me."

"Your logic is severely flawed."

"And my hand is piss-free."

I glare at him. He has an unfortunate point.

"We're not getting out of here that easy," he continues.

I strip off the disgusting prison uniform and put on the clothes I handed off the day I was incarcerated. A three-piece Kiton suit sitting nicely at around ten thousand dollars-the cheapest suit I own. After all, I had no intention of dressing up for jail.

I only answer my brother when I've buttoned my jacket into place and feel a little more like myself. In control and dangerous, as I know myself to be. That I need to remind myself of the fact is an insult to myself and one I deliberately ignore. "Has anyone ever marveled at your intelligence?"

He's too busy going through the warden's phone to throw a jab back. "Maybe you should have gotten the passcode before you ripped through his skull."

"He seemed a sentimental man. Try his anniversary."

"Does it fucking look like we bumped dicks over a five-star dinner?"

I snatch the phone from him and enter the date myself. My brother knew everything about weapons and killing and torture. Unfortunately, he was too preoccupied getting messy to bother learning that in this world, you needed to be as smart as you were lethal. Father taught us both, but Vincent always had a bloodlust stronger than mine. I loved a good kill, but I loved a game of chess even more.

The phone unlocks and automatically opens to a text thread the warden had left open. Vincent breathes down my shoulder in the same anger I feel coursing through me at the sight of these messages.

"We have company," he chuckles coldly.

"Let's greet our guests."

I grab the handgun. Vincent snatched from the guard and handed him the gun I was incarcerated with. He got lost in the fight when he'd leapt to protect me.

Vincent curses just as I check the ammo in my gun. "Seven bullets between the two of us. The messages said six men will be waiting."

I pull my suit taut, feeling a tiny smirk stretch my lips.

"Then we'll have an extra bullet when we're done here."

Veronica

The door to my study swings open without warning. I take off my headphones and eye my father, who charges in. He's usually the type to respect my privacy.

"Everything okay?" I ask even though I already know the answer. My father is a calm and level man. For him to be this rattled has to mean something really bad has happened.

He takes my hands in his and offers a tight smile. "Principessa, I will be gone for a short while. Your sister is in her room, and the cook will prepare dinner. I hope to be home late tonight, but business could hold me up until the morning, sì?"

I nod, his words not assuring me in the least. "Did something happen?"

"Business," he answers vaguely.

He prefers to keep both his daughters in the dark about anything related to the Familia. Knowing our world and the kind of "business" they get into, Sandy and I prefer it that way too.

"Okay." I give him what I hope is a sincere smile. "You'll be safe?"

"Always." He leans down to kiss my forehead, cupping my face gently.

I feel my stomach sink when he leaves the room. My father is a consigliere of the mafia, which means every time he leaves the house, there's no guarantee he'll come back. It's bad enough we lost my mother four years ago to a heart attack. Every second of my life is spent worrying over the only parent I have left.

I hear him bark orders at his soldiers downstairs. I head down the hall and peer over the stairs just as I catch a whole fleet of them following my father out the door. They're all heavily armed, and the air around them is tinged with panic.

I frown, knowing I have no place to get involved. This is men's work, chauvinistic as it is. Sandy and I are lucky enough that our father lets us study and make our own careers. Women in our world get married off as soon as they are of age. I went to school with so many girls who found themselves married and pregnant at eighteen by force. I'm twenty-four and unmarried, working as a nurse. It's unheard of for a woman my age to be single and without child and to have an actual stable career to support herself. But my father always afforded my sister and me the chance to make our own destiny and fought anyone who challenged him from doing so.

I go to her now, knocking on her door in warning before opening it. Her nose is buried in her textbooks so close she may as well be attached to them. She's in her last year of high school and super serious about her studies.

"Hey." I lean against her doorframe. She mumbles something incoherent back. "Studying?"

"Will be the death of me," she finishes my sentence with a groan. "What's all the commotion outside?"

"Not sure. Father said something about business."

"Ugh. Don't elaborate. I like pretending he's like any other lame dad and doesn't kill people for a lifestyle."

See? I smile gently when I notice her biting her lip nervously.

"He'll be okay," I assure her and take a seat on her bed next to her desk. She swings her chair to face me. "He took all of his soldiers."

"All of them? That sounds pretty serious."

I shrug. "Isn't it always?"

"I guess."

Sensing that she's still worried, I lean forward and close her textbook. She starts to protest until I cut her off with a firm look. Being seven years older than her, I've always had a tendency to mother my little sister to death. It comes with the territory.

"You need a break from studying. At this rate you'll be reciting the periodic table in your sleep."

"That would help me ace my test."

I roll my eyes. "Come on. Let's help Carlotta with dinner."

Though we grew up generally wealthy and privileged, we were raised to never take anything for granted. We had cooks and maids, but we've always done our own chores nonetheless. It was my mother who made sure of that despite my father's protests that there wasn't any need. He was accustomed to that life, having grown up in it. Mother was an outsider and came from a middle-class family. She made sure Father didn't spoil us to death.

"Veronica. Sandra." Carlotta smiles warmly at us when we enter the kitchen. She refused to shorten our names, saying they were too beautiful to be cut off. "You are here to help?"

"What can we do?" I ask, already rolling up my sleeves.

"The vegetables-cut and sauté them, sì? Sandra, you will start on the rice."

We get to work and immediately fall into conversation. Carlotta is so much like a mother figure that sometimes that aching gape in my chest after losing Mother doesn't feel so bad. It hurts every day, but good people help you live with the bad things you've faced.

"What is she muttering?" Carlotta raises a brow at Sandy, who huffs.

"The periodic table. I have to memorise the entire thing for tomorrow's chemistry test."

"You stress too much," she chastises, playfully flicking Sandy's hip with a towel. "Cooking is meant for relaxing."

"And tests are meant to be aced."

Carlotta shakes her head and moves to me, clearly giving up on my sister, who starts mumbling again. "I have been meaning to ask you something."

"Sure." I don't miss how she's dropped her voice to a whisper.

"You've just turned twenty-four, Veronica. You are in a good place. Don't you think...maybe it is time to think about marriage?"

I'm not surprised. Carlotta's been dropping hints on the subject lately. She'd probably ask my father about it too if she wasn't so terrified of him.

"Carlotta, please." I sigh. "Marriage will come once I've fallen in love."

"Is there no one you love?"

"No, and I refuse to marry a stranger in hopes of maybe falling in love with them down the road. I know that's how we do things in our familia, but I want to love and be loved."

"Ma stai scherzando?" She throws her hands up. My lips twitch.

"No, I'm not kidding you."

"The girls these days. I love you, Veronica, but you are taking for granted what your papa gave you. You have completed your studies, and you have a job. So many of the girls did not get this opportunity. Don't – what is it you people say? – "Push it?"

She pushes her palms in front of her for emphasis. I glance over her head at Sandy, who's face-planted the counter in laughter. Little turd.

"Your papa has offered many men for you to meet. It is time to become open to the idea at least."

I shift, my mood souring at her words. "It's not like I need marriage to be complete, Carlotta."

"That is not what I say. But nobody wants to be alone, and having a companion can make life beautiful."

"My life is beautiful," I argue and kiss her on the cheek. "I have everything and everyone I need."

"Stubborn girl." Though she reprimands me, a small smile gets the better of her.

Dinner doesn't take too long, and once it's ready, we dive in. Carlotta and Sandy are engrossed in some kind of argument I can't even begin to make sense of, but I'm also really distracted. I keep checking my phone in case Father sends some sort of update or message to let me know he's fine. I don't know why I expect that. He never lets me know of his whereabouts.

While we clear the table and get started on the dishes, the door to our house bursts open. I look at it expectantly but am met with disappointment when I see Sergio instead. Sergio is one of Father's most trusted soldiers and all but his right-hand man.

"Sergio?" I immediately turn the sink off and dry my hands. "Shouldn't you be with Father?"

"I'm to stay here for the night. Your father will be a while." He speaks in a tone that gives nothing away, just as he was trained to do. I hate that I can't read him.

"Should we be worried?"

"No, but I advise you to go to your rooms for the night and stay there."

Sandy's hand slips into mine as she burrows into my side. "It must be serious if Father sent you to watch after us."

Once again, Sergio gives nothing away. "Upstairs. Carlotta will finish here and then go home."

My sister and I glance at her. Carlotta offers a reassuring smile I know she doesn't feel. We have no choice but to follow orders. As much freedom as we were given, our world doesn't allow us to disobey direct orders. As long as our father is consigliere, his word trumps all. Even he couldn't protect his daughters from the mafia if we went against his words. His power ends here, in New York.

We mumble an intangible goodnight and make our way upstairs. The house is eerily silent, and it's only then that I notice the rest of the staff went home too. Our usually busy house seems silent and still. It makes me uncomfortable.

"Will you sleep in my room?" Sandy whispers.

I'm already nodding. I don't want to be alone tonight either.

I don't think either of us is up for conversation. There's barely contained panic in the entire house, and we can feel it. The familiar sounds of footsteps are missing, and the eerie silence is just that-eerie.

Sandy falls asleep pretty much as soon as we get into bed. She must be tired from studying all day. I suppose I should be tired too after spending most of my day working a shift at the hospital, but I'm wide awake. Restless. I check my phone obsessively through the night and at one point discover it's almost three in the morning. Father isn't home yet, and I have a sinking feeling in my gut, one that continues to grow. It's more than just being worried or cautious. This is different. Impending, somehow.

I wish I'd paid more attention to it.