Playing Prey For The Mafia King

The rain did not fall; it slammed into the earth.

Lila stood at the edge of Woodlawn Cemetery, her cheap black trench coat soaking through to her skin. The heavy drops battered the fabric of her umbrella. The cold seeped into her bones, making her jaw ache.

She stood perfectly still under the shadow of a massive oak tree. Her right hand was shoved deep into her coat pocket. Her fingers wrapped around a string of black wooden rosary beads. She squeezed them. She squeezed them until the sharp edges of the crosses bit into her palm, until her knuckles turned a bloodless white. The rosary had been her mother's. The only thing left of her.

Fifty yards away, Arthur Sterling Sr.'s mahogany casket was being lowered into the muddy ground.

Lila stared at the dark hole in the earth. Her stomach twisted into a tight, hard knot. The metallic taste of adrenaline flooded the back of her throat. She had stood at a graveside like this once before. The casket then had been white.

A line of five black, bulletproof Cadillac SUVs crawled up the cemetery driveway. The heavy tires crushed the wet gravel. They stopped in a perfect, synchronized line just outside the crowd of mourners.

Doors opened. Over a dozen men in custom black suits stepped out into the downpour. Their faces were blank. Their hands hovered near their waistbands. They formed a human wall, pushing the crowd back.

Donovan Sterling stepped out of the lead vehicle. The current godfather of the Sterling family leaned heavily on a silver-handled cane. His eyes were dead, scanning the crowd with the warmth of a reptile. Lila had studied his face for years - from newspaper clippings, from courthouse photographs, from the grainy security footage her handler had spread across a conference table two years ago. This family, the handler had said, tapping a photograph, ordered the hit. We just can't prove it yet. Lila had not looked at the photograph of her mother's crime scene after that. She hadn't needed to.

Valerie, his wife, followed. She adjusted the black lace veil over her face with a gloved hand. Her movements were slow, deliberate, and entirely performative.

Lila's gaze slid right past them. Her eyes locked onto the heavy, reinforced door of the final SUV.

A bodyguard reached out and pulled the handle. A pair of polished, custom-made leather shoes stepped onto the waterlogged asphalt.

Leo "Viper" Sterling stepped out of the car.

He wore a tailored black suit that stretched tight across his broad shoulders. A bodyguard immediately rushed forward, holding a massive black umbrella over him.

Leo swatted the man's arm away. The gesture was sharp, annoyed. He stepped out from under the cover, letting the freezing rain hit his dark hair.

He tilted his head back. His eyes, dark and entirely hollow, swept over the gravestones. A slow, mocking smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

This was the man. Not Donovan - Donovan was old, careful, the kind of monster who kept his hands clean.

Lila stopped breathing. Her lungs burned. The hatred hit her so hard her knees actually weakened. She bit down hard on her lower lip. The skin broke. A drop of warm copper blood coated her tongue. She swallowed it down.

Leo walked toward the grave. He didn't look at the casket. He stopped and turned his head, looking directly at his father, Donovan.

The air between the two men seemed to drop ten degrees. It was a silent, violent collision of power.

Valerie stepped forward. She reached out, trying to loop her arm through Leo's to present a united front for the cameras.

Leo shifted his shoulder, stepping out of her reach without even looking at her. Valerie's hand grabbed empty air.

He reached inside his suit jacket. He pulled out a silver Zippo lighter and a cigarette.

Right there, at the edge of his grandfather's open grave, surrounded by priests and weeping relatives, Leo put the cigarette between his lips. He flicked the Zippo. The blue flame flared, illuminating the sharp, cruel angles of his jaw.

He took a drag. He tilted his head back and blew a thick cloud of gray smoke into the pouring rain.

Lila's grip on the rosary tightened until she thought the beads might crack. She had promised herself she would feel nothing when she finally stood in the same air as him. She had trained for three years to feel nothing. She had been wrong.

This was the closest she had ever been to him. Fifty yards. Forty-nine steps. She had counted them.

She was not here to close that distance. Not tonight. Tonight, she was here to be seen.

She slowly tilted the edge of her black umbrella up. Just two inches.

A gust of freezing wind swept through the cemetery. It caught the hem of her cheap trench coat, blowing it back to expose her bare calves. The wind whipped her dark hair across her pale face.

Leo's gaze drifted lazily over the crowd. The smoke curled around his face.

Then, his eyes stopped.

Across fifty yards of pouring rain and gray fog, his gaze locked onto the shadow under the oak tree. He found her.

Lila forced her eyes wide. She let her chest heave. She projected every ounce of the terror she knew a normal girl would feel under that stare. She looked like a deer that had just realized it was standing in the middle of a wolf den.

She was not a deer. But he could never know that. Not yet.

Leo's fingers stopped moving. The cigarette burned close to his knuckles. His eyes narrowed. The boredom vanished from his face, replaced by a sudden, predatory sharpness.

He didn't look away. He stared right through the rain, right at her, and the mocking smirk returned to his lips. It was a promise of violence.

Lila jerked her head down. She yanked the umbrella lower, hiding her face completely.

She turned on her heel. Her cheap boots splashed in the puddles as she walked fast toward the cemetery exit. She didn't run, but she moved with the frantic energy of prey.

Her mother's rosary beads pressed into her palm with every step.

She left the graveyard, leaving the image of her terrified eyes burned into the Viper's mind. The first move had been made. The game had begun.

Lila pushed through the heavy iron gates of Woodlawn Cemetery. She stepped onto the curb and threw her hand up.

A yellow cab pulled over, its tires splashing dirty water against her boots. She collapsed the dripping umbrella and slid into the backseat.

"Lower Manhattan," she told the driver.

The cab smelled like stale coffee and old leather. The heater blasted against her frozen legs. Lila leaned her head against the cold glass of the window. She watched the raindrops streak across the pane. Her heart was still beating too fast.

Leo's eyes. The sheer weight of his stare. It felt like a physical pressure against her throat.

Thirty minutes later, the cab pulled to a stop in front of a rundown antique shop. A faded "Closed" sign hung in the dusty window.

Lila handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill and stepped back out into the rain. She pushed the heavy wooden door of the shop open. A dull bell clanged above her head.

She walked past aisles of rotting Victorian furniture and tarnished mirrors. At the back of the shop, behind a massive oak bookshelf, was a solid steel door.

Lila punched a six-digit code into the keypad. The heavy deadbolts clicked open.

She stepped into the underground safehouse. The air here was warm, smelling of expensive cigars and old paper. The lighting was dim, casting long shadows across the velvet furniture.

Madame Rose sat on a dark green sofa. She held a crystal glass of bourbon in one hand and a thin cigar in the other. She blew a perfect ring of smoke toward the ceiling.

Rose looked at Lila's dripping coat and pale face. She frowned. She picked up a dry cashmere towel from the armrest and tossed it.

Lila caught the towel. She rubbed it roughly over her wet hair.

"I saw him," Lila said. Her voice was flat. "Leo Sterling."

Rose set her glass down on the mahogany table. The ice clinked sharply. "You are out of your mind. That funeral was crawling with federal agents and rival hitters."

Lila walked to the small bar in the corner. She poured herself a glass of ice water and drank it in one long swallow. The cold water shocked her system, slowing her racing pulse.

"He is worse than the file says, Rose," Lila said. She gripped the edge of the bar. "He doesn't care about anyone. He looked at his father like he wanted to put a bullet in his head."

Rose sighed. She reached under the table and pulled out a thick manila envelope. She threw it onto the table. It landed with a heavy thud.

Lila walked over and opened it. A few grainy photos slid out, along with some redacted bank statements.

"My contact, N, did everything possible," Rose said. "Leo's movements are encrypted. He uses burner phones. He doesn't have a schedule. He is a monster with no visible weak points."

Lila picked up a blurry photo of Leo walking out of a nightclub. "No regular women?"

"None," Rose said. "Women are disposable to him. He never keeps them overnight. Do not think you can play a long game with his heart, Lila. He doesn't have one."

Lila let out a short, harsh laugh. She dropped the photo. "I don't need his heart. I just need him to become obsessed."

Rose stood up. She walked over and grabbed Lila's wrist. Her grip was tight. "Lila, listen to me. Once you cross this line, there is no coming back. He will destroy you."

Lila looked down at Rose's hand. The memory of her mother's blood pooling on the floor flashed behind her eyes. Her stomach cramped.

"I crossed the line the night my mother died," Lila said. Her voice was dead. She pulled her wrist free.

She walked to the far corner of the room. A rolling rack of clothes stood against the wall. High-end dresses, cheap uniforms, various costumes for various lies.

"I have to force his hand," Lila said. She ran her fingers over the fabrics. "If he is paranoid, I will become bait he cannot ignore."

Rose crossed her arms. "How? He doesn't take bait."

Lila stopped. Her fingers closed around a black silk shirt. The fabric was incredibly thin, almost weightless.

"His private movements are a mystery, yes," Lila said, her voice steady as she held up the dark garment. "But his public theater is not. Tomorrow is Sunday. He goes to St. Patrick's Cathedral for the morning mass. For the cameras and the press."

Rose nodded slowly. She looked at the thin shirt in Lila's hands. Her eyes widened slightly.

"It is going to storm tomorrow," Lila said. Her voice was soft, but her grip on the silk was white-knuckled. "I am going to give him something he wants to break."

The black sedan idled across the street from St. Patrick's Cathedral on Fifth Avenue.

Lila sat in the backseat. The heater was on full blast, but her hands were freezing. She unbuttoned her heavy coat and let it drop to the floorboards.

She wore only the black silk shirt and a pair of tight, faded jeans.

Outside, the New York sky had broken open. The rain was coming down in sheets, flooding the gutters. Pedestrians ran past the car, hiding under umbrellas and newspapers.

Lila pressed a finger to her ear. The wireless earpiece crackled.

"Leo's convoy is two minutes out," Rose's voice said in her ear.

Lila took a deep breath. Her chest expanded against the thin silk. She reached out and pushed the car door open.

She stepped out onto the sidewalk. The freezing rain hit her instantly. It felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing her skin. She gasped, her breath rushing out in a white cloud.

Within seconds, the silk shirt was completely soaked. The fabric clung to her skin like a second layer, turning translucent. The cold made her nipples harden painfully against the wet silk. Her dark hair plastered itself to her cheeks and collarbones.

She crossed the street, wrapping her arms around her torso. She forced herself to shiver violently. She stood near the stone pillars of the cathedral courtyard, looking exactly like a poor, stranded college student caught in a flash flood.

Three black Rolls Royce Phantoms cut through the rain. They pulled smoothly into the VIP drop-off lane right in front of the cathedral steps.

Bodyguards poured out of the first and third cars. They popped open massive black umbrellas, creating a dry tunnel leading up the marble stairs.

The door of the middle Phantom opened.

Leo stepped out. He wore a dark charcoal suit today. His face was a mask of absolute boredom.

Lila timed it perfectly.

She started running toward the cathedral portico, pretending she was just trying to find shelter. She clutched a cheap, worn canvas tote bag to her chest.

As she crossed the edge of Leo's peripheral vision, she let her momentum carry her too fast. Her foot slipped on the slick, rain-washed marble step. She let out a sharp cry.

She went down hard. Her knee slammed into the sharp edge of the marble. The skin tore. A sharp, hot pain shot up her leg, entirely real.

Leo stopped walking. The sound of her cry cut through the noise of the rain. He turned his head and looked down at the steps.

Lila pushed herself up on her hands. The rain washed over her face. She looked up, her eyes wide, wet, and perfectly terrified.

Their eyes locked.

Leo recognized her. She saw the exact second his pupils contracted. It was the girl from the cemetery.

His gaze didn't stay on her face. It dropped. It dragged slowly, deliberately, down her throat, stopping at her chest.

The wet silk hid absolutely nothing. The cold rain and her rapid breathing made the display impossible to ignore. The contrast between her innocent, terrified face and the raw sexuality of her soaked body was jarring.

Leo's throat moved as he swallowed. His eyes darkened, turning entirely black. The boredom was gone. He looked at her the way a starving animal looks at an open wound.

Conrad, the massive bodyguard standing next to Leo, stepped forward. "Boss. You want me to clear her out?"

Leo raised one hand. He didn't look at Conrad. He kept his eyes nailed to Lila.

He took a slow step toward her. His expensive leather shoe splashed into a puddle. The physical dominance radiating from him was suffocating.

Lila knew she couldn't stay. If he touched her now, the game was over.

She scrambled backward. She let out a choked sob, wrapping her arms tightly around her chest to cover herself. She pushed off the ground, ignoring the bleeding scrape on her knee.

She left the cheap canvas bag lying on the wet marble.

She turned and sprinted toward the subway entrance down the block, disappearing into the gray wall of rain.

Leo stood on the steps. He didn't order his men to chase her. He just watched her run.

He looked down at the soaked canvas bag by his feet. A slow, dark smile spread across his face.

"Interesting," he murmured.

He turned and walked into the church.

Down in the subway tunnel, Lila leaned against the dirty tile wall. Water dripped from her hair onto the concrete. She touched her bleeding knee, and a cold, victorious smile touched her lips.