Chapter 1: Underground
“Come on, Angelica.” My best friend Francesca’s voice was a whine over the phone. “You know you want to come out clubbing with us tonight. It’ll be fun! And besides, you need a break.”
I sighed in protest, but my mouth twitched in a smile. “Oh, well, if you insist.”
“I do.” Her voice was firm, the tone that meant There will be no arguing on this one, missy.
“Fine. What time, and which club?”
There was silence for a moment, and then she named a nightclub downtown. One my family owned that was a hotspot for other Mafia members in the Detroit area. It was mostly legitimate, but Don Giovanni and his men had backroom deals there all the time. Same with the handful of casinos owned by the Carbonis—my family.
“Sure. Meet you there around, what eight?”
“Works for me.”
“No, wait.” I had a flash of inspiration. “I’ll pick you up. Send a car around. I mean, we’re going out, right? Why not do it in style?”
I couldn’t see Francesca, but I didn’t need to: I knew her well enough to know that she was grinning on the other side of the phone.
“Girl, I like the way you think.”
“Naturally. See you then.”
“Bet!”
I hung up the phone, tossed it on the nightstand beside my bed, and flopped down on the covers. Sighed in contentment.
And then sat up, made my way over to my closet. Good thing I’d already had dinner tonight, so I didn’t have to worry about eating before meeting up with Francesca and a couple other friends. All that left was picking out something to wear, maybe a quick shower beforehand.
On second thought, shower first. Pick out clothes later.
Stepping back out of the closet, I made my way to the attached bathroom, turned on the water in the shower. Stripped, stepped in once the spray was hot enough, and took a quick shower.
After I toweled off and my hair was dry, I made my way back into the closet to select my clubbing outfit for the evening. Satisfied with my choice, I dressed, applied makeup, slipped into appropriate footwear, and arranged for a driver to take me to Francesca’s place before dropping us both off at the club.
Shortly after eight, Francesca and I were walking up to the club’s entrance, along with a couple of Francesca’s other friends.
Underworld had belonged to the Carboni family since... well before I was born. If the family history was any indication, we had taken it over sometime in the 1930s. It was partially used as a front for gunrunning and moonshine after the Jewish gang who’d owned it previously imploded in on itself. Nowadays, it was mostly legitimate.
Mostly.
Luckily, since they were with me, my group didn’t have to wait in line. The bouncer recognized me on sight, waved us through with a “Good evening, Miss Carboni.”
I gave him a polite smile in return, and then made my way into the main room of the club.
Hard rock pounded over the speakers, and I thought I recognized the strains of Lacuna Coil. “Heaven’s a Lie”, maybe.
“Why don’t you two go ahead and dance?” Francesca suggested to her friends. “Angelica and I will grab a seat and drinks.”
I bristled at her tone, turned on her once her friends were out of earshot. “Just because you’re my best friend, that doesn’t give you the right to order me or anyone else around.” I lifted my chin. “I am a Don’s daughter, Francesca. You are not. And this is not your club.” I paused. “You would do well to remember it.”
She swallowed, cleared her throat, averted her gaze. “You’re right. Sorry.”
Sometimes I wondered why I was still friends with her. We’d met in high school, had stayed friends through college. She wasn’t mafia, but one of her relatives—her dad or uncle, maybe—was. Low-level, managed one of the businesses that owed money to the Carboni family.
“Apology accepted. Now, why don’t you go get our drinks, and I’ll find somewhere for us to sit?”
Wordlessly, she went off toward the bar. Satisfied, I made my way around the dance floor to where several seats were spread out.
Claiming one, I let my gaze wander around the club, the mass of bodies, as I waited for Francesca to return with our drinks. There were plenty of regular Detroit citizens here, but I recognized several as those belonging to organized crime families—mostly Italian-American. Back during Prohibition, the Motor City had been home to a few criminal gangs made up of Irish and Jewish members, but they had largely died out during the Great Depression. The Purple Gang—the most notorious, whose members had been mostly Jewish—collapsed in on itself due to infighting back in the early 1930s. All that had led to the Italian mafia taking over Detroit, along with other well-established American cities: New York, Chicago, etc.
The Lacuna Coil song had faded out, was replaced with another by the time Francesca returned with four drinks in her hands. She handed me one, set two on the table for her friends, and slid into the booth beside me. “So, checking out the crowd?”
“Maybe.”
“Liar.” She grinned. “You totally were.”
I waited for a heartbeat, two. “And if I was?”
Francesca lifted one shoulder. “I say go for it. Find someone to have some hot, steamy fun with. You need to let loose, Angelica.”
I smiled wryly, took a sip of wine. “This from the girl who spent every moment not in class partying.”
“Which only proves my point. When’s the last time you hooked up with someone for a one-night stand?”
“Never, as you know very well. My dad’s very strict about that sort of thing, and there’s no point in getting on his bad side.” I shook my hair back over my shoulders. “Not unless you want to end up at the bottom of Lake Michigan-Huron. No, better yet, Lake Erie—which, again, as you should know.” A line from that old song about the Edmund Fitzgerald played in my head: “The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead...” Being a mafia don’s daughter, I grew up among violence, saw a lot of things, but that line always stuck with me. Haunted me.
“... Point taken.” Francesca leaned back in the booth, crossed her legs. “Feel up to dancing?”
I snorted. “I’m not nearly drunk enough for that yet.” Certainly not for the type of gyrating that passed for dancing, at least as far as I could see.
“Too bad.”
Before I could respond, her two friends found our table and joined us. I swallowed back irritation and forced a smile. “You two having fun?”
They both nodded, gave enthusiastic replies, but I wasn’t paying attention. They were Francesca’s friends, not mine, and probably only were here because they wanted the prestige of hanging out with a mafia princess. Well, the prestige in some circles, anyway. Maybe they thought some of my money would rub off on them.
Yeah, not fucking likely.
“Miss Carboni.”
The voice—male, one of the staff—broke into my thoughts. I snapped my gaze to his. “Yes?”
“You are needed in Mr. Carboni’s office.”
I nodded curtly, knowing what that meant. “Thank you. I’ll be there shortly.”
He gave a short nod of his own and then melted back into the crowd. Turning to my companions, I let them know that I would be back in a while. “But seriously, go have fun. Mingle, or whatever.”
I eased my way out of the booth, kept to the side. Headed for the door that led to a hallway, which then opened up into a maze of back rooms.
Minutes later, I was standing at the door to my father’s office. I knocked lightly on the door.
“Come in.”
I opened the door, stepped inside, closed it behind me.
My father was already seated at his desk, rifling through some papers. He set them aside when he saw me, clasped his hands together. “Good, you’re here. Take a seat, Angelica.”
I did, suddenly wary—and a little confused. “What’s this about?”
“Your twenty-fifth birthday is coming up.”
“...Yes. What of it?” I still wasn’t sure where he was going with this.
“Your mother and I have a long-standing arrangement with the Leoni family. My enemies would do anything to see this deal fall through—including attacking you in order to reach me. I have decided to assign you a bodyguard, to ensure your safety.”
I stared. “And you were going to tell me this... when, exactly?”
“I’m telling you now.”
…I hated that logic. “So, who’s my bodyguard?”
His gaze slid past me. I turned in my seat, spotted movement in the shadows as a dark figure stirred. Then he stepped forward, into the light.
“I am.”
I frowned. “I don’t know you.”
“This is Derek Blackwell, one of my enforcers.” Giovanni’s tone brokered no argument. “He came to work for me six months ago, and he’s very good at what he does.”
I swallowed as he stepped closer, bowed slightly. “Miss Angelica.” There was Ireland in his voice. With that accent, that name... he definitely wasn’t Italian.
So, why him? Non-Italians weren’t usually allowed to rise very high within the ranks.
“This is ridiculous.” The words slipped out before I could hold them back. “You’re not even going to tell me what this deal is, but you expect me to have a bodyguard?”
“Caith uait an ghalamaisíocht!” It was Derek who spoke. Out of turn, no less. In Irish.
I twisted back around to face him, my eyes narrowed. “What did you just say?”
“Stop being a little princess.”
From his tone, it was clear I was being insulted. I bristled. “You would dare—”
“Angelica.” My father’s voice had me snapping back to him. “That is enough, both of you.”
Derek cleared his throat. “If I may?”
Don Giovanni inclined his head. “Permission granted to speak freely.”
“I have no issues with being assigned as a bodyguard for your daughter.” He smiled thinly, humorlessly. “Neither of us have a choice in the matter, but it would be my honor. And I take my work very seriously.”
I remained silent.
“Then you’ll begin immediately.” Giovanni’s tone made it clear we were dismissed.
I stood, made my way to the door. Derek opened it, made an “after you” gesture, and closed the door behind us after we both stepped out into the hallway.
It wasn’t until we were several doors down from Giovanni’s office that Derek suddenly moved. Pushed me back against the wall, blocked me in with his arm, his body. Not quite touching me, but definitely in my personal space.
“What the hell?” My hands came up, shoved at him, but I couldn’t get any leverage.
Not that it did much good: He didn’t budge an inch. “I’m only going to say this once, peata, so listen closely.”
With not much choice and nowhere else to go, I huffed and folded my arms over my chest. Stared right into his blue eyes. “Fine. I’m listening.”
They were hard, cold. Like ice. “I’m here to do a job. Neither one of us is happy about it, but I will do my best to keep you safe. I am not your friend, Angelica.”
This time, I couldn’t hold back an incredulous laugh. “I never thought you were!”
Yeah, okay, he was hot with that lean body, those blue eyes, and that mane of black hair pulled back into a ponytail, and still...
There was something about him that scared me, even as part of me was drawn toward him.
Derek’s eyes searched mine; whatever he saw there had his mouth twitching faintly.
“Very well. As you say.” He stepped back, gave me room. Even though he hadn’t touched me, I found myself rubbing at my wrists. As I moved past him, he muttered something under his breath in Irish.
I paused. “What was that?”
“Nothing you would understand.” With that cryptic remark, he stepped in beside me. “You hate it, don’t you?”
“...Hate what?”
“How your friends use you. Your family’s money, your status. How your own family wouldn’t think twice about selling you off to a man you’ve never met to strengthen ties with other organized crime families.”
“What gave you—?” I cut myself off. “Were you watching me?”
“In the club, earlier? Yes.”
“I never saw you.”
“I’m that good at being invisible. Or you weren’t as aware of your surroundings as you thought.”
It irritated me that he was probably right. On both counts. But I didn’t want to entirely give him the satisfaction of knowing that. “Let’s say you’re right. What do you care?”
“No one would blame you for walking away.” His voice was soft, his accent almost deliberately more prominent. “For getting out of this life. Being a normal young woman. At least then you would find out who your true friends are.”
I really didn’t know what to make of that. “Again, what’s it to you?” A sideways glance showed that he wasn’t smiling, didn’t even attempt one.
“The truth hurts, doesn’t it, little girl? Like hell.”
As much as I wanted to argue with him... I couldn’t. “Look, Francesca—the one in the green dress—is my friend. The other two are friends of hers; I don’t really know them all that well.”
“That’s the price you pay, isn’t it, princess?”
I gave him another sideways look, held it this time. “Who are you? You’re not like any other enforcer I’ve ever met.”
This time, he smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Why don’t we go back to your little entourage? You might learn something about me.”
For the hell of it, I looped my arm through his elbow. “By all means. Lead the way, Mr. Blackwell.”
