Franco
There is a moment in every person’s life that offers them the one thing they so hungrily search for to make them whole. Some fall in love, some land their dream job, and others find happiness in their solitary lives.
For me, it was the moment my father slipped a pearl-handled gun into my hand and allowed me to take a man’s life. I watched in awe as the blood drained from his limp body. I smiled when his eyes flickered one last time with knowing. With the realization that he’d taken his last breath.
There was power in it.
I found my calling.
As I stepped toward my first victim, I smiled. He was the first person I’d snuffed out without blinking. I took the gold fountain pen that still sat in the top breast pocket of his navy-blue designer Tom Ford suit. When I brought it up to my face, I noted the droplets of his blood on the object and smiled.
You can’t take from the dead, Franco,my father uttered from behind me.
His hand on my shoulder grounded me as I slipped the pen into my pocket, then turned to him.Si, non ne ha più bisogno.I told him that the dead man has no use for a pen in hell.
That’s the moment I earned my nickname.
My father lovingly gave it to me as a fifteen-year-old boy and from that moment to this, as I lean in and meet the cold dead eyes of my victim once more as a thirty-eight-year-old man, I smile and tell him, “You’ve now met The Keeper. I trust you’ll remember my name in hell.” And pull the white handkerchief from his pocket and stuff it into mine.
I no longer have to look at the objects to know that I sprayed their blood on each item I take. Because I ensure the bullet hits just right, allowing my gift from the dead to be covered in the ruby-colored liquid of my new possession.
Prologue
RAINA
“Dad,” I call, racing into the study to find my father hunched over a box. He’s rifling through papers and documents in such a rush I’m not sure he’s even heard me enter. “Dad,” I try again and he startles, spinning to face me.
“Rai, come in, baby girl.” He offers me the warm smile I’ve grown up seeing on his face. My father is almost sixty, but he can pass for fifty. Even though he’s getting older, he still keeps up with me.
I had my eighteenth birthday a few months ago, which has allowed me some freedoms, but he still monitors me. I’m the only child still at home. Growing up, it was just my brother and me. However, I’m thankful my older brother is no longer living at home. At thirty, he said he needed to venture out into the real world. What I think he meant was he didn’t want Dad watching what dangerous things he was doing.
I’m close to my parents, but it’s Andrea, my brother, who I’ve never been able to be around for longer than a family dinner. There’s a darkness that surrounds him and it scares me. When he finally left home, it was as if I had lifted a weight from my shoulders.
“What are you doing home so early?” he questions with a frown.
“I finished up classes early. There wasn’t anything going on after, so I figured I’d come and see if you needed any help. You know I enjoy doing your filing.” It’s a lie, but it easily slips from my lips. A terrible feeling had twisted in my gut when I was in English class, so I asked if I could leave. Since I’m ahead in class, Mrs. Drummond said it’s okay.
From a young age, I knew my father was involved with dangerous men. Even though he’s always kept it hidden, I stumbled across documents years ago that I knew gave away my father’s connection to our ancestors.
I have always connected the Lombardi name with the Nostra, and even as a young girl, I understood what darkness lies in my family’s history. My father, the man who does the accounts for a dangerous organization, can no longer hide his secrets from me.
Daddy has been good to keep me safe, but I have a feeling Andrea has already taken a walk down the sordid path. And as much as I know our father wants to protect us, I’ve already stumbled into that life without even knowing it.
They’re all dangerous.
Violent men. The kind you see on the television who hurt people.
We’re part of thefamiliaand there’s nothing we can do to stop it or to change our destiny. I know it, my parents know it, and soon I’ll have to walk that fine line of right and wrong.
“Come in, Raina, sit.” Daddy gestures to me to take a seat in the comfortable chair only inches from where he’s busy. I curl onto the sofa instead and watch him. He offers another heartwarming smile and carries on what he’s doing. Then continues to speak to the box of documents rather than me, “I’m finishing up some work here, then I have a meeting,” he says easily but doesn’t meet my eyes.
I know the meeting my father is talking about. He’ll go to seethem.The names of these men are not new to me and if you asked me to recite them, I’d be able to do it with no list.
“I was wondering if I can make us dinner tonight. The whole family together for once?” My question stills him for a moment before he shakes his head.
Turning my way, he responds with guilt shining in his eyes. “Not tonight, baby girl. I may not be home until late. Your mother is meeting her friends for bingo, so it’s just you.” His voice causes a shiver to race over me. There are many times that my father stays out late, but something about his tone makes me fearful.
“What are you doing, Dad?” I rise, stepping closer to him so I can look into those green eyes that match mine. “Tell me,” I implore.