Elect

Chapter Thirty-five Phoenix

“So this is fun,” I grumbled, wondering why I was literally sitting a foot away from the scariest mafia boss known to Sicily. He smirked and said nothing, while Frank, my father’s murderer, kept a gun pointed at my head.

Low point. Definite low point.

“I never said thank you.” I cleared my throat and tried not to sound as freaked as I felt.

“For?” Frank answered.

“Killing my father, of course.”

Frank snorted. “I cannot tell if you are upset I beat you to the punch or if you truly mean what you say.”

“Had he not done it, I would have,” Luca piped up from the front seat. The driver was taking us through a series of subdivisions, almost making me dizzy as trees and perfect houses flew by the windows.

“Come again?” I asked.

“Your father, I hope he’s burning in Hell,” Luca said crisply. “And I hope when I meet him there, I’m able to experience his death by my hands for an eternity.”

Shit. I really hoped Luca wasn’t going to be the one to kill me. I knew I’d already pissed him off enough for a lifetime of torture—which begged the question why was I still sucking in air when he’d made it perfectly clear a few weeks ago that if I double-crossed him, or as much as talked—he’d end me.

“Why am I here—”

“Not now,” Luca snapped. “It isn’t safe.”

“Right. Never is,” I mumbled.

“You’re lucky I need you. If I were you, I’d pray for my soul—because if this ends badly—yours will be damned right along with your father’s.”

“Can’t pray for something you never had.”