Chapter 3 3

He casually lit up a cigarette, leaning against the wall of the house with a slow shake of his head. "You don't have to worry. I'll get it paid," he stammered, his voice trembling around the words. I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Even if I had a single functioning brain cell left, it wouldn't have been gullible enough to buy into the nonsense spewing from his mouth.

I felt irritation simmering beneath my skin, causing everything to feel constricted, including my throat. My nails dug half-moon shapes into my palms, and I took a deep breath. Each inhalation seemed to intensify the pain in my chest, and for a moment, it felt like I couldn't breathe.

My eyes scanned the dark parking lot, searching for... I wasn't exactly sure what "how much is it?"

"You shouldn't be here," he signed, brushing off my question.

"No, you're right. I shouldn't be anywhere near you, but here I am. I need to figure out what the hell you've dragged me into!" My voice echoed, and I was certain the guy peering out from inside the house could hear me.

Jimmy's eyes widened, and he urgently whispered, "Lower your voice."

"Tell me what's going on," I insisted, my desperation seeping into my words. "Please."

"I messed up, Beverley," he confessed, his hands moving frantically as he signed to me. "This guy is nothing like Zic. He's worse." He continued, shaking his head as if trying to dispel disturbing thoughts.

"Who?" Unease prickled my skin.

He looked at me, diverting his eyes from the ground. "The Capo." He paused, glancing over his shoulder for the fifth time, before speaking in a hushed tone. "Shady, Zic Langston's son. Tell me you remember him."

I paused, attempting to jog my memory. But it drew a blank. I knew about him, though. Phil was his real name. They called him the King of Chaos, whatever that meant. He was young, malicious, and a formidable force to be reckoned with.

Rumours circulated that he had killed his father, Zic-the former boss-and that his ascent to the position of Capo was far from effortless. While I had never laid eyes on the man, I understood enough to recognise that owing anything to him was a perilous predicament.

He was the kind of individual you either wanted as an ally or wished to see eliminated.

So, what was Jimmy thinking?

Why would he venture into a Boka Civente-owned casino? He wasn't a complete fool, so he must have strategized this move. Aware that our family was untrustworthy, he had to know that one misstep could spell doom for us. Didn't he realise that we were marked targets? 'Betrayal to the Boka Civente was punishable by death.' Those were the words they forced my father to repeat incessantly as they killed him.

Licking my dry lips, I urged myself to calm down. "How much?" I was beyond caring about his dubious rationale; fear had consumed me.

"$35,000," he uttered without hesitation. My lungs constricted, and it was then that I leaned against my car, afraid my legs might give way. Did he really say 35k, or was I hallucinating?

"How did you lose $35,000? You can't even gamble!" I exclaimed, my voice tinged with disbelief and panic.

"Fuck, I know, alright?! I went there to test the waters. I've been doing jobs here and there for low-level managers, and so I wanted to see if I could." He dropped his hands, tired of communicating, I guess.

"See if what? You walked into a casino full of Made Men to test what? To see if they'd put a bullet in your pretty little face the moment they saw you? It does not matter what you do or how hard you try to redeem yourself. They don't want anything to do with us."

I was grateful for it, while he yearned to be accepted by a bunch of criminals.

He's lucky they didn't slaughter us all for Papa's betrayal.

He gripped his hair so tightly that I had to watch closely to see if he'd pull a few strands out. "Don't be a bitch, Bev. I don't need your shit."

"Too late." I retorted coldly.

"What should I do?" His eyes filled with tears, and I felt concerned to see him so upset.

He doesn't get to cry, not when he brought this upon himself.

I despised the mafia-how they operated, what they did. After this, I knew deep down that my destiny was practically sealed. It didn't make sense to me that innocent people had to suffer because they were born into a family of fools. I shouldn't be punished again for something I didn't do.

I won't let that night happen again.

I touched the yellow-beaded bracelet on my arm, taking a sarcastic breath. "How much money do you have?"

Please don't say anything.

"Stay here."

"Where are you?" I trailed off, losing my words as my throat burned with anger. He ran back inside the house, the door slamming shut behind him. I sighed, shuffling the snow underneath my black combat boots as I rubbed my aching temple to try and ease the headache. My hands were so cold that I was losing feeling in them, but I wasn't cold. I was fucking burning up.

When the door opened up again, Jimmy stepped out with a duffel bag in his clutch. He approached my car and dropped the bag in front of my feet, inclining his head towards it. "Open it," he demanded.

I glanced at him, scowling. "I'm not your dog. You open it."

His jaw clenched, and he scratched the stubble on his chin before crouching down and slowly unzipping the duffle bag. I stepped closer, trying to get a better look. Wads of cash were stuffed inside, almost spilling out over the top. I glanced from the money to Jimmy, going back and forth slowly. "How much is that?" I didn't even bother asking him where he got it from, because I'd be given some bullshit.

"20,000."

Shit.