Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

46 | Nina

I step off the train, gingerly touching my face. Pain radiates through my skull, pounding at my temples. I ignore the concerned looks from bystanders, same as I have the whole train ride to this cursed fucking city.

Vegas. I didn't miss it. The stink of the streets, the stumbling groups of excited tourists who come here to empty their wallets at the glitzy casinos, resorts, and bars on the strip. The city has always felt dull to me during the day, almost like an intangible haze that settles over everything, gradually dissipating as night falls and it all comes alive. 

We took two days to finalize preparations, and the train itself took two more to get me from Chicago to Vegas. That means, if Massimo's estimations are correct, that I only have a few days. A few days to convince Luciano of my ruse, figure out how I'm going to get Santo out of there, and successfully execute my plan.

When I think about the totality of it, I start shutting down at the hopelessness of it all.

So I don't think. I just do.

Instructions from Massimo and Samuel try to run a constant loop around my head, but I know that all the logistics we've discussed don't matter if I'm not able to sell my story. So I focus on that, and I turn it over in my head until I can feel myself entering the headspace of the woman I was when I last walked these streets.

Back when Carlo was still alive, and I was nothing except quiet and subservient so I could avoid Luciano's wrath—and I slipped back into an idling limo outside what I thought was just another fundraiser, not knowing that my world was about to change. 

A middle-aged woman passing me stumbles to a halt, her face twisted in concern. "Honey," she says, voice lowered and frightened, "are you in any danger? Who did that to you?"

"I'm fine," I give her what I hope is a convincing smile, continuing along the sidewalk.

More heads turn as I walk, but I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead. Eventually, I break into a run, the urgency pushing my tired legs to go faster and faster as I travel some of the same streets that Santo drove me down all those months ago.

My mind races, unwittingly recalling moments from the last few days.

"You want one of us to fucking what?!" Samuel nearly shouts, and even Massimo's brows are lifted in surprise.

"I need one of you to hit me," I say, feeling a little fucking crazy. "How am I supposed to get Luciano to believe I've been held captive if I look perfectly healthy?"

Samuel continues to look at me like I'm a maniac. "He'll be just as suspicious if all your injuries look fresh. Christ, we can't hit you."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take. As long as he sees that I'm hurt, he won't care to look past that. And besides, I have a few days. If you do it now, the bruises will, you know," I wave my hands vaguely in front of my face, "have time to settle or whatever."

"Fuck," Samuel barks out a sharp laugh. "Everyone in this house has gone fucking crazy. We can't hit you! You're asking us to beat you up—"

"I know what I'm asking you. And I don't care who does it, but—"

"No!" Samuel exclaims, throwing up his hands.

Once again, I look to Massimo, who—I'm quickly finding—is my ally in all of this. He's the last person whose hands I would willingly place my life in, and right now, he's exactly what I need.

"You're placing a lot of faith in the character of your father," Massimo says. "What he will and won't notice. How he'll react to seeing you again. I hope, for your own sake, that you are correct."