STOLEN SMILE

JENNIFER

"This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine."

-William Shakespeare

**************

THE GUNSHOT ECHOED IN THE air, and the tension was louder than silverware against porcelain plates. The Abellis cast me cautious glances, while my family kept their eyes downcast on their desserts, stiffer than the chairs they sat on.

Leaning back, I rested a forearm on the table and focused my gaze on the cigarette I rolled between my fingers. The anger was strong enough I had to choke it down. It burned in my throat, in my chest, and marred my vision with a red mist.

My eyes skimmed up an inch to find Luca, my underboss and only reliable cousin, wiping a hand across his mouth in a poor attempt to hide his amusement. My gaze darkened, conveying I might just go for shooting two cousins today. He sat back in his chair, his humor fading.

He'd just won a bet that we couldn't get away without any altercations today. And won double because anything involving the Sweet Abelli had been a bonus. My family gambled on everything- everything. Any possible chance to gain a buck, they exploited it.

I owed him five fucking grand. And I was putting the blame on a little black-haired prima donna, because if I thought about her brother right now I'd end up putting a bullet in his goddamn head.

There are some relatives you don't like ones you might shoot on your own terms if given the chance. But being forced into it...
that rubbed me the wrong way, like the lash of a horsewhip. My jaw tightened as venom crawled through my veins.

My papà had a fondness for kicking me in the ribs when I acted without thinking. My mamma used to smoke at the kitchen table in her nightgown after she and my father would scream the house down.

With my ribs burning and the cigarette in my hand, it wasn't lost on me that the apple really doesn't fall that fucking far from the tree. And I'd guess that those who'd known Antonio Melgren-even my own family-would be hesitant to think of that as anything but unfortunate.

I was a mold my father and the Cosa Nostra created. As bad a combo as a barrel of gunpowder and a little flame. Where my papà had lacked in my rearing, my mamma tried to fill in the cracks. She tried, through dilated pupils and frequent bloody noses. The late Elena Melgren did her best to teach her only child to respect women. Truthfully, it had never really stuck. It was hard to respect a mamma you had to pick up off the floor some nights. Not to mention, I'd had most things I'd wanted handed to me since I was old enough to ask for them. I didn't need charm and respect to get women-my impending wealth and position had done that for me since I was thirteen years old.

Luca's mamma was the first to man up and shoot me the tiniest scowl. My family could be as pissed as they wanted, but I'd appreciate at least one fucking thank-you for stopping a bloodbath from ruining a perfectly good Sunday.

Jesus. It was just Stefan anyway. Nobody liked Stefan.

The truth was, not every man could handle being a Melgren. My nonna used to say our blood ran hotter than most. Though maybe that had just been an excuse to justify why all of her male offspring were entitled, greedy, and possessive of things that weren't theirs.

A Melgren wanted what he wanted, and once he did it was practically his. Most likely through a variety of illegal ventures. But maybe she
was onto something, because it fucking felt hotter than it should.

I'll Be Seeing You by Billie Holiday filled the spacious backyard, the soft piano notes invading a tense atmosphere full of clearing throats and shifting gazes. I rolled the cigarette between my fingers, trying to quell the itch. I only smoked when I was too pissed off to see straight, or the rare occasion-unsettled.