American Dynasty

T H I R T Y - T H R E E

"He's dead," Beppe muttered as he sauntered back to his car. "He's fucking dead." Joe followed behind at a leisurely pace, strangely at ease with the situation. "What the fuck are you looking so chipper about?" Beppe demanded. 

Joe's smile only got wider. "I don't think you realize what kind of opportunity Flynn just dropped into our laps." 

"What the hell do you mean?" Beppe asked. 

"He's shown us his hand. And now that the others know that he'll flip on his allies and bed their daughters no less, he'll be a real hard one to trust. I imagine his supporters will be thinking twice about working with him." 

"It still won't be enough," Beppe grumbled. "Who knows how many of the Mob he has on his side." 

Joe nodded thoughtfully as they reached his car. "I think it's time I finally paid a visit to my old friend. Hopefully he doesn't shoot me on the spot."

-----

Stella's shaky hands could barely hang on to the glass of whiskey. The men had gathered in the parlour, every member of Flynn's gang was present. Some of them Stella already knew, but most she was meeting for the first time, and the dozens of eyes lingering on her were making her uncomfortable. 

She had spent much of her childhood around members of the Cosa Nostra (of course she hadn't known at the time), but there was something different about the group of gangsters in front of her. They were rougher, less concerned about their dress and more about what kinds of weapons they carried. There was little to no finesse to them. They were all stocky and built like farmers, with scars on their arms and weathered features on their faces. 

And then there was Flynn. Reclining back in his armchair, his eyes fixed on the fireplace. The light from the fire illuminated his face and sharpened his already chiseled profile. He had scars on his hands from years of fighting, but his face was virtually untouched, like an Italian renaissance painting done by Michelangelo himself.

A bit of his dark hair had fallen out of its usual coiffed style and rested on his forehead in loose curls. His nimble fingers passed back and forth over his plump bottom lip. His cupid's bow was perfectly pronounced, perfectly shaped. 

His jaw was strong and defined, the muscles clenching and tensing occasionally. Barely a hint of stubble travelled from his cheeks down to his graceful neck. His shoulders were not broad, but his posture was impeccable, giving him an air of strength and authority. It was the only thing about his appearance that hinted at his status. His power. His ruthlessness. 

Stella shivered. Was she any better? She had been ready to send her own father to an early grave. She had always heard how love made people do crazy things and her love for Flynn went deeper than she was brave enough to explore. 

"Quite the stunt you pulled back there." Startled by the voice at her side, Stella turned to see Aiden had come to stand next to her. "I'm surprised...and a little impressed." 

"There nothing impressive about threatening to kill your father," Stella muttered, her eyes cast downwards as she hung her head. 

"Oh, I didn't mean that. I meant about how deep Flynn's got his hooks in you." 

Stella's heads snapped back up. "What?" 

Aiden glanced at Flynn who was still sitting in his armchair out of earshot, staring intensely at the fireplace. "You aren't the first pretty face that's come blowing through this parlour," he said, keeping his voice low. "You are, however, the first who's been willing to kill for him." Aiden inched forward until his lips were brushing up against the shell of her ear. "To think, how close you were to killing your own father." 

Stella's eyes narrowed as she swallowed the lump in her throat. "What are you trying to imply?" 

Aiden pulled away and studied her with an calculating expression. His icy blue eyes sent a chill dancing down each vertebrae of her spine. The hair on the back of her neck stood straight up. "I think you already know, Stella Biancardi. Good evening." He drifted away soundlessly, disappearing up the stairs. 

Stella released a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. The air around her felt like it had dropped ten degrees. She looked down at her arms and watched as goosebumps began to appear all over her skin. She didn't feel right. Aiden didn't feel right. 

Stella stared at the spot where he had been standing before and tried to make sense of his words. She did, in fact, know what he was implying, but she was too scared to admit it to herself. I meant how deep Flynn's got his hooks in you. Flynn had never coerced her into anything. She was her own person who made her own choices. But was he influencing her? That was the idea that scared Stella the most. 

"Stella?" She was brought back from her deep thought by Flynn. She hadn't noticed him stand up from his chair and approach her. The space between his eyebrows was creased with worry as he studied her. "Are you okay? You're as white as a ghost." 

Stella nodded slowly and wrapped her arms around Flynn's waist. He was surprised for a moment before her hugged her back. 

"Stella, is everything okay?" He asked again, cradling the back of her head in his palm. 

Stella considered lying, she really did. But she knew she couldn't lie to Flynn when he was looking at her with those ocean blue eyes of his that were filled with concern and adoration. "I don't know if I can be okay," she whispered. 

Flynn's lips parted slightly as he searched her face for anything that could give him a clue of how to make sense of her words. He wanted so desperately to comfort her and take away any disquietude plaguing her, and it crushed his heart and soul to know that he simply could not. So instead, he continued to hold her, stroking her soft brown hair and whispering sweet nothings in her ear.