Moonlight and Shotguns (Dangerous Devotions: Book 2)

Prologue

(Sean)

August 21. The Saturday before I began my final year of school, but more importantly the day of my induction.

I didn't know it at the time as I walked into that smoky, gentleman's club located in the badlands of Demora, a city that lived an eternal night – A place always crowded with people desiring a bit of unhindered fun and luck at the casinos. Fools who did as they pleased, believing their dissipations could be left at the county line, but it's not that simple. Once evil is done, it's done. You can't take it back and you can't pretend it never happened. Decisions and actions make people who they are and that's the real truth –my truth.

It wasn't unusual to find me, a teenaged boy, roaming around the house of demons after midnight. Listening to the chatter. The laughter. The beer mugs clinking. Cigar rings floating. Rock ballads playing so loud my heart took on its rhythm.

I roamed freely. The waitresses served me a beer, no questions because everyone knew this kid. I was Adrian Gianetti's son. An exact, younger replica of the city's most feared man. I could do whatever I wanted. Go anywhere I wanted ... I was going to be just like my old man ... I'd heard it daily. And until that night, that remark had made me proud.

I will never forget, although I'd spend a lifetime trying. I'll always hear that love song, saying 'hey now, hey now'. I'll always see the tired dancers, still in their topless uniforms, sitting at the bar talking and rubbing their feet. I'll always see the remnants of a rowdy bachelor party – empty mugs on the table, plates, and baskets with chunks of chewed entrees and waded up napkins. Bunches of balloons anchored to random objects – except that one – the one that broke free and floated upward at the exact moment...

There was no warning. Beginning with a man in a tacky, green plaid suit named Double-Shot Verino, a regular visitor.

He waved me over. I hid a moan, like every other time.

"Look at this, kid!" He snatched my hand with a hearty shake and slapped my back.

The guy's real name wasn't even Double-Shot. It was a nick-name. Later on, I'd find out he'd earned that name because of the way he killed his victims. The guy was an ace shot – dead on accurate – it only took him one try to kill but he liked to show off by firing a second bullet through the same hole.

His close acquaintances called him Dub. I say acquaintances because I don't think I knew a single person who really liked the guy. He thought the shortened version was a term of endearment – they thought he was a loud-mouthed buffoon. Every time he walked out of the room, someone would always say, "If he wasn't good at getting the job done ..." – Fill in the rest any way you like – I'm sure someone had said it.

"How are you, sir?" Respect. No matter how much I disliked the guy, I had to pretend he was my best friend, return the handshake and smile.

Double-Shot grinned with satisfaction and turned to the three men standing with him. Billy Rose, Leo De'Luca, and Bruiser Baits. All on my father's payroll and that seemed a bit strange. They seemed to have been with him all night – the same guys who'd always had a quick excuse to ditch him in the past.

"Sir? Will you listen to this kid? Call me Dub. You rotten little jackass." That's what he called people he liked. "Damn, you're taller than me! Whatcha been up to?"

"You know. Same old stuff. Different day."

"Will you listen to that? That's a grown-ass answer right there! Give me a hug!" Roughly, the man pulled me close. He reeked of stale cigars, rum, and cheap women and I hoped the stench didn't rub off.

I kept my eyes on the nearby men, trying to read the punch line in their eyes. Billy Rose, a short and skeleton thin man, gazed down at his glass with a 'What an idiot' smirk.