I slap the button on the gear stick of my gray, Mercedes AMG GT Coupe into park harder than it deserves. I’ve been fuming since I received a text message from my brother, Ren, fifteen minutes ago. As a result, my poor car has taken the brunt of my anger since I left the gym in a haste.
Luckily, I hadn’t gotten as far as the women’s locker room, so I hadn’t changed out of the clothes I’d dressed in this morning. Thank fuck for Vin, too. It’s the only reason I was able to beat my brother here. God, I hope Dad only sent Ren and not Dom too. I can sway my twin much easier than I can our older brother.
A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of what Domenico is going to do when he gets his hands on Vin. How could he be so stupid? I wasn’t even supposed to be at the gym this evening, but I missed my early morning training session. It’s the only reason I was as close to where my moronic friend hangs out.
Closing my eyes, I wrap both hands around the steering wheel, squeezing the leather as I pull in a long, slow, calming breath through my nose. As I release it from my lips, my day mask sheds, letting the other Sienna Caputo make a public appearance. Slowly lifting my lashes, I glance in the rearview mirror, looking at my dark brown eyes and the black eyeliner coated thickly around them, the perfect wing end completing my look.
I am just as mentally and physically strong as my brothers, I chant to myself, seconds before pressing the button to turn off the ignition and climb out of the car. I am, dammit, and the whole goddamn world will see that one of these days.
Perhaps in ten short weeks, whether anyone likes it or not. That’s a promise to myself I intend to keep. I parked in an open spot directly in front of the single-door entrance to Raymond’s; a dive bar on the outskirts of town in one of the more seedier communities of Long Island.
Yanking the glass door open, I step inside a dimly lit open room. The bar is to my left against the wall, tables and chairs with patrons scattered about litter the main area in front of me. All of them men, shooting the shit with their buddies after work before they go home to wives, girlfriends, families.
A couple of pool tables and a dartboard line the back of the place. I see Vin almost instantly, but he’s yet to see me. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath when I spot Matteo De Salvo sitting to Vin’s right and Levi King in front of Matteo at the four-top table. I’m not surprised to find Matteo here. I know he frequents this bar; he has since before it was legal for him to drink. I know this because my brothers used to come here for the same reason—easy access to all the booze underage patrons could ever want; perhaps even more than just alcohol lurks among these walls.
What I didn’t know was that Matteo and Vin are acquainted, or maybe even friends. Why I didn’t know is the current question ping-ponging around in my head. Calvin—or Vin as I know him—and I have known each other far too long for me not to know that he’s friends with the Matteo De Salvo—the current world heavyweight champion of boxing.
You’d think with someone of Matteo’s stature, he’d find better places to hang out than here among questionable individuals. I’m judgy, I know. Him being here fucks with my state of mind.
As I stalk toward their table, fire licks the skin underneath my black leather jacket the closer I get. The knife I keep concealed inside my right sleeve itches against my wrist, wanting to join the party. Vin’s already in deep shit over Levi. If Vin brought Matteo into his mess, I will make him bleed from every pore on his body until he begs me to turn him over to my father, Antonio Caputo. Domenico won’t even get to lay a finger on Vin if I find out that’s the case—and it better not be the goddamn case.
My father is the Boss—or the Don, or even capo dei capi, if you prefer the television version—among the Italian-American Mafia. The latter was placed upon him many years ago by the media before Domenico was born. My grandfather