Resurrection (Wesson Rebel MC Series Book 3) (5 page)

“Porca troia, Yes. Once more, I will do what needs to be done to set this family right.”

I don’t understand the words, but I get the feeling back from this woman.

“Tell me everything about the family. Who’s in bed with who. Who blindly follows Lorenzo, and who’s just waiting for an opportunity to usurp him. I can’t speak for Ira, but I don’t want this. I don’t want to be the first family. However, I’ll play the role of the head bitch until my brother is safe beside me. When Lorenzo and every one of his loyalists are spread out, and buried so deep down they’ll never see the light of day, I will rest.”

“Ruthless…good, you’ll need it,” Giada says approvingly.

I sit back to soak everything in, as they go back and forth about preparing to go to war.

Vita

Two hours later, calls have been made to Italy, and petitions have been made— now we wait. I opt to rent a swank hotel room and place it under Prophet’s real name.

Charles Rowe,
I would never have figured him from a Chuck
.

Being back in my aunt’s home felt stifling and I wasn’t ready for anymore family reunions. I want to believe I can trust her, but right now, it’s every person for themselves.

The old heads are behind us. They want to get things back to the way they once were.

I peer out of the window at the buildings in the distance. The troops are rallying, the wheels are set into motion. Yet it doesn’t do Ira any good. Hell, I don’t know where he is. A rounded roof with a cross catches my eye, and I snicker as memories rush back. It’s the last family outing we had before my uncle slit my throat and left me to bleed out with an apology and a kiss to my forehead.

“Hey.” Prophet’s voice makes me jump. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. You want to order up something?”

“I could use some fresh air.” The walls are closing in on me, and the bad times are blotting out all the good ones. “Have you ever been to Philly?” Eager to take my mind off what I can’t change, I launch myself into the role of host.

“No.”

“Let’s go downtown. It’ll be easier to blend in and make the time pass faster. I’m about ready to start climbing the walls.” I smooth my hand over my hair, making sure every one is in place. I’m a Lorello now. The surname comes with a vast number of rules, especially for women. “Any diet restrictions?” His eyebrows fly up, and I give a soundless giggle. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“I’m easy.” He shrugs. He’s thawed some since the trip.

I should appreciate it, but I don’t. Not when the motivation is pity.

I know I had a shit hand dealt to me, but at least I didn’t bitch about it. No— I hid
.

“Okay, let’s go then.” I stalk over to the desk, grab my purse, and head for the door. It probably seems cold, but it’s all I can do to continue to function. Ira is my everything: father, brother, and best friend rolled into one. The very concept of life without him makes me want to turn into a crazed maniac. I can’t win like that. I need to be levelheaded and steady, everything my father was and my uncle couldn’t hope to be. My father’s voice is still clear in my mind.
‘We have to be better, give them something to aspire to while reminding them, we’re not to be trifled with.’

Prophet meets me at the door and we leave the hotel.

Waiting is the hardest thing in the world to do, which is ironic considering how little effort it takes. As we step out of the building, I take in Rittenhouse Square. The landscape is lush and green while the flowers are blooming. It should be a beautiful day. As I guide him away from our hotel and onto the busy sidewalks, my eyes take in the changes. There are new shops, along with the old favorites who’ve stood the test of time. We pass the iconic red letters that make out the love structure. “This is Rittenhouse Square. There are plenty of places to eat, shop, and explore. Are you up for sandwiches?”

“Perfect.”

We head into a local bistro. The line is long, and I people watch while we wait. I envy them, all enjoying another day in their carefree life. I used to be like them. I focus on a set of well-dressed teens. Their makeup is flawless, their clothes cost more than most people make in a week, and their hair is artfully styled. They huddle together laughing as they discuss their latest crush, a new boy in school. I can scarcely remember those days. I let their meaningless chatter soothe me until our turn comes.

“What would you like?” Prophet asks.

Part of me resents him being here, taking Ira’s place. I shove the schoolgirl drama building up inside of me to the left. “Turkey club on flatbread, please.”

While he orders for both of us I take the time to examine him.

He cleans up nicely. Which isn’t a surprise. The way he handles himself is— however. He has a regal quality to him, which speaks to his family’s standing. He’s a Wesson Rebel now, but at some point in his life, he’d been brought up well.

We take the wrapped up sandwiches outside into the sunlight and begin our way down the sidewalk. The turkey and bacon taste like cardboard, but I continue to eat it to keep me going. We amble along in silence, finishing off our food. After throwing away our refuse, I realize where we are. The red brick multi-tiered house with wide spaced windows and cream-colored shutters belongs to the Edgar Allan Poe historic site. “You like Poe?” I ask.

“I guess.” He shrugs.

“Let’s check out his historical site and burn off some of our time.”

He narrows his eyes and opens his mouth.

The censure turns my stomach.

He shakes his head. “Fine,” he signs.

I can sense the agitation, but I ignore it. I need to keep my mind busy. I lead us into the courtyard, and we pause at the iron statue of a raven with outstretched wings perched on an iron pole ready to strike. It towers above our heads, an imposing welcome to visitors who dare enter Poe’s lair. I loved the macabre while growing up and Poe had been that tragic writing we all had a stage with.

“You really love this stuff, don’t you?” he asks.

I shrug. “When I was seventeen, I did a report on Poe for English, and it sort of launched into this hero-worship stage. Something about his epically tragic life woke the hidden romantic in me.”

Prophet snickers.

“We all have our phases,” I admit. The memory is a good one. I smile. The flicker of his lips immediately makes my pulse race as guilt crashes into me.

My brother is out there suffering at the hands of a maniac, and I’m laughing over my teenage years.
Don’t do this.

I move toward the white picket fence and climb the small set of stairs that leads us into the building. As soon as we step inside, I lose myself in his memory. I can imagine Poe sitting at the desk, which is painted in great detail onto a poster they’ve attached to the wall. His dark head would be bent as he penned his latest with a pen he constantly dips into an inkwell.

“They really took their time and made this accurate, didn’t they? My sister was an English teacher and I know more about Poe than I ever wanted to.” He laughs.

I look over at him, stunned by his admission.

His expression closes off and he moves away from the corner, toward the stairs.

So, I’m not the only one with secrets.

We continue to wind our way through the home chasing ghosts from our past. The building with its cracked walls, crumbling plaster, and exposed wood reminds me of us. Still standing, despite being worn and warped by age and circumstance. We’re in the basement when the phone rings. I pull it out and hand it to him, knowing I’m placing Ira’s life in his hands.

“Hello,” Prophet says.

I lean forward.

“By now, I’m sure you’ve figured out she’s lost the ability to talk, I speak for her.” He meets my gaze. “He wants to make a trade, you for your brother.”

“Does he think I’m stupid?” I ask, shifting my weight as he relays my response.

“No, but he does think you love your brother.” Prophet’s eyes are full of apology.

The sound of Ira’s grunts and moans spill from the earpiece, echoing in the cavernous space. I close my eyes tight. I’d offer myself up if I didn’t know it’d only lead to both our deaths.

“Yeah, she heard it,” Prophet replies. “She also knows better than to offer herself up for a slaughter that will extend to her brother. You hold all the cards without any give. You want to negotiate? She’s open to it. But you need a better offer.” He hung up, just like I instructed him to do.

It’s all I can do to remain standing. I can’t let them think they have me by the ovaries, I know this. Regardless, it feels wrong not to plead and promise to do whatever they want, so long as they give me back my brother in one piece. My legs shake. I reach out my hand and balance my body against the wall. The sobs get trapped in my swollen throat. Choking them down, I close my eyes, riding the wave of anxiety and grief. None of this is easy. It’s a game I need to win, a role I’m playing and hope people will believe. The pressure is intense and almost immobilizing after the self-imposed hermit life I’ve been living.

I push away from the wall and stand up straight. “I think I’m ready to go back to the hotel now,” I sign. The look of pity in Prophet’s eyes pisses me off. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want or need your pity.”

“You need to calm down, little girl. I sympathize with you because I like Houdini and that’s a tough spot. Knowing someone you care about is hurting. I get you’re the alpha dog when we deal with your family, but that’s the only place. Don’t let that go to your head.”

“Are you threatening me?” My nostrils flare as I breathe heavily.

“No, I’m reminding you.”

“Of what?” I ask.

“Reality.”

“Trust me, I’m up to my Goddamn eyeballs in that. I’m sorry it emasculates you, taking orders from a woman.”

“No, just taking them from a bitch who doesn’t know what she’s doing, so she barks because her bite is next to nothing.”

“You’ve seen my family and you still think that?” I ask.

“Correct me if I’m mistaken. But weren’t you the one who hid away for ten years, praying they wouldn’t find you? Doesn’t sound like someone I need to be afraid of.” His tone mocks me.

His words score a direct hit. I’m moving before I can get full control of myself. The slap is an involuntary action. My hand stings.

His eyes go wide. Anger floods the blue, turning them obsidian. He grips my wrist and pulls me to him. His breath is hot against my skin.

I tense, waiting for him to respond.

His jaw ticks. “If you ever hit me again, I won’t be so nice.” He tightens his hold on my hand, and I cry out. “See… I know how damn devious and destructive women can be. So, I don’t follow that weaker sex theory. This is the one warning you’ll get from me.” He shoves me away and heads for the stairs.

I follow behind him, more lost than ever.

Who is this new Vita? The one who just slapped his face without a thought. I haven’t been back twenty-four hours, and I’m already caught up in everything Lorello. Is this who I’m destined to be?

All that running and hiding, only to end up right back where we started.

Prophet

It took everything in me not to shake the woman until her brain rattled in her cranium. I refuse to play lackey to a female again. The ride back to the hotel is silent. Once we’re in our room, I tell her I’m going to check in with Dallas and escape out onto the balcony. She presses all my buttons. It unnerves me. That temperament she brings out…isn’t the one I’ve adopted in my new lifestyle.

“You took your time contacting me.” Dallas’s voice is gravely and tense.

“It’s been a lot of power position plays happening. Them being back upsets everything. Apparently, dear old Uncle Lorenzo is a psycho who’s made a shit ton of enemies. They’re eager to topple him off the throne.”

“That works in our favor at least. You hear anything about Houdini? So far, we’ve come up with nothing. It’s like the man disappeared. Yeah, I know, pun not intended.”