Why were they acting that way? Did he know them all? How did he know them? Why do I even care? Oh, my G—
Lake’s head snapped toward the school entrance when she heard the door being thrown open. She sucked in a breath and just as quickly snapped her head back.
Please, please go away.
“Do you mind?” a dark voice spoke.
Lake swallowed then met the crazy man’s eyes again. Yes, I do. Shaking her head, she scooted as far as she could to the end of the bench. Looking out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him sit and pull a cigarette and lighter from his pocket.
He quickly lit the end with his Zippo before taking in a long drawl. “Why did you run out of there?”
Lake nervously bit her lip. “I-I didn’t.”
“Darlin’, I really wouldn’t try to deny it when you were the only girl in there running in the opposite direction of him.”
Shit.
Lake finally looked over at him, regretting it immediately when she stared into the dangerous blue-green eyes. Seeing him so closely, he looked much different than the other suits. Hell, he wasn’t even wearing one. Instead, he only wore dark slacks and a shirt. By the way he didn’t button his black shirt all the way up, it was almost as if he didn’t like wearing the clothes. Not only that, but he had a scruffy beard and well-past-shaggy hair which he kept slicked back.
Finally, she figured out why he made the hair stand up on her arms. Sure, he was dangerous like the other suits, but the man didn’t try to even hide it behind expensive Italian suits and ties like them. Made men were thugs dressed as millionaires, all except for this one. She only wondered exactly who he was to be able to get away with looking like that. I probably really don’t want to know.
She contemplated running from him, as well, yet thought better of it when she imagined what he would do to her if she dared.
She took another deep breath. “I was just feeling claustrophobic is all.” Hurriedly, she tried to take the attention away from her. “You didn’t want to finish the ceremony?”
“Fuck no. They’re lucky I made it to the V’s.” He took another hit then let the smoke roll past his lips, uncaring if it hit her in the face. “Now, Lake, why did you really run?”
Excuse me?
“Do I know you?” That had sounded better in her head.
“Maybe.” He gave a sinister smile. “Lucca Caruso.”
The underboss.
Lake tried to keep her jaw from falling to the floor. She should have known who he was, but she never would have thought someone so high up—let alone the son of Dante—would look like that. It was absolutely clear why he chilled her to her bones.
“So, you do know me?” Lucca flicked his cigarette butt to the pavement. “How come you’ve never come around the family?”
Lake stared down at her lap, unable to look at him. Clearly, there was no point in lying. “Um, I never really wanted to. I never thought it mattered if I did or not.”
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“Because I’m not important. My dad is only a soldier and has never moved up, even after all these years.”
Lucca began to laugh at her. “You don’t know shit, do you?”
“No, I don’t want to know shit about the family,” Lake confessed. She really didn’t like being laughed at, yet seeing the menace in his cold eyes made her wish she could take the words back.
Lucca leaned down closer to her face. “I don’t need to remind you who I am, do I, darlin’?”
Lake swallowed the lump in her throat as she shook her head slowly.
“Good.” He leaned back up and took another cigarette out of his pocket then flicked his Zippo, lighting the end and drawing in his breath. “Now, you have the boss, who makes all the decisions. His close, trusted friend and confidant is the consigliere. The Underboss is second-in-command. Capos head a crew of soldiers, and lastly you have associates, who are not members of the family, but business acquaintances. Your father is and always will be a soldier, and he has known that from the moment he became one. Only Italian men can become made men and take the omerta. Those who are not will stay soldiers till they die.” Lucca shrugged. “That’s what Google says, anyways.”
Lake thought about his words. Only Italian men can become made men. Something about that ‘rule’ started to piss her off, as if they only saw color and to make a man who wasn’t Italian would ‘taint’ the family.
“I see,” she whispered. “So, no matter how loyal my father has been to your family, he can never be made, because what? His last name is Turner and not Caruso?”
“I still don’t think you do, darlin’.” Lucca quickly grabbed her jaw to face him. “You need to think about which fucking family was here when your name was called.”