Trapped in his End Game (Series)

Mob RICO trial begins on the 3rd of December

FBI uses key witness in trial to nab Vittorio mobsters

Biggest arrest in ten years leaves Vittorio Crime Family decimated

“You’re doing the right thing.”

I tear my gaze away from the newspaper headlines, abandoning my obsessive search for any mention of my name, and look at the girl standing over my shoulder. A flash of heat ignites the skin on my chest when I look at her stupid face.

“What the hell would you know about the right thing?”

“You’re going to help put away very dangerous men, Melanie. It’s a good thing, believe me.”

“I should believe you when all you did was lie to me about who you were?” I snap. “Do me a favor and get the fuck out of my face.”

Yes, I might be doing “a good thing” by putting away Vincent, Joe, Paulie, and the rest of them, but at what cost to myself? Other gangs will move into the club, peddling the same coke they were. It’s a futile enterprise. And I’ll be somewhere else entirely, my identity stripped away from me.

At least I’ll be with Mom and Dad.

But thinking of them is just painful. I thought my dad would die of shame when they told him what was happening in the club. He gave me such a wounded look, as if it were my fault. As if I caused all this. He was the one who partnered with the goddamn Mafia. Why the fuck should I suffer for his mistakes?

“You never gave us anything about Tommy O’Sullivan,” she says, giving me a pointed look that tells me she’s going to ignore my request.

I sigh loudly. Thinking of him gives me a painful twinge in my chest. “I will not name him. I will not testify against him.”

She leans in over the moth-eaten couch, smiling under that curtain of blonde hair. “Mel, I know that he visited the club all the time. I know you have feelings for him, but-”

“That is my one fucking condition,” I growl, refusing to be goaded by her. “Drop it or I’ll walk.”

A knowing smile spreads over her face. “We both know you can’t walk away from this now.”

Hating her, I get up from the couch before I do something stupid like hit an FBI agent in the face. I walk through the shitty motel room and enter the bathroom, slamming the door shut. The light flickers like a strobe light, reminding me of the club. My chest constricts and I place both palms on the cool sink, my arms shaking. I barely recognize the face in the mirror; the deep lines under my eyes make me look as though I aged a few years in the past few weeks.

I never gave up Tommy, even though they pushed me to give up evidence against him. I just couldn’t do it to him.

You’re a fucking fraud.

His voice booms out of the mirror, making me shiver all over. I could have told them about the murder, but I didn’t. I don’t want to hurt him. He was the one guy I could stand, out of all of them. I could care less about the rest of the guys. They’re bad men-people who used me, extorted me, and hurt me. If they want an apology, I won’t give it. I’m not sorry.

The ghost of his hand brushing the hair from my shoulder still singes my skin. His lips still burn against my mouth as if he was just here, wrapping his arm around my waist and pushing me against the wall of the bathroom.

I wonder what he thinks of me now that I’ve ratted out all his friends.

My fingers whiten around the edges of the sink and I grind my teeth together as my heart gallops forward, too fast for me to keep up with. I’m in a motel room separated from my parents for our safety, and there will be weeks left of the trial. Weeks of staring Vincent, Joe, and Jack in the face across the courtroom, and them staring back at me as they consider the best way to kill me from across the room.

Suddenly I am sorry.

What have I done?