I push my door open and stand from the back seat, closing it behind me and watching as another car pulls up beside ours.

Victor points to the city limo with the fingers that hold his cigar. “You don’t know who I am, son…” He pauses right at the front of the car, before nudging his head toward the church. “But I’m about to show you, if you’ll accept my initiation.”

I know who he is to an extent. I’ve watched how they’ve walked around each other, and I’ve seen the Phoenix on the back of his hand. I know exactly who he is without knowing who he is. I don’t ask questions because he doesn’t.

“When you step through those church doors, everything you think you know about your life, about my life—is going to unravel. I’m going to show you things you’re not going to want to share, but let me tell you something.” He steps closer to me, his chest almost brushing against mine. I bring my eyes to his. “You won’t be walking back out of those doors alive if you don’t agree once you step through, so I’m giving you your chance right now, son.” He pauses, puffing on his cigar before turning his head. “Do you agree?”

I’ve made some pretty shit decisions in my past. Got Poppy and me into a heap of trouble among other dark shit.

This is different.

I nod. “Yeah, take me through.”

Following Victor up the stairs to the Gothic-style building, I pause when he widens the door, displaying a long dark corridor. Two men stand on either side of the door, both dressed in dark suits with shiny loafers on their feet.

Victor must sense my hesitation, because he turns to face me, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Ask me a question and I’ll answer honestly, but after you’ve asked your three questions, you step through these doors, Wicked, or you get carried out in a body bag, and I’m not talking about the kind the pigs carry you out in.” Victor La Rosa is mafia. His family is suits, guns, and high-end security, and his thick Italian accent is one you can’t ignore.

“Was it by accident you picked Poppy and me up?”

He rolls his lit cigar around his mouth, the wrinkle lines in his skin crinkling every time he does it. No doubt he was a good-looking man in his younger years, but time has not been kind to him. Money has, though, judging by his expensive suits, cologne, and the Cuban cigars he always has hanging off his fingers. That’s obviously leaving out the expensive mansion and cars too.

“Yes.” His eyes meet the young fuck from earlier. Ruby’s new soldier. Val. He comes back to me. “Next question.” He leans back slightly and the withered door creaks under his weight.