The Sweetest Oblivion (Made, #1)

by Danielle Lori

“There’s no such thing as good money or bad money. There’s just money.” —Lucky Luciano

Mamma was married to Salvatore Abelli—a high-profile boss of one of the biggest organized crime syndicates in the United States. Sometimes I wondered if the naivety was denial, or if she would truly rather watch Days of Our Lives than worry about my papà’s affairs.

Earlier this week, Papà had announced that Adriana would be marrying Nicolas Russo, the don of one of the five families in New York. My past transgressions were still tender wounds, but with this news added to the list it was like they’d been cut back open.

I was the eldest sister; therefore, it was my responsibility to marry first. But because of my mistake, my sister had been thrown under the bus—and to a man with a reputation. Everyone knew that when someone had a reputation in this world it meant one thing: stay the hell away from them.

I’d strode right out of the church doors and to the car before I could be corralled to meet my future brother-in-law. I was practically a pariah to my papà, so I was surprised he’d even noticed my absence. Besides, I was sure Nicolas Russo’s gentleman act was nothing but smoke and mirrors. Since Nicolas’s papà had died five years ago, the twenty-nine-year-old and youngest sitting don had become well-known in the underworld. Following his father’s footsteps, he was a cheat, had more blood on his hands than the entirety of the New York State Penitentiary, and was unremorseful about it all. At least I imagined he was unapologetic. The newscaster wouldn’t have reported a new victim with the name “Zanetti” every morning for a year—the family Nicolas had once feuded with for killing his papà—if he felt at all guilty. He was going straight to Hell with that attitude if you asked me.

I loved my brother, but he was reckless, impulsive, and lived by the code, “If I don’t like it then I’ll fucking shoot it.” And it looked like he wanted to shoot Nicolas Russo. There was some history between the two, and it wasn’t the good kind.

“Nothing personal, it’s just business.” —Otto Berman

A few years ago, Adriana went through a rebellious stage and chopped her hair off into a pixie cut. I’d never seen my mother more horrified. Adriana had lost her credit card, her acting classes at our all-girls school, and got glowered at every day for a month. It’d grown into a sleek bob now, but it was then I’d learned that cutting your hair in this house was worse than murder.

“So, where are you going?”

“Cuba. Saudi Arabia. North Korea. Pick one.”

My sister didn’t like anything mainstream or blonde.

“Ryan broke up with me,” she deadpanned.

My expression softened. “I’m so sorry, Adriana.”

“Write up a list of your sister’s hobbies. Likes and dislikes, shoe size, dress size, and anything else you think will be useful. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I breathed. How many men had he killed with the hand wrapped around my wrist? It wasn’t a hard grip, but it was heavy, firm, immovable. It made me aware of how much smaller I was, how unnerved and out of place I felt. How I couldn’t leave unless he chose to release

“Murders came with smiles, shooting people was no big deal for us Goodfellas.” —Henry Hill

My future brother-in-law was even more handsome beneath bright sun. It was unfortunate his personality didn’t match. What I found the most intriguing about his appearance, however, was the dark ink that showed through his white dress shirt. It was vague, but I thought it went all the way from his shoulder to the gold watch on his wrist. Nicolas Russo had a full sleeve.

Circumstances aside, it really was a beautiful day.

“This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine.” —William Shakespeare

Tony had been gloating over killing Piero, another idiotic cousin of mine. I hadn’t known Tony was the one to do it, but I was hardly surprised. Hardly moved either. I’d addressed Piero’s death like I would a Zanetti’s: with two fingers of whiskey. You do stupid shit, you get killed. That’s how the world works, and my cousin had done more than enough. In all honesty, I thought Stefan was going to put the gun down. But at that point I hadn’t cared. A flash of anger had pulsed in my chest from my cousin’s disrespect, and, oddly enough, burned even hotter at the fact he was threatening the Sweet Abelli. The annoying feeling rushed over me that only I could threaten her—so I fucking shot him and watched the blood splatter against Elena’s white dress.

I knew her lack of virginity wasn’t the reason Salvatore hadn’t offered her to me. It was only an excuse. Salvatore didn’t want me to have her, though I could hardly blame him. If I were him, I wouldn’t give my daughter to me either. It was easy to understand why Salvatore had little trouble offering his other one.

“There are three sides to every story. Mine, yours and the truth.” —Joe Massino

Today took me back to six months ago. It was the last day I’d had someone else’s blood splattered against my face.

I imagined it was paint—the red running down my body and swirling into the drain. If only guilt was so easy to get rid of.

“Why don’t you like Nicolas?”

“Lots of reasons.”

“Well, what’s the num...

“He fucked my gir...

“Behind every great fortune, there is a crime.” —Lucky Luciano

She didn’t like that he’d shot Tony either, but she must have known it was coming and hid in her room all night.

“We don’t break our captains. We kill them.” —Vincent Gigante

“Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world.” —Marilyn Monroe

“That I hate my fiancé. He’s rude, and you’ve seen him, right? Can you even imagine us having sex, Elena?”

“And I kept thinking, maybe there’s a reason he manspreads so much? He is big. Then I began to worry, so I started looking up pictures—well, videos—of men his size, naked, and that only made me worry more.”

“You were watching porn,”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what it’s called.”

Even though I didn’t approve of this marriage, it didn’t mean I wasn’t going to take the opportunity to dress up. Frankly, it was the highlight of my week.

“All right. I’m going to go find us some alcohol. Then we need to talk about this Nico I’ve been hearing about.”

“Check out the bloodstain on the patio. That’s all there is to tell,”

“That’s not what I’ve heard. Mamma said he’s hotter th...

“I don’t know who ...

“You’re living under a rock, Elena. Too many books...

“The quote of the century,...

Mid-thirties, with dirty blond hair and expensive suits always worn with a colored tie, Oscar Perez was handsome in a classic and charismatic way. He never lacked female attention, yet he always lavished his on me. He worked for my papà and was often around for parties, but since we’d had nothing going on I hadn’t seen him in months, since before the incident. It was one of the biggest reliefs, but unfortunately, all good things have to come to an end.

“Don’t you look as beautiful as always,” he told me, giving me a kiss on each cheek and lingering too long. “Demasiado hermosa para las palabras.”

He was the fairest Colombian I’d ever met, and for some reason I resented his blond, comely appearance. What a lie it was.

He’d always been subtly inappropriate—his fingers just grazing things they shouldn’t. Close enough to make me uncomfortable, but not too close to get shot by my papà. If he went further, would my father even believe me now?

It’d been six months since I’d even touched a man—that must be why I was having such schoolgirl notions about handholding and cigarette-sharing. Male contact wasn’t a normal thing for me, and even before this ring graced my finger, it hadn’t been then.

“The list? I want it tomorrow, Elena.”

“What do you mean, like do I carry a membership card that says ‘Mafia’ on it?” —Willie Moretti