SurvivorZ: Grave Harbor

16

ERICA

Carmine DiMarco was old school Sicilian. He'd see his crime empire crumble to dust before ever accepting that his daughter Erica could run the business as well as a man. If her brother wasn't up to the task, the only chance for La Familia was for one of his bastard sons back in the old country to step off a boat and take charge in his stead.

Erica found his chauvinism especially galling due to his misguided faith in Tommy. Her brother wasn't only incompetent, but a misogynistic playboy who turned their father into a cuckolded laughingstock behind his back. She knew it. Her "mother" knew it. The men under his command knew it. The only one who didn't seem to be aware of it was the don himself.

Trying to make him see reason would be a waste of time. Even if she offered him the truth on a silver platter, it wouldn't change anything. She'd still be a girl, fit for nothing except getting married off and producing male heirs to run the syndicate once he's gone.

In a weird way, she almost expected the family dynamic to change now that the DiMarco name had lost all meaning in the underworld. It hadn't. If anything, her father had become even more reliant on Carl Graves and her brother, shutting her out completely.

Or so he believed, anyway.

Since it was the only weapon in her arsenal, Erica wielded her privilege and irrelevance like a double-barreled shotgun. She molded herself over the years into the perfect spy, affecting an air of absolute disinterest, while squirreling away every exposed secret for the day it would best serve her purpose.

Her eavesdropping already proved useful. Blackmail afforded her training with firearms from one of the guards, as well as a healthy boost to her allowance. Planted evidence resulted in a bad ending for the guidance counsellor who wouldn't get off her case, while the girls who used to pick on her in homeroom met with violent accidents. She made it all happen while keeping her hands spotless and her father ignorant of her activities.

The only person who suspected the truth about her was her father's hired gun, Graves. He was shrewd, that one. Very few things escaped his notice. Yet he also seemed to understand the value of discretion, which was why she afforded him the same pass he gave her.

Judging by the hitman's glances at the chamber door, she guessed he was likely aware of her presence now as she listened in on their private conversation. As usual, his expression remained carved in stone. If her father or anyone else present in the room knew she was snooping on them, it wasn't because they detected it in his features.

"Who is he?" her father inquired, his attention focused on the dead body wrapped in plastic at their feet.

He directed his question to Burrows, the guy currently in charge of her father's subordinates. The tired-looking goombah had earned his promotion after Graves terminated his boss up north. Erica already snuck into her father's office to gawk at his predecessor's toothless zombie head for herself. The macabre trophy on his mantle, a token of loyalty from Burrows and his men, was wonderfully creepy. She especially liked how it followed you around with its eyes.

"We don't know yet. Despite his clothes, he's not one of ours," Burrows replied.

"Do we at least know what happened to him? I doubt he was already dead when he stole Harris' clothes and found his way in here."

Graves fielded this one. "Those bruises on his neck suggest he was strangled. No idea who did it, though."

"Somebody knew he didn't belong here," Burrows said.

"That means we've got more than just a breach in the wall," Graves noted. "We got ourselves a leak."

Burrows kicked his feet nervously. "Maybe this guy tried to take out Harris and our man recovered and fought back."