by Bethany-Kris
“No, take Maple,” Abril said, “he’s my horse, and that’s the one they expect me to ride.”
“But he won’t come back.”
And Abril loved Maple.
“It’s okay,” Abril said, “he will be taken care of once you get to where you’re supposed to go. I know that.”
Valeria hesitated to move for the other horse who was blowing them his special kisses because his favorite human was close, and it meant a ride was coming. Turning to Abril, Valeria let the first tear fall, and she didn’t bother to brush it away.
“Thank you for doing this.”
She understood well just how much Abril was risking.
What it could mean if someone caught them ...
“Take care of my niece,” Abril replied, “and stay away so he can’t hurt you anymore, Val.”
“I will.”
Or she would try.
It was all going to fall on a hope, a wish, and a damn prayer, though. She didn’t doubt for a second that once Jorge knew she had run away, he would come after her. He would never stop tracking her down.
She was his trophy.
His thing.
He won her.
She belonged to him, and only he decided when to toss her away like trash on the sidewalk. But that was okay because Valeria would keep running. As long as it meant her baby was safe, and Jorge couldn’t hurt their child, then she would keep going.
To the ends of the fucking earth.
Abril checked the watch on her wrist, and said, “You only have three hours, now. Do you remember the spot where you’re supposed to meet Cruz? He has the fake papers you’ll need with him, and he can get you across the border, but only for a small window of time, Val.”
“Can I even trust him?”
“Papá killed his father—he’d do anything that went against my father or brothers. It’s only because he was my ... it doesn’t matter,” Abril whispered, shaking her head. In a flash, the emotion she had showed speaking about her lost love, something she guarded even from Valeria unless she slipped up like now, to cold in a blink. “He will be at the meeting place, but he will not wait past the time we agreed. You need to go, so go.”
“Right,” Valeria said. “Now or never.”
“Good luck.”
Those words—good luck—echoed in Valeria’s mind long after she had taken Maple from the stables and headed out toward the cliffs to the east of the compound. Two hours later, when her back ached, her legs felt like pins and needles had settled into her bloodstream, and her stomach cramped, she still thought about those words.
Maple never slowed.
The darkness turned black.
Valeria thought about those words.
Good luck.
Luck hadn’t found her yet.
And while she could taste the promise of freedom with every gallop of Maple’s hooves against the ground, it still felt temporary.
How long could she run?
How long would it be before Jorge found her?
2.
Seven years later ...
For a man like Christopher Guzzi, comfort came easy. Usually. He was most comfortable when surrounded by people he trusted—or better, those he loved. His family, for starters. When it was just them, his brothers and father or mother, and him, then Chris didn’t put on his mask.
The one all Guzzi sons wore.
The Don’s child.
A made man.
A proper Guzzi.
It never failed to amaze him that from the outside looking in, people had a perspective of his family that they shaped and perfected over the years. Untouchable. Vastly wealthy. Dangerous. They needed to be that way to everyone else, a formidable wall of a mafia Don and his army of sons lined up to protect their organization and legacy.
Because otherwise, they all realized what would happen. If someone couldn’t have what they had, then they needed to be what they were. Famiglias like theirs didn’t stay on top being weak, and God knew the Guzzis were anything but that.
Unless they were all alone, the doors closed, and it was just a father and his sons in private, the rules shifted. The masks left, and the walls dropped. Chris, at only twenty-three years old, enjoyed his position as a young made man in his father’s Cosa Nostra, no doubt about it.
He also liked this.
Easy conversation with his father about anything but business. His oldest brother, Marcus, laughing where he sat on the corner of their father’s oak desk—because fuck, it was rare for Marcus to let loose anymore, not when he was too busy being their father’s understudy.
Sometimes it seemed like the Mafia took over every aspect of their lives, controlling how they needed to behave even with each other, and blurring the lines between business, and blood. And then there were moments like these when they were all brought back down to earth, reminded of why they were all here.
They were family.
And this was when they were at their best.
God save the soul who thought to ruin it.
Gian’s—his father—laughter faded at the joke Marcus told before his gaze turned on Chris at the other side of the desk. “Have you talked to your brother?”
Chris had four brothers, and yet, when someone asked him a question like that, it meant they were asking about his identical twin, Corrado. Out of all his brothers, his twin had been the only one who decided not to join the family business. Not that Corrado headed straight in his life when it came to the law—he still very much worked on the illegal side of their life, but it wasn’t within their mafia rankings.
“I did, he was just catching his flight to New York,” Chris said. “He didn’t say too much, distracted, possibly.”
Marcus chuckled. “I bet.”
Chris shot his brother a look.
Marcus only shrugged.
“Now, now,” Gian murmured.
“I’m still trying to figure out how that works, is all.”
“As long as it works for them, then that’s what matters,” Chris returned to Marcus.
“I don’t share well,” Marcus noted. “Not sure that would work for me.”
Chris thought about that one.
“Yeah, me either,” he muttered.
Somehow, his twin found himself in love and in a relationship with two people. Alessio, and Ginevra. Knowing how his brother’s sexual preferences followed Corrado through most of his life, haunting him because he never seemed like he fit in with the rest of his family or their life, Chris was happy he found the people with whom he belonged. What else needed to be said?
Did he understand how that three-person relationship worked?
No.
Did he want to?
Again, no.
It wasn’t his life, his home, or his bed.
Simple as that.
And he didn’t want other people discussing it where Corrado, Alessio, or Ginevra weren’t around to be a part of the discussion. Good manners, and all.
Right?
“Besides, if there’s something you want to ask Corrado,” Chris told Marcus, “then you could, oh, ask him. Or Les—he’s pretty open to talk.”
Marcus blinked. “Probably not.”
“Then, don’t speculate.”
“That’s fair,” Gian said, jumping into the discussion as the phone on his desk rang. He gave his two sons a look, pointing a finger at both, a silent quiet, before he picked up the call, and put the phone to his ear. “Bonjour, ciao, Gian here.”
It took Gian just long enough to hear who was on the other line before he reached over, hit the speaker button on the phone, and set it back down to the cradle. The voice that filled the office was one Chris hadn’t heard in a while, and he still wasn’t sure how he felt when he heard it.
A mixture of things, he supposed.
Only a couple of them any good.
“Do you have a minute to chat, Gian?” Dare asked.
“A few—two of the boys are here.”
“Which ones?”
Chris never asked for details about how his father came in to contact or all the finer details of Gian’s business with Dare—no one seemed to be aware of his last name—but somehow, he had. Gian ended up as one investor who fronted a lot of cash to finance a business venture Dare and his partner now controlled.
They called it The League.
An organization which trained assassins, like his brother, Corrado, and then sold them at an auction to the highest bidder. Sure, The League also had their own teams of assassins that worked only for The League, and independent contractors, again, like Chris’s twin, and one of Corrado’s lovers, Alessio.
But mostly, they made real money in the auctions. Selling skilled individuals who could kill someone in a hundred different ways on demand.
Chris had been one of those people once—he trained with Corrado because fuck, he couldn’t imagine leaving his twin to something like The League without someone there to watch his back. He’d always looked after his twin.
The League wasn’t for him, and he realized that rather quickly, but he stuck out his contract. He did the one-year training, stayed for another year to work on a team with his brother and the others they had placed him with, and then he came back home at nineteen.
He wasn’t like them.
Chris wanted to be a made man.
And so, he did.
“I have an issue,” Dare said, “and I thought getting your opinion on what I should do about it might help to clear up my thoughts, Gian.”
“Do tell.”
“A job came in. The client isn’t new, or rather, the family isn’t.”
“Who?”
“New York—Marcellos.”
Gian dragged in a heavy breath and rested back in his chair to steeple his fingers together. He didn’t look at either of his sons, but Chris didn’t need to see his father’s eyes to understand what he was thinking when that name came into play. Oh, sure, their family was on friendly terms with the Marcello Cosa Nostra in New York. The largest mafia organization in North America, it was always better to be on their good side.
His father’s reaction, no doubt, was because he wondered what the issue was. With the Marcellos, it couldn’t be something small. They went all in, or nothing at all. There was no in between for them, and it was one reason Chris respected them as much as he did in the grand scheme.
“And?” Gian asked.
“They need a retrieval done,” Dare said, “which seems simple on the surface—it’s my team’s specialty, right?”
“It seems to be their focus, yes.”
“Except there are details that make it problematic for this job. And beyond those issues, I have another problem.”
“Which is what?” Gian demanded. “Because my suggestion, Dare, would be to give the Marcello family whatever they want, and get them off your ass. They are not the types to be fucked around, and they won’t stand for you to jerk on their chains, if you understand what I’m saying here. Take it into account when dealing with them.”
“I am,” Dare muttered, “that’s not the issue.”
“Well, what is?”
“The auctions, Gian.”
“Ah,” his father said in a sigh, massaging at his temples with his fingers. “Right, those are next month.”
“And the main team—the one I’d use for this job—are being sent out to Russia next month for a prison assignment. We need someone to scope the target out first, and gain as much information as we can get before we gather who and what we need. Then, we can grab the target, but not before. Maybe two months, or a little less. I don’t have someone who would be appropriate for this job except Corrado and Alessio.”
“I can do it,” Chris said.
He didn’t regret saying the words, sure. All eyes in the room turned on him as soon as he said it. And even the man on the phone quieted at the declaration.
“What?” he asked.
“You haven’t done a job for The League since you were nineteen,” his father said.
“It’s like riding a bike,” Chris returned, “you fall off, and get back on.”
Right.
Like riding a bike.
Mostly, Chris spoke up because he didn’t want his twin to be bothered and that fucking ingrained need inside his being to take care of Corrado, and look out for him—even when his twin didn’t have a clue he did it—was bred deep.
He blamed genetics.
And his father.
“That’s ... going to be my suggestion, actually,” Dare said, his voice filtering through the speaker again. “Because with your influence and name, Gian, it would make it a hell of a lot easier to infiltrate the organization where we believe the target is located.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” Gian asked.
“When can you two get to Vegas for a proper briefing?”
Gian gave Chris a glance.
He shrugged.
“Christmas is soon,” Gian said.
“Right after New Years?”
Chris nodded to his father. “After the new year is fine.”
“Good. I will arrange it with the Marcellos.”
The phone call ended before anyone said goodbye, not that Chris or his father seemed to mind. Marcus continued sipping on a glass of whiskey, not bothering to step in at all.
“Are you sure you want to take that assignment?” Gian asked Chris. “You have duties here to la famiglia, too, son. I am sure I could make do for a couple of months, but it’s not about that. I want you to be certain this is what you want to do.”
His father, always looking out for his boys.
Chris appreciated it.
“Why not?”
Yeah, why not?
That seemed to be the story of his life.
Might as well add another chapter.
• • •
The League ran their business out of a cluster of connected buildings deep within the desolate land of Nevada which they dubbed the complex. And frankly, Chris thought the name fit considering it’s massive size. It had to be considering everything and anything The League needed to operate smoothly was inside the complex.
He trained here. Broke here. He lived here—ate, slept, and survived behind these walls. He was sure, despite the time he had stayed and worked for The League, he hadn’t seen every single square inch of the place.
They also added to the place over the years, building on to the complex for whatever suited their purposes. It had been a while since Chris last visited the secluded cluster of connected buildings, so he hadn’t known they added an Olympic-size pool until he stood in the doorway leading to it.
He stared across the calm blue water, unnerved by the black tiling design at the bottom of the pool. It gave the water a bottomless effect, and it sent his anxiety spiking through the roof.
If the water went over his fucking head, it was too deep. An almost drowning as a child left Chris with a paranoia and fear for water. He did his best to hide it from others, but his family knew.
And The League.
They had knowledge of it, too.
One of the many reasons he was conflicted on being back inside this building. Although he appreciated all they did for him here, and what it taught him, Chris still walked away from this place with more scars than he cared to count. Some, more than others, never too far away from his thoughts.
Their motto?
Break the body, break the mind.
They’d done that to him.
Again and again.
“Chris,” Gian murmured.
For the first time, he looked away from the pool, realizing he had come to a complete stop before he passed the room to stare inside. His father, a few steps down the hall, raised a brow and waited for him to get over his ... thing.
“Sorry,” Chris blurted, “I’m coming.”
Gian nodded, but said nothing about the water, or the obvious problem Chris had by being near it
. His father was good in that way, and Chris respected it. “Dare is waiting with the others. Let’s not keep them.”
Right, right.
Their reason for being here.
Knowing his father made a good point, and the Marcellos had been kind enough to allow them to hold this meeting after the holidays passed, Chris forced his attention away from the goddamn pool. He followed behind his father in silence, walking through newer halls of the complex he wasn’t familiar with as the owners added them over the last year.
Before long, they stood in the doorway of Dare’s office. The group inside, four in total, turned to greet them, although none wore smiles.
That serious, huh?
Chris recognized all the men, but for different reasons. Dare, standing behind his desk, because he had been Chris’s boss for a time, and he was his father’s business partner with this place. Cree, the Native with his hands clasped at his back in front of a row of screens showcasing an aerial view of what looked to be a map, because he was one who trained Chris here.
The other two men, Dante and Andino Marcello, he knew from the business—Cosa Nostra. Rarely were they known to leave New York, but especially not to come to Nevada, so he figured this job was important to them.
“Gian, and Chris, right?” Dante asked, looking his way.
Chris nodded. “That’s me.”
“Not to be confused with his twin, who—”
“Isn’t here,” Chris interjected, giving Andino Marcello a stare that would silence the devil. He understood this man had issues with his twin, and he didn’t care to hear them. Fucking nobody, regardless of what their last name happened to be, would bad mouth his twin, but not to his damn face. “And we have things to do, don’t we?”
“We do,” Dare said from behind his desk, “and we’re waiting on you all before we start.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Gian said, giving Chris a wave to enter the office first, “shall we get started?”
Dare picked up the remote on his desk and pointed it at the screen once Chris and his father entered the office. The picture changed when he pressed a button, showcasing Andino in a tux, a woman in a white wedding dress, and a little girl between them being held by a black-haired, beautiful woman with a wide smile.
