Ruthless Empire: A Dark Mafia Collection

by Seth Eden

  Or the teacher I’d once told Alana I’d wanted to be.

  Instead of living on the sprawling Varasso estate, I’d have lived in a separate home. Either a simple apartment like the one Alana and I had temporarily shared or a house with a swing on the front porch and a barbecue grill in the back yard. I could’ve had pool parties for my kids and carpooled with my neighbors.

  I could’ve gone to bed every night with my wife’s head on my shoulder, confident that no harm would ever befall us. Why would it? There’d have been no reason why we couldn’t grow old together, side by side.

  The idea of such a straightforward, brutality-free life appealed to me like the gold of Fort Knox would appeal to a poor man. Alluring, mouth-watering even, but altogether unattainable.

  Such an idea could only ever be an illusion for me. There’d be no shirking of this duty, no break from tradition or my never-ending obligations. I’d lead this family and empire just like I’d always been meant to, and at some point in the future, I’d produce a son who’d be tasked with the same responsibility. An heir. It was incumbent upon me to do so.

  The time had come to accept my destiny, whether I liked it or not. Still, I didn’t sit in my father’s chair. It seemed wrong somehow. Too soon.

  “I’ve made the arrangements for Dad’s funeral,” I spoke into the tension-laced silence. “It’ll be this Tuesday at 3pm in St. Bartholomew’s Church.” He’d be interred next to our mother, in the same row where Alana lay, but I didn’t bother to mention this. My brothers already knew.

  “When are we going to take revenge?” Marco bit out, his expression twisted into a snarl.

  Inwardly, I sighed. Before we’d all gathered in the dining room, I’d received a manila envelope from one of Bianchi’s runners. I’d glanced through the material, and while I was too scatterbrained to draw any final conclusions, the evidence that something had gone awry with the Bianchi’s financials was clear.

  “Not tonight.”

  “Why the fuck not?” Marco’s breach of etiquette was understandable. As Molly had pointed out, this day qualified as one of our top ten worst. Regardless, he must show me the respect of my position now, and despite the trauma of what we’d all been through, I had to demand it.

  “Because I’m telling you to wait.” My voice cracked like a whip, loud and sharp. Marco blinked, still angry, but put in his place. He nodded, lowering his gaze deferentially, though his expression didn’t change. “I’ve received the reports the Bianchi’s promised. I still need to go over them more thoroughly.”

  “Luca,” Gabriel spoke up, his features as tight as Marco’s. “Please tell me you don’t believe them. Dad would never do what they’re accusing him of.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Alessandro asked. Unlike Gabriel and Marco, his face seemed more sad and tired than anything else. “I know we don’t like to talk about it, but Dad’s been… different over the past couple of years, especially over the last several months. Less himself.”

  It was true. Initially, lost in my own devastated turmoil, I’d stayed away from the Varasso estate. A few months later when I returned, I’d still been too despondent to notice anything amiss. But in hindsight, there’d been signs.

  We’d stopped having the Sunday dinners that had once been a foregone conclusion. Angelo had spent more time off by himself, grumbling under his breath. He’d leave the mansion for hours at a time and no one had known where he’d gone.

  Of course, if he wanted to do something without our knowledge, that was his prerogative. The patriarch of the family did not have to inform his sons of his whereabouts at all times.

  I didn’t think my father had been going senile, but his behavior had become far less predictable. He’d been less calculating, a trait he’d always possessed in spades, but he’d grown more aggressive and shorter tempered than ever before.

  “That doesn’t mean he’d do something as stupid as steal millions from the Bianchi’s,” Marco put in.

  “We need to hit them soon, while they’re guard is down. They think we’re weak without Dad at the helm. We need to prove them wrong,” Gabriel said.

  Of all of us, he appeared to be the most effected by our father’s death, his eyes noticeably red-rimmed. Much like I’m sure mine were. No one had mentioned my extended absence in the wake of the Bianchi’s attack. But then I’d feel no obligation to explain myself, even if they did.

  “Whatever decision we come to, we need to stick together as a united front. Now is not the time to bring in outsiders,” Alessandro stated, keeping his eyes downcast. I knew he was avoiding my gaze because the outsider he spoke of was Molly.

  “Yes, I noticed an extra room being occupied upstairs,” Marco said, not keeping his eyes downcast. “First, you don’t let us kill her, and now she’s being given free rein to wander around the house. That’s awfully trusting of you. You fuck her already or something?”

  My temper ignited. “That’s pretty rich coming from Mr. Manwhore Extraordinaire.”

  Gabriel huffed out a mirthless laugh and rolled his eyes, his way of agreeing with me. Marco and Alessandro were both prodigious womanizers. They changed sexual partners as frequently as most people changed socks.

  Of course, I’d been like that, as well, years ago. Before I’d fallen for the mother of my child.

  I’d once accidentally walked in on Marco having a ménage a trois. He’d been naked and blindfolded with whipped cream covering everything but what most needed to be covered. I’d made an abrupt about-face, wishing I’d been blindfolded, too.

  But we needed to get back to the matter at hand.

  “Molly Greene is my concern, not yours. The house is clear, and there’s no evidence of anyone on the grounds. I’ve doubled security along the perimeter and around the mansion. I think what we all need is some rest. We’ll meet again tomorrow at noon.”

  My brothers departed, going their separate ways. I stood too rapidly and was swept by a wave of vertigo. I braced my hands on the table, closing my eyes as it passed. I needed a hot shower and about ten hours of sleep, but the only thing I’d probably get was the shower. When I opened my eyes, I found Gabriel at my side.

  “You all right, bro?”

  I almost said I was fine. It was my automatic response, my pat answer and ready lie. I’d said it so much over the past twelve months it seemed ridiculous. It was ridiculous, especially given how expressly false it was.

  “Not really.” I surprised myself by uttering the bitter truth. “You?”

  He grinned mournfully, his voice coming out as broken as crushed glass. “Not really.”

  I embraced him, giving him a couple of hard brotherly pats on the back. He looked as shaky as I felt. I could’ve offered him any number of the limitless platitudes I’d been fed over the past year. You’ll get through this. Or, things will get better. Or even, this too shall pass. But it was all bullshit. And no one knew that better than I did.

  “You think Dad actually stole from the Bianchis?” he asked me.

  “I don’t want to believe that, but I honestly don’t know. I’ll tell you one thing, though. If I find out that they’re lying about all this, that they dared to come here and execute our father at his own house in cold blood, I’ll strangle Donovan Bianchi with my own two hands. Then I’ll make it our goal in life to take everything they own.”

  Part of me wanted to strike out at the Bianchis no matter what the report said. No one had ever violated the sanctity of our home before. No one had ever even stepped foot on our property without a proper invitation.

  The walls of this mansion, while sometimes feeling too restrictive, had also been my refuge and my shelter, especially during my youth. I’d felt safe and secure here and had trusted that the same would be true for my daughter.

  As gut wrenchingly horrible as it’d been to lose Alana, during those few brief seconds when I thought Anna had been ripped away from me too, I hadn’t been able to function. I couldn’t walk, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe.

&nb
sp; If I had found my baby dead in Greta’s arms, I wouldn’t have survived it. I knew that much for certain. I’d have taken my nine-millimeter, put it in my mouth, and pulled the trigger. It would’ve been my only alternative. There was only so much one person could take.

  Gabriel stared at me for one long moment, as if he could read all these thoughts as they crossed my mind. Then eventually, he nodded. We split apart and headed off up the stairs, neither of us needing to speak another word.

  11

  Molly

  I woke to the sound of shouting. At first, I hadn’t known where I was, and I barreled up out of bed. Then, remembering, I went still, listening to the low rumble of several male voices.

  “First, you don’t let us kill her, and now she’s being given free rein to wander around the house. That’s awfully trusting of you. You fuck her already or something?” I couldn’t tell who was speaking, but I assumed it must’ve been one of Luca’s brothers.

  “That’s pretty rich coming from Mr. Manwhore Extraordinaire. Molly Greene is my concern, not yours.” This was definitely Luca, his voice edged in irritation. At his mention of my name, I held my breath. “The house is clear, and there’s no evidence of anyone on the grounds. I’ve doubled security along the perimeter and around the mansion. I think what we all need is some rest. We’ll meet again tomorrow at noon.”

  My fate was in their hands, and I hoped Luca could convince them not to go through with their original plan. Things became quieter, and I lay back on some of the fluffiest pillows I ever could’ve imagined, trying to calm my galloping pulse. Then, I heard more.

  “You all right, bro?” This brother’s voice had a different tone, less harsh than the first.

  “Not really,” Luca admitted. “You?”

  “Not really.”

  “You think Dad actually stole from the Bianchis?”

  “I don’t want to believe that, but I honestly don’t know. I’ll tell you one thing, though. If I find out that they’re lying about all this, that they dared to come here and execute our father at his own house in cold blood, I’ll strangle Donovan Bianchi with my own two hands. Then I’ll make it our goal in life to take everything they own.” Luca’s words were chilling, but I had no doubt that he meant them.

  Once the voices died out, I fell into a sleep riddled with hazy half-formed dreams.

  Images of Luca wove in and out of them, ever changing. Sometimes he appeared with the cold mask I’d seen him wear early on. Sometimes I saw that look of heat and hunger in his eyes, the one that had filled me with terror. And sometimes, I’d catch sight of his grief-stricken form crumpled on the floor of his daughter’s nursery.

  I woke again hours later, the sun streaming in through the gap in the extravagant cream-colored draperies. I dug through the drawers and closets, seeking something else to wear. I’d spent every minute of my time with these people in nothing but my threadbare cotton nightshirt, and I was sick of feeling so exposed.

  I located some jeans that were too long and a very snug button-down top, but they’d have to work. The only underwear I could come up with was a thong that cut me nearly in two and a bra that made my breasts bubble out over the top—a common issue for me as a natural D cup—but they were better than continuing on with what I had.

  In the afternoon, I overhead the brothers again. Whatever room they were in must be directly above me. They were discussing the report the Bianchi family had sent them, and their voices were more subdued this time. Somewhat. It made it harder to understand what they said. They wound up arguing again, but in the end, everything became quieter.

  I couldn’t tell what conclusion they’d come to.

  The next couple of hours drove me up the wall. Luca had mentioned that he would train me, that I would work for him and his family, but he hadn’t appeared. Even though this room was far more comfortable than that cell in the basement had been, it still felt like a prison.

  When someone knocked on my door a couple of hours later, I yanked it open, expecting to see Luca. It wasn’t him, though. There in the hallway stood a woman with a wrinkled face, auburn hair pulled back into a severe braid, a gray pantsuit that seemed more like a uniform, and a stern expression. She appraised me with milky green eyes, her disposition reminding me a bit of a nun at a Catholic school who beat wayward students with a ruler.

  “What size do you wear?” she snapped out, as if I’d somehow offended her just by existing.

  Well, that was a hell of an introduction. My snarky side answered. “Oh, I’m sorry. I must’ve missed your name. I’m Molly. And you are?”

  She pursed her thin lips, her eyes giving me a quick up and down. Then, she shut the door in my face.

  Bitch.

  I went to open the door and give her a piece of my mind, but it was locked. From the outside. Proving that no matter how much my accommodations had improved, my circumstances remained in flux. The Varassos could still choose to do away with me if the whim struck. But I didn’t feel upset or scared about this anymore. I felt angry. Irate.

  By the time another knock came later in the day, I was fit to be tied. A paper cup dispenser had been placed on the wall, so I had access to drinking water, but I hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. Probably a lot longer. Since I couldn’t actually answer the door, I plopped down on my bed and waited, arms crossed over my chest.

  I heard a small click, then the door shifted gradually, creaking as it did. “You’ve got some nerve, you know that?” I yelled at the auburn-haired woman, but it wasn’t her. Instead, Luca stood at the threshold, laden with what appeared to be a couple of shoe boxes and several garment bags.

  I probably should’ve stayed silent, but I was too frustrated. “If you’re going to kill me, I wish you’d just do it. I hate feeling like a goddamned toy for you to play with.”

  He halted in his tracks, his gaze narrowed as he stared at my face. “Is there a problem?”

  “Hell, yes, there’s a problem,” I stood and threw my hands in the air. “You come in the middle of the night and bring me here against my will. You almost shoot me. Then, when I think things might get better, you lock me in here to rot with no food. Maybe I don’t get a say in this, but for the record, I’d prefer to go quickly rather than dying of starvation.”

  His eyes dropped from my face to the rest of me.

  It was only then that I realized that during my little rant, I’d apparently popped some of the buttons off my too tight shirt. The ill-fitting bra underneath scarcely covered the heaving contents within, baring much of me to his view. This had an instant effect on Luca, making his eyes widen as they took me in. This caused another reaction of his to become visible, as well.

  An impressive one.

  I covered myself with my hands, and he blinked, taking a step backwards as he tore his eyes away. “I apologize for the lack of sustenance. We’ve had other pressing concerns to attend to.” Keeping his gaze averted, he set the bags and boxes on the dresser by the door. “Francesca acquired these for you. If they don’t fit, let me know. I’ll make sure she leaves your door unlocked going forward.”

  He paused a beat, then said, “Since it’s Sunday, I’ve requested a dinner to be prepared. It’s a formal affair that we dress for and will honor the memory of my father. I’d like for you to attend.”

  Though my pride wouldn’t allow me to say so, I almost would’ve agreed to dance naked on the table for food at this point. Almost. Instead of letting that particular cat out of the bag, I asked, “How long do I have to get ready?”

  “Half an hour.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  The beginning of our dinner, while delicious with its lasagna, endive salad, and freshly baked bread, could only be called awkward. I had the distinct impression that while Luca might’ve wanted me there, the other Varasso brothers didn’t. Not even a little.

  Though I’d seen all of them at this point, it’d been under less than ideal circumstances, so Luca reintroduced me. Marco, the second oldest brother,
stood over six feet tall just like Luca did but had a broader physique, his suit straining a bit to cover his bulkier biceps.

  He walked with a limp due to his injury, so that may have been part of his bad mood. He sat in a simmering silence on the opposite end of the table from Luca and myself, radiating his disapproval.

  Alessandro, the youngest, spent the first portion of the dinner picking at his food and wore a bandage on his head, a result of the concussion the Bianchis had given him. He remained sullen throughout, squinting as he kept his eyes on his plate.

  I remembered him as the techy guy from the basement and wondered if his squinting was because of his lack of eyeglasses. Maybe they’d been broken when he’d been attacked. He, Luca, and Marco all had similar dark features, though Alessandro and Marco were clean shaven.

  Gabriel, the third brother, stood out as looking the most different. While he had dark hair, it wasn’t the same curly black as his brothers. His appeared browner in coloration, and he wore it shorter, more like a military cut. His eyes were lighter, too. More hazel. He did have the same long straight nose and square jaw, though.

  A lady dressed in black in white served the dinner, bustling around the huge table efficiently. After she’d poured everyone their choice of either single malt whiskey or red wine, Luca raised his glass in a toast.

  “To Angelo Varasso, our father. Though I do my best to take on his mantle, I will never replace him. May he rest in peace.”

  “To Dad,” Marco said.

  “To Dad,” Alessandro and Gabriel murmured in unison.

  “Dinner is excellent as usual, Rosa,” Luca complimented the lady in black and white, resting a hand on her arm. “Thank you.”

  “It’s a privilege, sir,” she said, offering him a sorrowful smile.