Brando

by Marita A. Hansen

  “Whatever your reason, I’m still responsible for my father’s death. I saw my face in his. I can’t get it out of my head.”

  She nodded, pain tearing at her. Davido had been her one true love, no one ever coming close to him, not even Cesare, who she still cared for. Whereas her husband ... she hated him with a vengeance. If it wasn’t for him, Brando wouldn’t have felt so disconnected, while Jagger wouldn’t have been abused by his father’s wife. The bitch had beaten him, then after she died he was sexually abused by the very same priest that had hurt Brando. She breathed out, the memory of learning what had happened to Jagger still tearing her apart. After Brando had shot his father and the bitch of a woman who’d raised Jagger, she’d asked to have Jagger live with her. But her husband threatened to throw her out, yelling that she would never see their children again if another D’Angelo set foot inside his home. Therefore, Jagger went to live with his uncle, someone Padre Michael visited regularly. Unwittingly, she’d left Jagger within the reach of a pedophile, the very same man who had abused Brando, something she’d recently found out about through Alessandro, who’d discovered it while being held captive by the Donatelli.

  “You can’t change the past,” she said, “but you can make the future better. So, please allow me to help you, and in turn you can help Jagger. He’s been living a nightmare, and like you, he needs support.”

  “I have no desire to know him.”

  “Maybe you’ll change your mind if you get to know him properly. He might surprise you.”

  “What have I got to talk about with him? That I murdered—”

  “Brando!” she yelled, cutting him off. She glanced over her shoulder, grateful that no one was there. She refocused on her son. “You will keep that a secret. Everyone else knows not to mention it to Jagger. He can’t know what you did.”

  “Or what you ordered.”

  “You know I didn’t order Davido’s death, he wasn’t even supposed to be there.”

  “I was talking about his wife.”

  “You still can’t speak about it, because if the D’Angelos find out we’re responsible for the hit, they will seek retribution.”

  He frowned. “I would kill anyone who tries to harm you.”

  She smiled. “So, you do still love me.”

  “You already know that.”

  “I’m just happy to hear it, but you can’t hurt the D’Angelos, because...” She paused, scared to say the next words, but knowing she had to.

  “Because, what?”

  “Jagger’s my son,” she blurted out.

  He shook his head, looking like he didn’t believe her. “But, that’s not possible.”

  “It is.” She breathed in, then barreled ahead, knowing she had to tell him everything. “When I got pregnant for the eleventh time, the bastardo who raised you knew it wasn’t his, since we weren’t sharing a bed anymore. Without a doubt, he knew Jagger was Davido’s. Because of it, I had to pretend to have a stillborn and hand Jagger over to Davido and his wife.” Her voice choked. “And that vile porca severely mistreated him. That is why I ordered her death, not because of any jealousies. The day prior to ordering her hit, I snuck into Jagger’s room to see my bambino, not realizing he was changing. I couldn’t believe what I saw. His legs were covered in cuts and bruises. They were like a zebra pattern, crisscrossing over his legs. That porca thought she could get away with hurting him since Davido was on a business trip. I questioned Jagger if it was the first time, but he was too scared to talk. He was terrified of the woman he believed was his mother. He was eleven years old! I had to do something, plus I was too angry and heartbroken to think straight.”

  Brando stared at her, looking taken aback.

  She breathed out. “I regret sending you to do my dirty work. I should’ve done it myself. I should’ve put that bullet in her head, then Davido would still be alive and you wouldn’t be broken. I am truly sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you.” She held out her hand. “So, please, lay all the guilt on me. It’s mine to hold, not yours.”

  He shook his head, his usually cold eyes now filled with emotion. “I still can’t get what I did out of my head.”

  “I understand that, but you didn’t shoot him on purpose. He flung himself in front of the bitch. That first bullet was meant for her.”

  He screwed up his face. “I’m sorry, I truly am. I never liked that woman, but I liked Davido...” he breathed out, “...my father. He always had a smile for me, unlike the bastardo who raised me.”

  “You have to stop torturing yourself over your past and move on. It’s been thirteen years.”

  “Time means nothing. They’re not memories to me; they’re permanent fixtures in my life.”

  “Oh, figlio,” she let out a sob. “You have to at least try, not only for me, but for yourself.”

  He went quiet.

  She took hold of his hand. “We should stop talking about it; it’s upsetting the both of us. Instead, we should go talk to your brother.”

  “He doesn’t like me. I attacked him the last time he visited.”

  “He’s agreed to talk with you; that’s enough for now. Plus, he’s your only full brother.”

  “He doesn’t feel like a brother to me.”

  “That’s why you need to get to know him. And because of it, I’ve asked him to move in with us.”

  “What about fath— I mean your husband?”

  “He’s barely conscious, he won’t know.”

  “But, isn’t Ricardo’s woman Jagger’s ex?”

  “Ricardo is too sure of himself to ever feel threatened by that woman’s past, and if Jagger does do something with her, then it’ll teach Ricardo a lesson for not listening to me.”

  “Bianca seems dedicated to Ricardo.”

  “Only in bed,” she snapped, ‘because all they do is fuck. I bet they hardly speak to each other, more concerned with sex than creating a foundation to build a life together. Take my word, they won’t last past this year.”

  “I think they will, they look at each other like Sal...” He stopped talking.

  Concetta didn’t need to hear the end of the sentence, knowing he was going to say Salvatore and Rosa. Her second son was in a bad way due to his wife’s death, rarely coming out of his room, and only when he was forced to. Her oldest daughter had now taken over looking after his two children, sharing the care with Luciano, her middle son stepping up majorly, no longer disappearing into the background.

  She squeezed Brando’s hand. “Let’s go inside and talk to Jagger. We’ve had enough sorrow in our famiglia. I want everyone to embrace their new brother.”

  “You’re going to tell them about being his mother?” he said, looking surprised.

  “Sì.”

  His eyebrows rose. “But, you will be shamed.”

  “My famiglia will still love me, and my husband can’t throw me out in his condition, which means it’s time for everyone to know the truth and to right the wrongs.”

  A soft smile pulled at Brando’s lips, that one small expression making her believe that everything could turn out all right. She hadn’t expected him to take the news so well, which gave her hope that Jagger would accept it too.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll give Jagger a chance.”

  Smiling, she pulled him towards the front door, more than ready to tell Jagger he was her son.

  14

  Jagger watched Brando enter the lounge, still surprised over his cousin’s earlier display of nudity. Although it was common for people in the D’Angelo house to walk around wearing nothing, it wasn’t in the Santini casa. Unlike his family, who were human traffickers, his cousins were gunrunners. Yet, it wasn’t just Brando’s nudity that had shocked him; it was the blood-soaked bandages, the outcome of the whipping the blue-haired woman had mentioned. And Jagger thought he was fucked up. It seemed like everyone with a face like his was burdened with insanity.

  Brando sat down in a chair across from him, looking like he was examining every aspect of Ja
gger’s face.

  “Why are you staring at me?” Jagger asked.

  “My madre will answer that.”

  Jagger turned to his auntie as she took the seat next to him.

  “Bambino,” she said, looking worried. “I’ve lived a life I’m not proud of, one that’s built on a web of lies. But after one of those lies recently came to light, I realized I shouldn’t be hiding things from the people I love, especially not you and Brando.”

  “Why me?”

  Breathing out, she took hold of his hand. “Because you’re Brando’s brother. You have the same father and—”

  “I knew it!” Jagger cut her off, happy his suspicions were correct.

  “You did?” she said, appearing stunned.

  “Sì. I knew you had an affair with my father, and since Brando looks so similar to me, I thought it was a distinct possibility he was the result.”

  “Oh,” his auntie said. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “You would’ve been embarrassed and humiliated if I told people.” He smiled sadly. “You were one of the few people who were good to me. I didn’t want to repay that by ruining your reputation.”

  She squeezed his hand gently, love shining in her eyes. “You’re such a lovely boy.”

  Jagger let out a choked laugh. “I’m sure many women would disagree with you.”

  She smiled. “Regardless, you’re lovely to me, figlio.”

  He looked down at her hand. “I wish I was your son.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you loved me more than my own madre,” he said, raising his gaze. “I used to dream that I lived with you, not that sadistic woman who made my life a living hell.”

  Her lips quivered. “I’m so sorry for everything you went through. Please don’t hate me for what I’m about to say.”

  Jagger frowned. “I could never hate you, auntie.”

  “I’m not your auntie.” She breathed out. “I’m ... I’m your mother.”

  Jagger snatched his hand out of hers. “What?”

  “I was forced to give you up!” she cried. “My husband threatened to throw me out and stop me from seeing my other children if I didn’t hand you over to your father.”

  Jagger pushed to his feet. “But, that’s not possible, my mother—”

  “She wasn’t your mother. She faked her pregnancy, pretending you were hers. People were told I had a stillborn and since you’re the spitting image of your father, no one questioned it.”

  Jagger placed his hands to his head, everything now making sense. “That’s why she hated me! Why she beat me! Why she treated me like merda! Because I wasn’t hers.”

  His auntie ... NO ... his mother, rose to her feet and pulled his hands down. “I’m truly sorry for everything that happened to you, and if I had a choice, I would never have given you up, but I wasn’t given one. Not only did my husband threaten me, your father also fought to get you. He said he wasn’t willing to give up another of his children as he did with Brando.”

  Jagger jerked his hands free, a sudden burst of anger now overriding his shock. “When my father died you refused me, which meant I was sent to my uncle’s casa. Do you know what happened to me there?!”

  Pain crossed her face, confirming she knew about his abuse. “I only found out recently.” She touched his cheek. “And if I’d known all those years ago, I would’ve done anything to get you out of there.”

  Unbearable shame flooded Jagger. He turned his attention to Brando, wondering whether his brother had been told about what had been done to him. Brando was watching him intently, his expression curious rather than pitying. Hoping that meant he knew nothing, Jagger turned back to their mother. Her violet eyes were begging him for a forgiveness he couldn’t give. Although he knew she was forced into the situation, it didn’t wipe away all the emotional and physical pain he was forced to suffer. He’d been beaten and verbally abused by the woman who he’d thought was his mother, raped and tortured by a priest who was meant to console him, and raped and brutally beaten by one of his cousins. He could’ve been saved from all of that if the woman standing before him had found another way to keep him, because he knew if he ever had children, he would kill to keep all of them safe.

  “Please say something, figlio,” she said, looking at him beseechingly.

  “I’m not your son.”

  He turned away from her and headed for his room. He entered it, finding his girlfriend lying on their bed, reading a book. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, her long black hair hanging loose around her shoulders.

  Camila looked up at him, her face instantly growing concerned. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  He stalked into the bathroom muttering, “My life.”

  15

  Vinnie entered the lounge through the back door, spotting his mother running up the staircase in tears. His attention moved to Brando, who was sitting on the couch. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Brando pushed up. “Plenty.” He headed for the passage that led to the offices.

  Shrugging, Vinnie turned towards the west wing, more interested in letting off steam in the gym than being pulled into another one of his mother’s dramas. Plus, he had his own shit to deal with, things growing crazier by the second. What had happened with the stalker was still freaking him out. Goddamn Dominic! He wished his brother paid attention to the house rules, because they were there for a reason, but like Alessandro, Dominic’s small brain lived in his dick.

  Vinnie pushed through the gym door, stopping as he spotted D helping another Viper bench press. She had on the tiniest pair of shorts, which only just covered her shapely ass. She was also wearing a tight crop-top, revealing her soft six-pack, which still amazed him. Women didn’t have ripped abs like that... Fuck! He was getting hard just looking at her. For a second, he considered turning around and getting the hell out of there, but instead he walked to the treadmill, making sure she didn’t see the front of his shorts, which was starting to tent. Dominic had been wrong: he hadn’t gotten her out of his system. If anything, he wanted to march over to her and push her over the bench press, mounting her like an animal.

  But he couldn’t.

  He was the one-night-stand wonder, and it served him well. He fucked and left, no turning back, no seconds, because there was no fucking way he was getting attached to another woman again. Relationships only ended in heartbreak, and he knew if he got involved with D, it would end up the same way as the last woman he’d gotten serious with.

  He placed his towel on the sidebar and put his water bottle in its holder, then got onto the treadmill, wanting to pump out the miles. He needed to forget about this morning—and last night. Exercise always freed him. He liked feeling his muscles straining, his heart pumping, his lungs sucking in air, while the sweat built up on his body, soaking his clothes.

  Popping his earphones in, he turned on his iPod and started running. Alessandro wasn’t the only one who was addicted to exercise; Vinnie just didn’t get off on pumping iron continuously. Running was his gig, weights only an accompaniment.

  Hard rock blasted his ears, drowning out everything as he ran. After ten minutes of warming up, he increased his speed, his legs powering through the virtual miles. The rush, the strain, the ache, the total freeing of his mind... It wasn’t as good as sex, but it was a close second, plus it didn’t come with any guilt—unlike fucking. He knew a number of the women he slept with expected more, which was something he couldn’t give them. If anything, he was saving them grief, because he was shit at relationships, even worse than Dominic, who didn’t know the meaning of the word monogamy.

  The machine beeped, telling him he’d run for an hour, which wasn’t a surprise, because once he got started he always lost himself, his mind gloriously switching off. He slowed his pace to a slow jog, the sweat dripping off his body. He continued to bring his speed down, eventually coming to a standstill. He turned the machine off and removed his sweat-soaked shirt, wiping his face, neck, and torso do
wn with his towel. Once finished, he grabbed the water bottle and practically inhaled the contents. He lowered the bottle from his mouth and looked across the gym, seeing D sitting at a machine several feet away, outright staring at him. The other Viper was gone, making things even more awkward.

  Realizing he had no choice but to say hi, he got off the treadmill and headed around the machines to her. D sat up straighter, a smile crossing her lovely face. She was so different from anyone he’d known: her American accent, her incredible appearance, her fearlessness when she did her combat training, and most of all, how she looked at him. Her hazel gaze held a mixture of lust and curiosity, which affected him more than any other woman—apart from his ex. And that was the problem: she reminded him of Gemma. Not in appearance or personality, but how they both captivated him, to the point that he was starting to obsess over her in the same way. He refrained from grimacing, his ex having broken his heart. Gemma had let him go without even a fight, just disappeared out of his life as though he’d meant nothing to her when she’d been the world to him.

  He came to a stop in front of D. “How’s it going?” he asked, wishing he was anywhere but here.

  “Good.” She pushed to her feet. “You finished exercising?”

  He nodded. “I usually pump some iron, but I need to do some merda before I head out.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re going to kill someone?”

  He stared at her blankly, then barked out a laugh, realizing she’d misunderstood him. “Merda means shit in Italian.”

  She let out a cute little giggle. “I wondered why everyone was talking about murder. I guess your brothers swear even more than I realized. What does cazzo mean? Dominic says it a lot.”

  “Cock or fuck, depending upon how it’s said.”

  “He usually couples it with big.”

  Vinnie smiled. “Well, I guess that answers your question.”