by Cora Reilly
She smiled in a way no one ever smiled at me and stretched out her old hand. I took it. Her skin felt like paper, dry and cold.
“Don’t leave,” I demanded. Father said she would die soon. That’s why he’d sent me into her room, to understand death but I already did.
Grandma squeezed my hand lightly. “I’ll watch over you from heaven.”
I shook my head. “You can’t protect us when you’re up there.”
Her brown eyes were kind. “Soon you won’t need protection anymore.”
“I’ll rule over everyone,” I whispered. “Then I’ll kill Father so he can’t hurt Matteo and Mother anymore.”
Grandma touched my cheek. “Your father killed his father so he could become Capo.”
My eyes widened. “You hate him for it?”
“No,” she said. “Your Grandfather was a cruel man. I couldn’t protect Salvatore from him.” Her voice got raspier and very quiet so I had to lean close to hear her. “That’s why I tried to protect you from your father but I failed again.”
Her eyelids fluttered and she released my hand but I clung to it. “Don’t become like your grandfather and father, Luca.”
She closed her eyes.
“Grandma?”
I scowled, then glanced back at Cesare who was watching with his arms crossed. Had he heard what Marianna had said? Father would be angry with her. Very angry.
I turned on my heel and walked toward him, stopping right in front of him and narrowing my eyes. “You didn’t hear anything.”
Cesare’s eyebrows rose. Did he think I was kidding?
I didn’t have much I could do. Father held all the power. “You won’t tell anyone anything, or I’ll tell my father that you talked shit about him. I’m his heir. He’ll believe me.”
Cesare dropped his arms. “You don’t have to threaten me, Luca. I’m on your side.”
With that, he turned on his heel and went into the locker room. Father always said we were surrounded by enemies. How was I supposed to know whom I could trust?
LUCA, 11 YEARS OLD
Screams tore through my nightmare, through the images of red rivulets on white marble. I sat up, disoriented, listening to shouting and gunfire. What was happening?
Light flared up in the hallway, probably the motion sensors. I rolled over to the edge of my bed when the door opened. A tall man I’d never seen before stood in the doorway, his gun trained on my head.
I froze.
He was going to kill me. I could see it in his expression. I stared into his eyes, wanting to die with my head held high like a real man. A small shadow dashed forward behind the man and, with a battle cry, Matteo jumped on his back. The gun fired and I jerked as hot pain sliced through my middle.
The bullet went a lot lower than it was supposed to. He would have killed me if it hadn’t been for Matteo. Tears shot into my eyes, but I stumbled out of the bed and wrenched my gun out of the nightstand. The man lifted the barrel at Matteo. I raised my gun, pointed it at his head the way Cesare and One had taught me, then pulled the trigger. Blood splattered everywhere, even over Matteo’s shock-widened face. For a moment, everything seemed to stand still—even my heartbeat—and then everything sped up.
The man tumbled forward and would have taken my brother with him had he not jumped back in the last moment, still looking stunned. He blinked at me, then peered down at the body. Slowly, he dragged his gaze back up, lingering on my belly. “You’re bleeding.”
I clutched the wound in my side, shaking from the force of the pain. My hand with the gun shook, but I didn’t drop it. Shots and screams still rang out downstairs. I nodded toward my closet. “Hide in there.”
Matteo frowned.
“Do it,” I said sharply.
“No.”
I staggered toward him, almost passing out from the sharp pain in my body. I gripped Matteo by the cuff of his pajama and pulled him toward the closet. He struggled, but I shoved him inside and turned the lock.
Matteo hammered against the door from inside. “Let me out!”
Trembling with anxiety and pain, I crept downstairs, toward the living room where the sounds were coming from. When I stepped in, I saw Father crouched behind a sofa in a shooting match with two other men. Both had their backs turned to me. Father’s eyes flitted to me, and for a moment, I considered not doing anything. I hated him, hated how he hurt Matteo and me, and even his new wife Nina.
Still, I raised my hand and shot one of the men. Father took care of the other. The man fell to the floor clutching his shoulder. Father kicked the gun away then shot him in both feet. Somewhere in the house I heard more gunshots, then heavy steps. One stumbled inside, bleeding from a wound in his head.
Father frowned. “Did you kill everyone?”
One nodded. “Yes. They got Two.”
“They shouldn’t have come as far as they did,” Father muttered. Without warning, he aimed his gun at One and pulled the trigger. I cried out in surprise as the man fell to the floor beside me. I’d known him all my life.
My legs gave away, my wound throbbing. Father regarded me as he lifted his phone and spoke into it. “Send for the Doc, and come over with Durant. No one else until I know who the rats are.”
Father stalked toward me and pulled me roughly to my feet. Holding me upright, he shoved my hand away from my bleeding wound. He prodded at it, and my vision turned black as I jerked in agony. Father shook me. “Get a grip on yourself. Don’t die on me.”
My eyes peeled open. Father shook his head then released me, and I sank back down to the ground. I braced myself on my hands, wheezing.
Father moved out of the room, leaving me alone with the attacker who was moaning as he tried to crawl away. When Father returned, he carried rope. He tied up the man then pulled out his knife and touched it to the man’s forearm. He screamed when Father began to cut his skin off his flesh. It’s like peeling an apple. That’s what Father always said but an apple didn’t screech and beg.
Cradling my bleeding stomach, I watched even as bile crawled up my throat. Father kept glancing my way. I knew he’d punish me if I looked away. The screams rang in my ears, and I shivered. My arms gave way and my cheek collided with the hard floor. The static in my ears soon drowned out the screaming, and then all was black.
The Underbosses and Captains waited in the living room of our mansion. Father stood in the middle and beckoned me forward. Every eye in the room followed me as I headed toward him. I held my head high, trying to appear taller. I was tall for my age, but the men around me still towered over me. They looked at me like I was something they had never seen before.
I stopped right in front of my father. “The youngest initiate the Famiglia has ever seen,” he announced, his voice booming in the room. “Eleven years and already so much stronger and crueler than any father could wish for.”
Pride swelled in my chest. Father had never sounded proud of me, never shown the slightest hint that I or Matteo were more than a burden. I straightened my shoulders, trying to appear like a man in my black suit and wingtip shoes.
“Our enemies will whisper your name in fear, my son. My blood. My heir.”
He withdrew a knife and I held out my hand, knowing what was to come. I didn’t flinch when Father cut my palm. He’d cut me many times before to make me strong for this day. Every time I’d flinched, he’d cut me again and dripped lemon juice or salt into my wound until I hid the pain.
“Born in Blood, Sworn in Blood. I enter alive and I leave dead,” I said firmly.
“You are a Made Man of the Famiglia, Luca. You will kill and maim in my name. You will break and burn.”
A man was dragged into the room. I didn’t know him or what he had done. He was covered in bruises and blood. His swollen eyes met mine and they begged me. No one had ever looked at me like that, like I held all the power.
Father gave a nod and held the knife out to me, the same knife my mother had killed herself with. I took it from him then stepped up to the man.
He struggled against the hold of Father’s new bodyguards, but they didn’t release him. My fingers tightened around the handle. Everyone was watching me, waiting for a flicker of weakness, but I was my father’s son and I would be Capo one day. I quickly slashed my hand sideways, drawing the knife along his throat. The cut was messy and blood spurted out, splattering my shoes and shirt. I took a step back as the man’s eyes widened. He was dropped on the floor, horrified eyes staring up at me as he convulsed and choked.
I watched as the life drained out of him.
Two days later, the most important words of my life were inked onto my chest, making me a Made Man for life. Nothing would ever be more important than the Famiglia.
CHAPTER 2
LUCA, 13 YEARS OLD
Father’s grip on my shoulder was tight when we entered the Foxy. I’d been inside the place a few times before when he had to talk to the manager. It was one of the most expensive whorehouses we owned.
The whores were lined up in front of the bar and the manager stood beside them. He nodded at Father then winked at me. Father motioned for him to leave.
“You’re thirteen, Luca,” Father said. Surprise washed through me that he’d remembered my birthday was today. He hadn’t mentioned it before. “You’ve been a Made Man for eighteen months. You can’t be a virgin and a killer.”
I flushed, my eyes darting to the women, knowing they had heard my father’s words. None of them laughed, probably too scared of him. I straightened my shoulders, wanting them to watch me with the same caution they watched him.
“Choose two of them,” Father said with a nod toward the whores.
Shock shot through me when I understood why I was here. Slowly, I made my way toward the women, trying to look calm even as nerves twisted my stomach. At almost 5’7”, I was already very tall for thirteen, so the women were eye-level with me in their high heels. They weren’t wearing much, only short skirts and bras. My eyes lingered on their chests. All of them had big tits, and I couldn’t stop staring. I’d seen a few naked girls in our strip clubs but always only in passing, never this close-up. They were all pretty. I pointed at a woman with brown hair and one with blond hair.
Father nodded. One woman grabbed my hand and led me through the back door. The other was close behind me. Eventually, I was alone with them in a big suite at the back of the Foxy. I swallowed, trying to look like I knew what was going to happen. I’d watched porn and listened to the stories the other Made Men told, but this felt very different.
The blond woman began to undress slowly, touching herself everywhere. I stared but tensed when I could feel my pants becoming tight. The brown-haired woman smiled a fake smile and moved toward me. I tensed even more, but I let her touch my chest. “You’re a big boy already, oh my,” she said.
I didn’t say anything, watching her closely. Then my eyes darted to the blond woman again, who’d started touching her pussy. My mouth became dry. The brown-haired woman slid her hand into my boxers, and I released a shaky breath. “Oh, I think this will work out just fine, don’t you agree?”
I gave a nod, then I let her drag me toward the huge round bed in the center.
LUCA, 17 YEARS OLD
“I’m fucking glad to be away from Father, but I wish we didn’t have to go to Junior to celebrate my birthday,” Matteo muttered, shoving his shirt into his pants and checking his reflection. It was the fourth one he’d tried on. Fuck, how did he become such a vain bastard? It seemed to become worse every year. Now at fifteen, he was pretty much insufferable.
Cesare shot me a look. He, Romero and I had been waiting for Matteo to get ready for the last thirty minutes.
“It would have been dishonorable to decline an invitation from your cousin when he organizes a party for you,” Romero said, sounding twice his age. He’d turned fourteen a few days ago, and he had been a Made Man since his father died a few months ago. His family needed the money, but we’d known each other for many years.
“I don’t trust him,” Cesare muttered. “He and his family are too ambitious.”
My uncle Gottardo and his eldest Gottardo Junior definitely weren’t in favor of me becoming Capo after my father, but that could be said about all of my uncles. They thought they would be better Capos. “We’ll stay a few hours and then we’ll come back here and have our own party. Or we’ll drive back to New York and go into one of our clubs.”
“Do you really think we’ll be sober enough to drive back to New York? It’s a long drive from the Hamptons,” Romero said, frowning.
Matteo chuckled. “How come you’re so goddamn rule-abiding?”
Romero flushed.
“Come, Matteo. Nobody gives a fuck about your shirt,” I growled when it looked as if he was considering trying on another.
Uncle Gottardo’s mansion wasn’t far from ours, so we walked over. A guard opened the gates for us and we headed up the long driveway to the entrance door where Gottardo Junior was waiting. He frowned when he saw us. “I didn’t expect you to bring more people along.”
“Romero and Cesare are always with us,” I told him as I shook his hand before he turned to my brother and congratulated him. We all stepped into the entrance hall. Loud music and voices were coming from the living area. I stripped off my gun and knife holders and dropped them on the sideboard as was expected. Matteo, Romero, and Cesare did the same before we followed my cousin toward the party. I knew most of the men only distantly since they were friends of Junior and his brother Angelo from Washington.
“How come you’re here?” I asked, as I headed for the array of alcoholic beverages while several half-naked girls danced around us. Junior had even set up poles for them.
“I needed a few days off. Business has been soul-sucking.”
I nodded. The Bratva had given us all trouble recently.
Junior smiled widely. “Now, let’s have fun!”
A couple of hours later, we were all trashed. Matteo and I danced with a group of four girls. It would be a long night. One of the whores started twerking right in front of us, her ass cheeks glittery, her thong a thin strip of nothing. Romero had disappeared with another whore in a backroom. Maybe he’d finally get fucked. Cesare slouched in his seat, eyes half-closed as a woman rode him like a pro.
Matteo clapped the dancer’s ass and she squealed, then whirled around and ground against his groin. More girls swarmed around us. I plopped down on one of the armchairs, the alcohol taking its toll, and one of the girls sank down in front of me, massaging my cock through my pants. A second came up behind me and ran her hands down my chest. I was about to snarl at her for being at my back when she fell forward, her cut throat spilling blood down my shirt. “Fuck!”
The whore massaging my cock looked up with wide eyes. I shoved myself out of the armchair and turned at the same time, bringing my arm up just when Junior brought his knife down. The blade grazed my forearm, cutting it open. The whores began screaming around us. Where was Matteo?
Junior slashed the knife at me again and I rammed my shoulder into his chest, then grabbed his throat and shoved him into the wall. Grunts and screams rang out around us. Then, the first shot sounded.
I was focused only on Junior. I was going to crush him to fucking dust. I wrapped my second hand around his throat as well then squeezed as hard as I could. “You fucking traitor,” I snarled. Did he think he could kill me?
His eyes began bulging, and I squeezed even harder until the veins in his fucking eyeballs began to pop and his bones crumpled under the force of my grip. He jerked one last time, and I dropped him to the ground. My fingers were covered in his blood.
Slowly, I turned to find Matteo atop another attacker about to cut his throat. “No,” I ordered, but it was too late. Matteo had sliced open the fucker.
Breathing harshly, I took in the mess around us. Cesare leaned against a wall, looking slightly dazed. He had a cut on the side of his neck and was staring down at the dead body in front of him. Romero was breathing harshly, only in his boxer shor
ts and a gun in his hand. Two whores were dead, and the others were crying and staring at me like I was the devil.
I walked past them toward Romero and Cesare. Romero was bleeding from a wound in his shoulder. Matteo staggered to his feet, eyes wide, almost feverish. It was the thrill of the kill I knew only too well. “You crushed his fucking throat with your bare hands!”
“Father won’t be happy,” I said, then glanced down at my hands. I’d killed so many, but this felt different. It had been more personal, fucking thrilling. Feeling the life drain out of him, feeling his bones break under my palms…Fuck, I’d loved it.
Cesare regarded my face. “You all right?”
My mouth curled. Did he think crushing my cousin’s throat had bothered me? “Call my father.” I turned to Romero, who looked a bit shaken. “How bad is it?”
He shrugged. “It’s nothing. The bullet went straight through. One of Junior’s friends got his guns the same time I did.”
I nodded, but my mind kept replaying my cousin’s death. My eyes were drawn to the uninjured whores, wondering if any of them had been involved in this.
Matteo stepped up to me. “Fuck. I can’t believe our own cousin tried to kill us.”
“You had your knife,” I said.
“You know I never go anywhere without it,” Matteo said with an unsettling grin.
“I won’t put my fucking guns down ever again.”
Romero came closer, looking a little shaky. “Do you think your uncle and your other cousin were involved?”
“Probably,” I muttered. I doubted that Junior had come up with the plan by himself. It fit Gottardo’s character that he’d talk one of his sons into this instead of risking his own fucking life. Coward.
“Why did he risk it? Even if he’d managed to kill us, there would still be your father, and he’d avenge you,” Romero said.
