Page 1 of Sacred Blood

Prologue

Gaetano

“Vincenzo, stop!” Fausto and I raced after my baby brother as he toddled toward the pool’s edge at an alarming speed. His golden blonde hair floated in the air like a halo around his head, but my brother was no angel. He would, however, be joining the heavenly realm if I didn’t get to him in time.

Fausto, a year older but slower than me, lagged behind. At six, I was already an excellent swimmer and the fastest runner in our family of seven brothers. I vaguely wondered where Romeo and Simo were, as they were supposed to be watching Vincenzo but were nowhere in sight. Typical.

I lunged at Vinny as he reached the edge, but I was too late. My fingertips brushed lightly over the back of his shirt without catching, and his little body barely made a splash as he fell into the water. I dove in after him, catching him before he sank deeper, and hauled him to the surface where Fausto waited for me to pass him up.

Before I could, Vincenzo wrapped his pudgy arms around my neck. “We swimmin, Tani!” he crowed in his baby gibberish. “I wuv you!”

Ah hell, it was hard to be mad at him when he looked at me like that, his blue-green eyes flecked with gold were wide with delight and wonder. At birth, with those gold-flecked eyes and that thick mane of curls, he resembled a baby lion, earning him the nickname, Simba.

“Are you okay, little buddy?” I asked.

“I swimmin.”

“You sure are,” I sighed, holding him with me in the water. Still beaming with pride at his accomplishment, he nuzzled his nose into my neck and fell asleep. I passed his limp body to Fausto, who said nothing. He rarely spoke, which was one of the reasons we got along so well.

“What happened?” Romeo asked, running up to the lip of the pool.

“Not so close, you’ll fall in, too!” called Simo, sliding to a halt at his side. It was hard not to roll my eyes at his dogged devotion to our eldest brother, Romeo, but at least he noticed Vincenzo eventually. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. Just sleeping.” I hauled myself out of the pool and onto my feet, glaring up at my older brother of four years accusingly. “Where the hell were you, Rom? He could have drowned. You were supposed to be watching him.”

He glared right back. “I was. I turned my back for one second and he was gone. We’ve been looking for him.”

Beside him, Simo nodded his head sagely. He reminded me of an old man when he did that, and I was about to say so when our father materialized out of nowhere.

“What do we have here?” he asked calmly and we all fell silent.

Like most children, we loved our father, but our love was tempered by awe and fear of disappointing him. But we weren’t like most kids and our father was definitely not most fathers. He was Don Vitale, the head not only of our little family, but the mafia family that operated under his name, a name that struck terror into the hearts of grown men the world over. He loved us, we knew, but his love meant preparing us for life in the criminal underworld and that often meant painful lessons. He was hardest on Romeo, who would take over the family business one day, and it was on Romeo that his gaze finally came to rest.

“Nothing, Papa. Everything is good here,” Romeo answered, staring me down, daring me to contradict him.

“Yeah, what he said,” I added, holding his gaze. I wouldn’t back down from him or anyone. One day, sure, he’d be in control of the family, but that wasn’t today.

“Romeo, go to my office and wait for me there. Simo, you and Fausto take Vincenzo into the house. I’d like a word in private with my son.”

As I was the only son he hadn’t sent away, I knew he meant me. Once my brothers were out of sight, my father sat down on one of the pool chairs and patted the spot beside him. I reluctantly dropped down beside him, waiting for an earful.

“Gaetano, I’m going to guess at what happened and then offer you some fatherly advice, inteso?”

“Yes, Father. I understand.”

“Bravo ragazzo.”

He hadn’t called me a good boy in a while. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Romeo and Massimo lost track of their baby brother and you came to the rescue just in time.”

I turned to him in shock.

My father chuckled. “You should guard your expressions better, son. Never let people know what you’re thinking.”

I closed my mouth. “Yes, Papa.”

He patted my knee fondly. “It isn’t a magic trick. I saw you dive into the pool to rescue Simba. You were quick, fearless, and did all the right things. I’m proud of you, son.”