Page 116 of Married to the Devil

“You are deeply fucked up, you know that?”

“Yes, love, I do.” He kisses me and I love it. “Now, talk.”

35

RAFE

My footsteps echo down the hall as I march toward the meeting room.

Silas walks at my right hand. Cassian on my left. Kellan and Devlin trail behind.

My brothers know how important this moment is to the future of our family.

“All our hard work hinges on a fucking vote,” Silas says when we reach the door. Inside are the Capos and Lieutenants, the men important enough to deem worthy of showing up and getting a say tonight. “You do know it’s nearly split down the middle?”

“Nearly being the operative word there,” Devlin says with a manic grin. “All we need is one.”

“I can even the numbers,” Cassian offers, touching a hand to his belt. I’m guessing he’s got at least a dozen knives hidden on his person.

I face them. These four men I helped raise after our parents burned.

Each gazes back steadfast and calm.

Clever and charming Silas.

Brutal and quiet Cassian.

Brash and outgoing Kellan.

Wild and ambitious Devlin.

The four pillars of my life.

It’s strange, pausing here with them now. I remember when they were children. Especially Devlin, the youngest of us.

Now we’re men. Our knuckles are inked in black: ASHES. The promise we swore to each other, the vow we took.

“Whatever happens in there, you are my brothers.” I meet each of their gazes. “I’m honored to be your Don, and I’ll do whatever it takes to hold this family together.”

Silas speaks first. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “It’s not all on you, brother.”

“He’s right.” Kellan wraps an arm around Devlin. “You think you’ve been doing all this shit alone?”

“If only,” Cassian mutters grimly.

“What they mean is we’re in this together.” Silas squeezes tighter. His normal smile is gone. “We have your back. To death and ash.”

“Death and ash,” I say, pressing back against the flood of emotions I feel.

We’ve worked so hard to get where we are now. Powerful, connected, dangerous. And if tonight goes right, we’ll take that next step up.

The future is so close I can almost feel it.

I turn and push open the doors.

The meeting room is brightly lit. I march to the head of a massive table. The decorations are subtle and appropriate: crystal vases, dried flowers, cigar boxes. Decanters of whisky are scattered all over. The smell of smoke is fresh in the air. Fitting, I think.

Forty-plus men sit around the edges, each of them a piece of the great machinery of the Corvino might. Enzo Palladino, graying hair, grizzled and quiet with his son Gio at his side. Angelo Sartori, a funeral director, dark hair, dark stare. Rocco Malvasi, young and brash. The old world and the new gathered together at last.