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DOMENICO
To say I’m hoping to walk into the late Salvatore Santo’s residence and the night not end without an ounce of blood spilled would be a lie. In fact, I’m itching for more than a fight. At this point, I need to feel the sensation of a life being snuffed out with my bare hands, because if not, I’m going to end up taking my anger out on the wrong person.
It’s half an hour until midnight. Our flight from New York to Atlanta was delayed and then we missed the connecting flight, which meant we had to argue our way onto another flight in order to get here before morning. Dad should have secured a private flight instead of commercial; why he didn’t is a mystery. I’m not a snob, but I can’t stand being closed in small quarters with so many damn people.
My already short fuse was burned out before we even made it on the first flight. I can’t fucking believe my father killed Raffaele Caputo before letting me or the twins get some type of retribution of our own. He killed our mother in cold blood. I don’t even know why he did it, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess either. Ariana Caputo wasn’t what he considered the proper Mafioso wife. She didn’t keep her mouth shut or her nose out of my father’s business. She was everything my grandfather spit at, but to me, she was perfect. Her inner strength only enhanced the beauty on the outside.
Marriage isn’t for me; not in the way it is for Sienna or apparently Lorenzo too. It’s not that I don’t want to be loved like my mother loved my father, it’s that I will not allow for a distraction that would only get her killed like it did my mother. That thought alone has the blood simmering inside me back to reaching a boiling point. Someone needs to fucking die tonight, or maybe even everyone that was on Sal’s payroll and under his protection. Starting fresh with a new crew really is the only way to ensure loyalty, otherwise, everyone will be under a lifetime of suspicion.
Pulling up to the curb just down the street from Sal’s residence, I put the rental in park. I don’t like not having intel on this location. Had I been given more notice, I could have hacked all the computers, phones, and any other devices within the building so that I’d have an idea of what and who is inside.
Does his compound have a security system?
Where are the cameras?
Who is all armed?
Grabbing my cell from the console, I shoot a quick text. It was something I thought about as soon as my father dropped his bomb and then laid down the law. I pussied out though, and now regret is seeping into my mind.
Me:I might need backup. Care to come to NOLA for a day or two?
It’s not that Ren isn’t trustworthy backup. He is, and I do trust my brother, at least when it comes to protecting me and anyone else in the family from threats that come our way. But I also know Sasha is more than a distraction for him. I now know she’s his vice. I should have poked harder; found out for sure who he was banging. I thought it was just sex. I never suspected this reality. Twenty-four hours later, it’s still a hard pill to swallow that he married her and decided not to tell us.
For that, my little brother will pay in due time, but first, we have orders to carry out.
Krishna: Check your rearview mirror, motherfucker.
Glancing up, bright headlights blind me as a matching vehicle pulls to a stop behind me.
“Yo, vor,” I call to the back, catching Sasha’s glare as I reference her as a thief in Russian. “You want to have Ren’s back or your own blood’s?” I’m not fluent in Russian, nor am I that well versed in Italian. I know particular terms in both languages, but never cared to learn either. Dad didn’t force it on us, so it must not have been important to him, and seeing as he severed any ties to Italy many years ago, there wouldn’t have been a reason to.
Sasha jerks her body, twisting to look through the rear glass window, catching on that her brother has joined us. A part of my conscience knows I don’t have as much right as I’ve voiced regarding their secret relationship, but then again, I’ve never kept the fact that I fuck her brother on the down low. We’re not together. He’s still the enemy, but when an itch needs to be scratched and he’s one of the few that can sate the monster within, it is what it is. I’ve accepted what I want in the moments like last night, and who I want.
Hell, maybe I’ll sink a round or two into his flesh later tonight and then fuck his brains out while I watch his blood drip on the floor.
“She’s with me,” Lorenzo bites out before Sasha can reply to my rare offer of choice.
“Suits me. I need someone dependable to cover my ass anyway,” I dig. He deserves it. My anger is fully warranted, and he knows it. That’s why there is a beat of silence after the remark leaves my tongue.
“Fuck you,” Ren spits back.
“Let’s do this,” I tell them as I cut the engine and get out, pocketing my keys and phone. There’s a handgun in my leather jacket, just in case. I prefer more personal methods of snuffing the life out of someone than taking the easy way with a bullet between the eyes, but sometimes the former isn’t a luxury I’m permitted.
* * *
I’d swearon my life that my brother is envisioning the nine-inch blade of the knife he’s twirling between his fingers flying from his grip into my flesh. The crazy, evil smirk he has displayed on his face makes him look more deranged than the Joker from one of the newer movies. It’s working to my advantage, but I usually prefer the people at my mercy to be more afraid of me than my kid brother.
He’s always been the easygoing one, the laid-back one of all three. Sienna and I are quicker to anger than Ren. She tends to pop off at the mouth, whereas for me, silence kicks in for me until I’m able to slice the offender’s tongue off with a sharp blade or blow a round down the scumbag’s throat.
If this is a side of Lorenzo I’m going to get every time I throw his bullshit in his face, then I may keep it up. It’s amusing me more than it should. I might even like it.
“As I was saying.” I flick my gaze back to the eight people we rounded up when we walked right through the front fucking door. With the lack of security, it’s a wonder no one took out Sal before my father did. “Salvatore and his poor choice of a second met their demise so to speak, in New York. For those that don’t know me, I’m Domenico Caputo.” I pause, letting my name sink in. Two of the men in the living room—their eyes widen with recognition. The other is cautious but doesn’t have a clue who we are. The other five are women in various forms of undress. They’d fit in at the nearest strip club, but even that would be an insult to my sister-in-law. Then again, Ren’s club back in New York is one of a kind, if I do say so myself.
None of the women he has employed are two-bit whores like the broads sitting on the white furniture. They’re single moms, college girls, or the sales clerk at the corner market that can’t feed her family on one salary alone. These bitches are trash. I’d pay them not to perform. In fact, I’m thinking about offering them cash to hit the road. I feel like I’m going to catch something standing fifteen feet from each one of them, the men included.
“I’m the new boss,” I finally inform them. The girls perk up, smiling their methhead teeth at me, and now I’m glad I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I’d lose anything I had sitting in my stomach. “Which one of you is in charge and what is your rank?”
“I’m one of Sal’s captains,” the older of the three men speaks up. He’s the only one dressed in a suit, but seeing as the bottom of his dress pants have lost the hem in one leg and his dress coat looks older than I am, these sons of bitches obviously aren’t pulling in any amount of money. “Name’s Kent.”
