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“I’m going back to the compound.”
“We’re your family, not them.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with disdain.
“I didn’t choose this family; I chose them.”
“Son . . .” His voice drops low, and I turn to him, my eyes never wavering from his face.
“I am loyal to both. Do not fucking make me choose because you will come up short.”
He gesticulates with his hand, revealing his palm. “Boys . . . you are just three boys, so damn ready to overrule your fathers, thinking you’ll do it better. We all thought the same, Son, only to be proven we never do . . .”
“Father, stop with this bullshit.”
I’ve killed; I’ve risen in the ranks, all while building the syndicate with Kieran and Cameron. A syndicate ruling over the underworld. We were nineteen when we started it. And ever since, we have accumulated so much influence and power, no one dares to make a move without our permission.
I accomplished what every man who has something to prove does—became more feared than his father. My father might still be the Boss, but our men respect me more.
The driver stops in front of the red-brick townhouse where I grew up, and my father turns to me.
“Come greet your mother. She misses you.”
Climbing out of the car, we walk inside. When my mother sees me in the hallway, she rushes to me, hugging me. She’s petite in my arms.
“How long will you stay?”
“Just for dinner.”
A mix of sadness and disappointment flickers in her warm eyes, but she masks it quickly. My seventeen-year-old brother rushes down the stairs, grinning boyishly, carrying a certain lightness. Soon, it will disappear. No one preserves their innocence in our world.
“Dario,” my father warns him, but my brother steps past him, taking a fighter pose, feet shuffling from left to right, arms raised. He swings a right hook at my face.
I deflect his punch, and he sulks. “But I’m getting better, right?”
“No, you need to focus on training and not beating me. Because the latter will never happen.”
My father pats me on the back, and my mother cups my cheek, sighing, as if to check the state of my soul. She’s been a great mother and wife: loving, loyal, and caring, but she also prefers to keep her head down, and that’s what makes her perfect in my father’s eyes. I force a smile on my face that eases the crease between her brows.
We step inside the dining room. Gray texture wallpaper complements the classy upholstered dining chairs. A crystal chandelier hangs from the middle of the ceiling. We take our seats around the sleek, polished table.
Dario all but bounces in his chair. “I want to be just like you.”
“Please, no,” my mother says, reminding me if it were up to her, at least one of her sons would end up living a normal life.
“Marina,” my father admonishes her, and she sends me an apologetic glance.
There is no need to sugarcoat what I am. Underneath my custom-made suit is a monster. A monster who loves the smell of money, blood, and power far too much. A sinner with zero regrets and no conscience.
“My boy will get married.” A nostalgic smile curves my mother’s lips as a staff member pours wine into our glasses and dinner is served. Homemade lasagna. My favorite.
“It’s long past time,” my brother says through a mouthful, and I shake my head at him, taking a bite.
My mother claps her hands in front of her with a hopeful expression. “I hope you will get along.”
“We will.” That will prove challenging if Chiara’s attitude is any indication, but I love a good challenge.
“It’s important to make your marriage work, son.”
I offer a noncommittal nod in my father’s direction.
