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CHAPTER1
“The excesses of love soon pass, but its insufficiencies torment us forever.”
—Mignon McLaughlin
Sicily, Italy
D’Artagnan
Wham!
The savage thud as the asshole hit the concrete wall somehow managed to echo in the damp space. Two of my soldiers waited behind me, hungry dogs eager to chomp down on the remnants of a steak bone. I flexed my hand, chuckling from the ridiculous thought crossing my mind. What did I care if my knuckles bruised? I was used to pain.
As the lying sack of shit slid down the wall, I took a deep breath, glancing at my watch. Dealing with the bastard had made me late for a meeting with Franco, something I abhorred. My brutal adopted father refused to accept excuses.
And so did I.
As the underboss for the DeLuca Cosa Nostra, it was my responsibility to handle our enemies in whatever method I chose.
But I had more fun with the dirtbags who attempted to betray us. Not one had gotten away with a single tangled round of deceit since I’d ascended to the position. I took my job seriously, my adopted father ensuring I had all the skill necessary to become a killer. I crouched down, lifting his head by his hair. The man was out cold.
I’d gotten shit from him, but that’s what I’d expected. He was a low-level player in the scheme of things but I wouldn’t be crossed in any way.
I pulled away, flexing my fingers. Then I heard a shuddering sound coming from the traitor. I twisted my head toward him, curious as to what excuse he could provide. When his eyes opened, obviously searching for me, I hunkered down inches away.
“What?” I snarled, uncertain I cared what he had to say.
When he gripped my wrist, I was surprised at the strength he still had left. His ashen face hinted at the agony he was enduring.
“What?” I barked a second time.
“You’ve… been…” His head rolled to the side, stealing the last of my patience. I shook him, lowering my head.
“Say it, you fuck. What?”
His eyelashes skimmed across his bruised cheeks before he managed to open his eyes. His manicured fingernails clawed my skin, his forceful actions creating another wave of rage. “You’ve… been… betrayed.”
Inhaling, I ripped his hand from my arm, pulling away. I’d been told several times someone in my organization had betrayed me. The warnings had yet to come to fruition. When his head rolled to the side again, his breaths more labored than before, I hissed.
“What do you want us to do with him, boss?” Sergio asked. The brutal man had been by my side for years, one of the few people I could trust.
Standing, I raked my hand through my hair, turning around to face them. “Finish it. Then cut him up and dump the parts in nicely bowed packages on Romano’s doorstep.”
Giuseppe Romano was the same age as the man I learned to call my father, the two men once considered friends. Now they were bitter enemies in a sea of them, sharks waiting for chum to be tossed into the cesspool for a feeding frenzy. There were five crime syndicates located in Italy, all claiming to be top dog. The truth was the old ways and methods of doing business were quickly being replaced with the use of computers and social media. Meanwhile, the old dogs refused to change, handling business as they’d done two hundred years before.
What I couldn’t have was any information regarding our shipments, either legal or under the table, getting in the hands of the Bratva. The scum was also considered a viable threat, more so over the last few months.
“You got it,” Raphaelo said far too eagerly. The bastard lived for slicing and dicing. I gave him a hard look before taking long strides out of the crumbling building located on the back of the estate. For as long as I could remember, the small building had been used for severe acts of punishment, the stone so thick the sounds of anguish couldn’t be heard.
I should know. I’d spent several weeks of my life being chained to the wall, whipped until I slipped into unconsciousness. All for the sake of making me who and what I was today.
A monster whose rise had been fueled by the blood of my enemies.
My soul had vanished at least ten years before, which allowed for a lack of guilt regarding the men who’d died by my hand and my orders.
Smiling, I jumped into my Maserati, heading for the main house. The estate was massive, olive trees lining the miles of roadway within the five hundred acres. While it was beautiful in the daytime, the lush greenery highlighted by pots of vinca and petunias in vibrant colors of fuchsia and deep violets, it was the darkness that appeased the ache inside.
I pulled to a hard stop just outside the front steps.
