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My chest tightened. “Why?”
Cristo’s one-sided shrug wasn’t very comforting. “He’s invited us for dinner. He’s being hospitable. Welcoming the lost son and heir with open arms.”
I narrowed my eyes. Fucking politics had started already.
My uncle would be all friendly while trying to find an opportunity to stab me in the back at the same time.
Killing your own relatives was much more tricky than killing a rival.
But maybe it wasn’t so bad.
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
Hawk’s words reverberated through my mind.
No better way to do that than to have a look around Uncle Fausto’s house and get a picture of the situation and his depravity myself.
“Fine,” I said and locked eyes with Cristo until he nodded. We wouldn’t talk about our suspicions out loud. Not here. Not since about half of the family was on my uncle’s side, and there was no way to know who to trust.
No way to know if we were being listened to.
I was operating in a hostile environment.
So, the only way to make sure my brothers and I survived was to play the role. And play it well.
And in the end, who knew, maybe we would even come out on top.
The drive wasn’t long. I looked out the window and watched the achingly familiar landscape fly by. The heat turned my vision hazy. Even the unmovable mountains of my childhood appeared like a mirage in the distance.
We passed a fig tree—big enough to cast a decent shadow on the old guy and his donkey resting beneath it.
I’d operated all over the world in the past couple of years, but I’d never set foot in Italy again.
Not once.
And now I was home.
We drove up a long driveway, bordered by lean, tall Mediterranean cypresses.
My uncle’s home was an old castle, not unlike our own country home, Castello dei Pietra.
Evidence of the long, rich history going back to the Greek emperors—and the wealth and influence of our family.
My family.
“Any last advice?” I asked Cristo.
“Don’t let the slaves shock you.”
I tightened my eyes. Was he being literal? “The slaves?”
Cristo nodded, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “Uncle Fausto has been known for his perverse proclivities. Now that Papa is gone and he’s gearing towards being head of the family, rumor says he’s not hiding anything anymore.”
“So, he has honest-to-god slaves?”
Cristo nodded. “Servants, sex slaves—you can think of it, he has it. He always harped on father to move into human trafficking, which is apparently very lucrative these days.”
Cristo’s face showed disgust. “Father always refused, though who knows where Fausto has his hands in? And not just because it’s a profitable business. He’s probably doing it to ensure his own supply.”
