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For only a moment, my internal fears take hold. The bright futures Arrow, Shepp, and I hold flash through my mind, until they’re drowned out by the beautiful music cleaning the room and washing everything else away. My body instinctively sways as I stand, weaving the bow over the strings rapidly coming to a crescendo in my song.
It’s hauntingly beautiful. A song of my own creation, created under the duress of my father’s watchful eye. Every night as a child, I stood in front of him as he worked, playing my heart out. Until he was done with me. If I fucked up, then there was hell to pay. More time in the darkness, thinking about my misdeeds.
Perhaps it was a lesson in what’s to come when the boys and I fully integrate into the organization. In the coming weeks when we pledge ourselves to the family, more responsibilities will fall on our shoulders. Something my father reminded me of earlier today when he dropped by the mansion while the sun was high in the sky. A rarity for Gabriel Viotto. He hasn’t walked through those doors since he left years before, giving the mansion to the boys and I. Our meetings always reside in the tower he built to protect himself.
But not today.
“Once you’re a man, I want you and the boys in charge of the runners,” my father says, clasping his hands behind his back and pacing in front of me. “They’ve been traveling to your uncle’s territories to collect from our casinos and nightclubs.”
The runners—men of the family who collect funds from our various gambling institutions throughout California, bringing back the money owed to us.
“Of course, Sir,” I say politely with a nod.
“They're being killed off or recruited, Son,” he says with a frown as his fists clench at his sides. “Someone is taking them away from their positions, and they're disappearing without a goddamn trace.”
“Any leads?”
My father's furious stare drills through me with accusation.
“Shadow,” he grits out angrily. “He's the only one who swoops in and steals things that don't belong to him.” His jaw tics, and his gaze falls away.
Shadow. Of course.
My eyes narrow at the man continually pacing across my opulent office space. A familiar feeling bubbles to the surface. A feeling I get when a liar stands before me and opens his mouth. He's holding back. There's something else there he's not telling me. Typical.
“Noted. Want me to step up and take responsibility for the runners?”
My father nods. “Smart thinking. You're in charge of them now. Make sure they're staying in line and not fraternizing with the enemy. And find me that bastard before he crosses the line!” He growls the last part as he picks up a whiskey tumbler and tosses it against the wall.
I don't dare move when his chest heaves and his fingers tighten into fists.
My father doesn't lose his shit in front of others often, but when he does, his tantrum is overly dramatic.
Pathetic.
Our main gambling hub is set in the VIP room of my father’s famous club—Rave—overlooking the crowds dancing below. It will become our home away from home as we continue to build our side gigs, away from my father’s prying eyes. Despite Rave belonging to my father, the boys and I took over the moment we turned eighteen; with my father’s blessing, of course.
Despite being semi-initiated near our sixteenth birthdays and having blood ties to my father, we started at the bottom as low-level members, like any other new initiate. The plebs, training under the bosses and doing bitch work. Hard work and determination have sealed our fates. And we'll continue to solidify our role as members of the family until our full initiation hits at the end of May.
Then, the real work begins.
Clinking metal grabs my attention from the doorway of my office, forcing me to still and cease the flow of music. I blink several times, coming back to myself by pushing the memories into the back of my mind. I heave a breath, setting my violin back into its case and securing the bow.
I turn on my heels, facing Shepp's worried expression as he stands in the doorway, watching me intently.
Paint covers his hands, and small splotches dot his cheeks when he tilts his head.
‘He brought home a fucking body,’ Shepp signs, shaking his head. ‘And put it in the cage.’
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. Arrow bringing home a body? It's not too unusual. But to put them in the lion's den without Shepp and I to supervise. Well, that's a goddamn disaster.
"In the cage?" I question, slowly standing from behind the desk I've been at for hours now.
‘Inside, Jer,’ he signs with a huff. ‘He's going to get himself killed.’
Possibly. I trust Arrow with every fiber of my being. With my life, my love’s life, and Shepp’s. In most cases, anyway. When he’s riled up and aching to kill, his common sense seems to slip through the window, leaving him soulless with one purpose—death.
I sigh. If Arrow has a body—hopefully still alive—inside his pet lion’s large enclosure, then I have to intervene. He’s either dangling them by their ankles above growling lions, locked them to the bloodied rock, or he’s tied him to a chair, ready to interrogate. The man is unpredictable at best, completely unhinged at worst.
