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As I wait for my father, my mind drifts to the girl I can’t wait to get my hands on. Again. My Little Chaos has no idea what I have in store for her.
Finally, the door opens, and my father saunters in without a care in the world.
“Good, you're here.”
“You texted. I came.” Like the good, dutiful son he expects me to be.
"Tell me every little detail about last night," my father demands, raising a brow when I shrug a shoulder with indifference, referring to the man we caught sneaking around our property.
Those dark eyes zone in on me with a wicked gleam, examining every facial twitch and movement I present. Jokes on him, though. I never give myself away to my enemies—and he’s my biggest one.
Even if I had found something important, the last person I’d divulge all the details to would be this man. The most notorious, ruthless mafia man in California. If he didn’t have the law in his pockets, he’d be in prison right now, and my life would be a whole lot simpler.
"He only mentioned this Shadow guy as the person he was working with," I say with a straight face, sitting across from my father's desk at his office, high above the people below. Nothing but the blue skies, clouds, and the sun streaking through the windows behind him.
The light streams in throughout his modern office, illuminating his facial features. Dark eyes look back at me with malice resting behind them and trimmed facial hair running down his sharp jaw. To some, he might look like an angel—innocent and giving. To me and others, he’s the damn devil hiding behind flawless flesh. Only, others haven’t received the brunt of his lessons with fists and kicks and dark basements. That was reserved for only me. Imagine being five years old and getting woken up in the middle of the night, dragged down the stairs by your hair, and thrown into your dingy basement.
"Hmmm," he says, stroking his jawline, deep in thought. "Well, I'll be glad to have him out of the picture. Now, we need to figure out who is really moving in on our territory."
Right. There’s more resting in the depths of his eyes. He knows something he’s not telling me. It’s right there in the way he strokes his chin and avoids eye contact. I can read this man like a magazine. Only he hasn’t a clue. There are a lot of things in my life he doesn’t know about. Not yet, anyway. One day, I’ll reveal it all to him when he’s on his knees, chained in a dark basement, at my fucking mercy.
My teeth grind together, and I blow out a breath. Fuck. Some days, I get myself way too worked up. I can’t let that happen. He, too, reads people like it’s his goddamn gift. And it is. Give him an inch—he’ll take a mile.
"Agreed," I hum, keeping my words short and concise like my father likes it.
It's odd sitting in this oversized lounge chair, resting in his overly done up office with expensive decorations. Something he never used to care about. There he sits behind a large oak desk, gleaming under the sun's rays. Leaning back in his equally expensive office chair, his eyes wander around the room, seeming to get lost in thought. Something he doesn’t do very often.
Gabriel Viotto is usually too focused to ever let his mind wander. It’s a weakness in his eyes.
My father’s setup hasn’t always been like this. Over the years, his paranoia has ramped up to an all-time high. Constantly feeling like someone was right around the corner with a gun, ready to end his life, or simply following him wherever he went. In some aspects, I guess he was right, especially after the attempt on his life.
Many years ago, he was a lot closer, living under the same roof as me—and Arrow, who has roomed with us since he was six, when my father took him under his wing and away from the priest.
Then, it all changed—after someone bombed our mansion and attempted to take his life. Or mine. Who knows? His paranoia ate at him until he packed up all his shit and left the premises without looking back. Including leaving Arrow and me behind. It wasn’t sad for me. I’d never miss the lessons he insisted on teaching me. Ever. They may have built me into the heartless asshole I am now, but he ruined my innocence long before I even knew what that word was.
No. My father is a coward. Always has been. Always will be. Even now, as he sits behind his massive desk, with all his false power he’s built up around himself he’s still afraid.
Sometimes, I wonder if he would have turned into a better man if my mother was still here. Sometimes, I wonder a lot. What would my life be like with her in it? Would it be like Shepp’s when his father was still alive? Where his mother couldn’t stick up for him or anyone, always cowering in the corner. Now, she’s married to my father—for some fucked up reason that can’t be love—and is so drugged up on whatever he gives her, living her life like nothing has happened. She just walks around, spending his money with a dopey smile on her face. Not even caring about her son.
I sigh, mentally shaking myself from the past. There was nothing I could do about it back then. And now, I’d rather him be here than at the mansion, which has become our home. Not only does it make our lives easier not having to listen to his every demand, but for the plans we have in overthrowing his ass from power, well—it helps he’s out of earshot.
"Fine then," he finally says, leaning over and opening a drawer. "I wanted to offer you a piece of the pie in celebration of you coming into the family completely and taking your oath soon. You’re a man now, Jericho Viotto.” Those stern eyes eat away at me when he looks me up and down. “And I want you to officially take over as the owner of Rave.”
I blink several times when he slides a piece of paper toward me, detailing the contract, pay, and rules of my newest role as sole owner of the entire nightclub we’ve built up.
Suspicion rolls in my stomach while I look him over, trying to hide the stunned expression on my face. My father doesn’t just hand over operations without stipulations.
Sure, he lets Arrow, Shepp, and I run the poker games from the VIP room of the club. Of course, he gets a cut of our profits and checks over our books every chance he gets. He keeps us in charge of loans given out to the people of the city, but there’s always something he wants. A little off the top here. A little off the top there. He doesn’t think we pay attention to what he does.
We do, though. Others may not. How's that saying go? The Devil's in the details.
But we’re not fucking stupid. Gabriel Viotto always has something up his sleeve. He’s always two steps ahead of everyone else.
Or so he likes to think.
"You're giving me Rave?" I ask with true appreciation.
I’ve been basically running the club for three years. From the moment I turned eighteen, the club became our favorite place to conduct our own business. We found our tribe there, gaining loyalty through the foot soldiers my father placed around us. Some are untrustworthy. But the others? They’re ours. Not his. Their loyalty lies with us and no one else.
