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“Alister? What’s happening?” I turn to find Sophia standing just down the hallway, which now echoes with Cara’s cries. Confusion washes over her, sleep still present in her eyes.
“Get back in your room and hide,” I whisper, waving at her to move.
“Alister?”
“Now!”
Sophia’s lip quivers, and she runs back into her room and locks the door. Knowing I have to protect her and Cara is the only thing that allows me to push through my own fear and emotions and close the distance to my parents’ room.
“Shoot him in the leg. I want him to watch while I destroy what’s left of the Amato line.”
My fists ball and my dark eyes shift into slits as I quietly step over the body of my parents’ guard. More will be here soon, unless these men have already taken them out. But, from the looks of it, I don’t have time to wait and neither does my dad.
As if propelled by sheer rage, I lunge forward and tackle the man who killed my mother, knocking the gun from him. We land on a pile of glass left in the wake of the two men’s invasion. As I wrestle the second intruder, my body becomes damp, though I’m not sure why, and my arms and legs sting as shards of glass break my skin. Despite this, I keep my eyes on the man within my grasp, knowing that if I allow myself a moment to assess the irreparable damage he’s done, I’ll break. I’m so focused, I barely hear the gunshot coming from the other side of the room. And yet, I twitch, wanting to check on my dad. But as the life begins to drain from the man beneath me, I’m unable to pull away from him. That is, until I realize the source of the liquid wetting my clothes and skin—blood. My mother’s blood, to be exact.
I can’t help myself. My eyes shift from the man to the dark curls sprawled next to us. Among the broken glass and pool of blood lies my mother’s lifeless body. She stares back at me with frightened eyes and parted lips. Reality hits and images of a life without my mother race through my mind, and my body begins to shake, and tears flood my face. My fingers loosen around the man’s neck, though only for a moment. As thoughts of Sophia and Cara come to me, I am reinvigorated with a fury so lethal my skin burns. I’ve already lost my mother. I can’t lose them too. Once more, I tighten my grip with the intent of crushing every bone in the assailant’s neck. His limbs go limp and his face turns blue, and I look at him with a certainty even the Devil wouldn’t question. “You will die for this,” I say through gritted teeth. At that, I increase the pressure until—
“Alister, no!” My father’s hand on my shoulder sends a shock through my body, one of relief and regret. Slowly, I turn to find his face etched with sadness. And yet, just as much as his pain is evident, so is his lust for revenge. “Death would be too kind for him.”
“Excuse me,sir. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Gio says, pulling me from my thoughts. As I blink, the stone walls of my family’s underground Blood Cellar come into view. This place always triggers memories of the past. Most of all, it reminds me of that night, the night I made my first kill, the night I learned what it means to be an Amato and the Blood Prince of New Orleans. As horrific as losing Cara was,is, hers is not the only death I’ve been forced to endure. I can only hope it was the last.
“A welcome interruption,” I say, adjusting myself in my chair. Gio nods, knowing the darkness this place holds.
“I need to gather the supplies for tonight’s ritual, but I can come back later if you—”
“No, go ahead,” I say, motioning for him to approach the wooden cabinet to my left. It holds more things than even I’m aware of—family photos from the old country, discarded purple and gold tapestries, extra jewels engraved or embossed with the family crest, and, of course, records upon records dating back a century.
As Gio reaches the cabinet, I stand, moving from my place at the head of the table to the wall of blood. It, though only one form of record keeping, serves as an account of every notable kill of every Blood King, including mine. Among the thousands of tiny glass bottles I find the vial of blood belonging to the man who killed my mother, the man whose name I never knew, the man whose boss was never divulged. My father was right. Death was too kind for him. But eventually, there is nothing left to do but die. And yet, on nights like tonight, he is more alive than ever. I think of him and everything about that night that never made sense.
My father took his time with him, both for his sake and mine. He tortured the man in ways even I have never replicated, teaching me, while trying to discover who the man worked for. He didn’t have any familial allegiance. That would’ve been easy enough for us to figure out. But no. He was a ghost, a hired gun.
Whoever tried to kill me and my family that night didn’t want the hit tracing back to them if it wasn’t a success. Which, for some reason, makes me believe it was ordered by someone familiar, a friend of my father’s, someone who would know which bedroom was my parents’. It makes me sick we never learned the truth. And, as I prepare to welcome my organization’s capos into my home, I can’t help but wonder if one of them was involved. And now that the truth of Cara’s murder has been revealed, I can’t help but wonder if they will try again.
I place the vial back on the shelf as Gio finds the silver box containing the supplies for the Blood Oath ritual. In most organizations, the Blood Oath is recited only once upon one’s initiation. But after my mother was killed, my father began conducting the ritual annually, to remind his followers of their loyalty. With war looming in the shadows, tonight’s recitation is more important than ever.
“Copy,” Gio says with his hand on his earpiece.
“What is it?”
“Guests are starting to arrive. The partygoers are being escorted straight to the gardens. And your personal guests are gathering in your parlor.”
I nod, reaching for my ring. As I twist it around my finger, it weighs heavy on me, just like my task tonight. I must rally the capos and make sure they are ready for war. Most of all, I must make sure they are still loyal to me. Without their support, I won’t have enough men to defend against my outside enemies. Not to mention, if their allegiances shift, my own men will join the ranks of those who plot against me.
“Boss, are you okay?”
I can’t help but smile at Gio’s remark. Only he would dare ask me that question. Well, aside from Sophia, though I know he only asks out of courtesy. He knows as well as I do that I haven’t been okay in a very long time.
“I’m not going to tell the capos about the deal with the FBI, not yet at least. After today’s press conference, they’ll already be on edge. I need to ensure I have their support before I tell them our entire organization is changing. Even with the new cruise line, our legitimate earnings are less than what we bring in through the drug trade. From a financial standpoint, I doubt they’ll be pleased with the idea of legitimizing. And, the truth is, I’m not sure I can afford their displeasure. As word of Cara’s death spreads… Well, it’s no doubt earned me a war with our enemies. I’ll need my capos’ support if I’m to win it, survive it.”
“Well, I pity the man who picks a war with you, sir.”
At that, I nod, once more taking in the large, ornate ring that once belonged to my father. Nights like tonight are not only a test of loyalty for my followers but also a test of my own. I am the Blood King, and yet the Blood King is so much more than me. After what happened to Cara, I questioned if I could do it, if I could uphold the century-long reign of the Amato line. I allowed myself to believe, if only for a moment, that I had a choice, that I could walk away if I felt inadequate. This ring reminds me I can’t, that I have no choice but to rise up or endure the consequences. Every day is a sacrifice. Now, I must ask my men to make the same sacrifice. If they won’t…
“As do I, Gio. As do I.”
* * *
Gioand I enter the room off the parlor, and my shoulders instantly slump at the sight of Sophia. She stands, dressed in her silver 1920s flapper costume, staring down the capos through the video monitors streaming from the inside of the parlor.
