Here, Renzo had just been discussing Endgame—Erel’s pride and joy and its joint proprietor. That virtual reality arena was one of my more profitable investments. While the platform and games were well-made and brought in good business, its more lucrative activities were in the hidden message boards in the coding for hits. Hits that I sometimes took part in carrying out. A good kill was an unmatched stress reliever.
Thibault followed my best friend at a leisurely pace. No one would ever suspect Thibault to be a capable marksman with that gait. At eighteen, this world had not yet crushed my brother’s playful persona. Even after starting to take over the handling of our shipping routes for client drug imports, none of his duties tothe Milieu had jaded him just yet. Give it time. Life disappointed us all in one way or another. What mattered was how we rose back up from those ashes. That was what truly defined us.
They sat in the armchairs in front of my desk. I resumed my call, cutting off Iannelli’s tenth death threat.
“You’re just like I remember you.” My voice dripped with cold condescension. “Always tossing about airs of superiority with little to back up your claims. Always the American hothead.”
“Your brother didn’t think so.”
I snorted to veil my irritation. Yannick had no place in this conversation. “That strike barely left a mark. You’re slipping.”
A heavy breath sounded against my ear. “You never deserved her.”
“So you’ve said. You know as well as I do, men in our world take. We don’t wait to deserve.”
“Is that what you did?” Hostility poured through the line. “You took?”
I frowned at the sudden uptick. “You know I didn’t. She was a child, barely sixteen. I released her as she deserved.”
“I’m not talking about then. I’m talking about now.”
I sat up in my chair. “What the hell are you saying? Where’s Persy?”
Erel leaned in at the sound of her name and mouthed it back to me. I waved his irritating reaction away. This wasn’t the time. Thibault tilted his head. The fucker was even more intrigued.
“I…” A beat of silence across the line halted the conversation. “You’re serious?”
“I wasn’t aware I had a sense of humor.”
“You really are a bastard. You know what, it’s none of your fucking business.She’snone of your business. Not after you broke her heart.”
“I’m certain she got over it.”
His tongue clicked repeatedly over the line. “Why were you calling, De Villier?”
“I heard about Elio and Alisea. I wanted to offer my condolences. To Persy, of course.”
“Asshole,” Renzo replied half-heartedly.
“So?” I asked, but the bastard just repeated the word back to me. My teeth ground together, and I considered just hanging up, but I’d come this far. “How is she?”
“She’s not home. I don’t trust you enough to tell you more.”
“The feeling is mutual.” What more was he implying? Was she out with someone? A man? Did I care?
Another beat of silence. “Listen to us. Two young bosses at each other’s throats. And we’ve not even mentioned our respective trades.”
“It’s the way of business.”
“Business.” He scoffed, as expected. Our ill will was not business-related. “You know there was no other way.”
Again, Renzo slipped what happened with Yannick back onto the table. I tapped my palm against my desk with irritation. My older brother, Alizé’s twin, had been crazed. No one survived what he and I had as children without losing a bit of themselves. That didn’t excuse what happened with Persy, but the murder of a mafia family heir could never be ignored. In the back of my mind, a little voice whispered,You would have done it yourself one day.
“Family might be everything, but even blood can be polluted,” Renzo added. “Disease always needs to be exterminated.”
I leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Is that not what you did with your father?”
“No one was more deserving, even your brother.”
