“No,” I answer.
“Then take the bullets, go to the hospital, die, and come back as a cousin I’ll treat as a son,” he says.
I don’t speak. I don’t need to. I just hang up. I know the plan which is ... considerate coming from my father, but it brings up an unwelcome reminder. I don’t remember the last time I’ve said no to one of his ideas.
I obey. That’s what an obedient son does. It’s what a future leader does when being mentored. I obey because my father is supposed to know better and lead me in the right direction. This doesn’t feel like the right direction anymore.
When he said Emilia couldn’t take over the family, I agreed. She’s been unpredictable and too determined to prove herself. That can get a person in trouble. Mateo is in this for the lifestyle of a billionaire and Luca ... Luca’s always been kept from the nasty,bloody side of things. I’ve fought his battles my whole life.
I’ve shielded my siblings from the worst–other than Emilia because she just wouldn’t let me–and I’ve accepted everything on my plate because it’s better that it falls to me than them. I’ll kill the terrible. I will eliminate those who would go free in a court of law. I take care of our people.
This isn’t doing that. If I go to jail, I can check on our people in there and get some intel. It will bolster my reputation. If I get off on the charges, which is what I expect, then all of this drama is unnecessary.
I text Matteo.
Dad’s wrong. Stand down.
Mateo replies,too late.
Fuck!
I almost throw something across the room—almost.
Then I lift my gaze and see a damn squirrel of a cop. Young. Fresh out of the academy. Wide-eyed and way too eager.
He salutes me. Fucking salutes.
“Don’t worry, I’m a good guy. The rules will be easy, you know? Just stay in the house and don’t throw things.”
Jesus Christ.
He’s not our rat. He’s a lamb dropped into the lion’s den. A clueless, disposable lackey sent here to be cannon fodder.
By my fucking father.
The kid fidgets. “I need to give my mom a call. She’ll worry.”
Fuck.
They could have sent some hardened asshole—no family, no ties. The kind of loose-cannon cop no one would miss. The kind that wouldn’t make me hesitate.
Maybe then I’d fall in line. But this kid? This kid reminds me of Luca. And now, the weight settles. How many sons have I killed? How many fathers? Brothers? Best friends?
How many people have whispered prayers for the dead I put in the ground?
Even women. Some of them had to go, too.
I sit down.
Because for the first time in a long time… I feel the number.
Fucking Luisa. Getting in my head. Making me think about this shit instead of just getting things done. Move forward. Survive. That’s how it works. That’s how it’s always worked.
But now—guilt.
An emotion I’ve never had to deal with. And suddenly, twenty years of arson, assault, and murder are clawing at me like they matter.
I exhale. “I need a drink.”
