The house is back in order, the working staff who have been vetted were allowed to return to their tasks, and we’ve settled into our new accommodations without a single visit from the Chicago PD—proof that at least some of our connections there haven’t turned on us completely.
But as we sit in the lounge after dinner, where we should be soaking up our triumph, Raf still looks subdued, his eyes dull—muted by the pain of grief, much like what I’ve grown used to seeing in Gio’s eyes these past eight years since he lost the love of his life.
“We’ll get them, Raf,” I promise, leaning forward to brace my elbows on my knees. “We’ll make them pay. I intend to kill every last one of the devils who hurt our family.”
He nods, peering down into his tumbler of whiskey before downing the rest of his shot, and Gio shares a glance with me before silently pouring him another.
“You think this is what the Tanakas bought Pyotr’s alliance with?” Raf asks, lifting the Hibiki to peer at it in the golden lighting. “You think a bottle of liquor was all it took for the Russians to turn on us?”
“The Novikovs have hated our family for years,” Gio says gently. “We might have done business with them on occasion, but we all knew that relationship was hanging by a thread.”
“Gio’s right,” I add. “Besides, Pyotr was always something of a loose cannon. He might have had the upper echelons fooled, but that man was a psychopath just looking for an opportunity to spill blood.”
Gio nods. “The Tanakas just gave him an excuse—and enough support that the coward knew his inferior numbers wouldn’t get completely crushed for once.”
“Screw them all,” Sandro says, his fury roiling just beneath the surface. “We’ve started with the Novikovs, but we won’t stop there, Raf. The Tanakas and the Murrays will pay for what they’ve done, right, Miko?”
“That’s right.” Conviction floods my veins at his righteous anger. I failed the Don in a way I’ll never be able to make amends for—but I will see that my brothers get their revenge. “Avenging Don Augusta’s death was just the start, but killing the man who murdered our father, is a major first step. And we’ve delivered a devastating hit to the Bratva. They’ll be in turmoil now that we’ve killed theirPakhan. Pyotr didn’t have an heir or even astrong second in command, which means, after today, they’ll have bigger problems than trying to reclaim what we took.”
“Huh,” Gio says, cocking his head.
“What?” Raf glances up from his drink, the pep talk seeming to lift him slightly from his misery—if only for a moment.
“Well, I hadn’t really thought about it before, but Miko’s right. Strictly speaking, in the Bratva culture, when there is no apparent heir, the man who defeats the currentPakhanwould take over.” Then his eyes shift to mine. “Technically, that would be you, brother.”
I bark a laugh at the notion of becomingPakhan, and Gio and Sandro join in.
“I’m sure that would go over well,” I say sarcastically. “Russians kneeling to an ItalianPakhan.”
Even Raf snorts at that, but then his expression turns thoughtful. “I mean, it’s not theworstidea in the world,” he says. “Let’s face it. Miko wasn’t supposed to take over the Chiaroscuro empire anyway, since he’s not a legitimate heir—so, maybe this is your chance to claim your own territory.”
The room falls silent as my brother’s observation hits like a punch to the gut.
I know he’s right—we’re all perfectly aware that the Don never intended to leave his legacy to me.
In fact, he intentionally overlooked me to name Leo his heir, so just because Leo’s chosen to give up his crown does not automatically put me next in line.
I share a glance with Gio, Don Augusta’s second natural-born son.
Tension crackles to life between us as we seem to realize at the same moment that, if our father is dead and Leo doesn’t want the title of Don, we would be the two most viable candidates.
But in truth, I have no claim over the Chiaroscuro legacy.
Because unlike Bratva customs, which favor strength over lineage, Mafia royalty is chosen in a very different way.
We’re ruled over by acapo dei capi, who has to give his blessing before a new heir is named.
And I highly doubt the very traditional Don Parelli wouldn’t look favorably on a stray like me taking over the Chicago territory.
Loath as I am to admit it, Raf is right.
I would be far more likely to succeed at taking over the Novikov Bratva than becoming the new Don of our family.
“As far as I’m concerned,” Gio says, speaking up before I can think of what to say, “Miko is as good as a blood brother to us—and he’s the oldest. You’re who we should be fighting to put back on the throne.”
My chest tightens at my brother’s words.
They mean more to me than he could know, because while I’ve always seen the don’s sons as my brothers, I know that I’m the imposter in their family.
