“I couldn’t have put it more perfectly,” he agrees, pinning me with a hateful expression. “You are no longer a daughter of mine and no longer welcome in this house.”
“Joseph. No.” Mom’s voice cracks, and I know this has the power to hurt her the most.
I turn to her, ignoring my father and my older sister, saying all I need to say. “It’s okay, Mom. It’s for the best, and I expected this. I have a place, and I have my things in the car. I will call you.” I disposed of the cell my father gave me. I’m not naïve; I know it wouldn’t take much for him to get my new number or to discover my new apartment or the address to the new home I’m in the process of buying for me and my child, but I’m banking on the fact he just doesn’t care anymore.
For the first time in my life, I will be completely free of the ties that bind me to my family, to the Lawson name, and it feels invigorating.
As I walk out of my family home for the last time, I can’t help thinking this is meant to be. That I am exactly where I should be, and despite the lingering fears bubbling in my chest, I am excited for what the future will bring.
PART II - SIX YEARS LATER
15
BEN
“ETA in five minutes, boss,” Alessandro says from the driver’s seat of my armored SUV.
I acknowledge him through the mirror before I resume staring out the window. Fourteen years. That’s how long it’s been since I was last in Illinois. I left less than a week after my disastrous anniversary dinner with Saskia. Not by choice. But I refuse to live a life of regrets. I might have detested Angelo Mazzone when he first dragged me, kicking and screaming, from Chicago, but he did me a favor. My relationship with my old man is complicated and underscored with deep-seated resentment and hostility, but I don’t regret he plucked me from a dead-end life to the one I live now.
The man whose funeral I’m here to attend is the last remaining tie I had to my old hometown. Terry Scott was the only decent man my mother ever hooked up with. If she hadn’t been so wasted on booze and drugs, she might have realized it and tried harder to make things work with him.
Addiction is a terrible disease. I watched it devour my mother from the inside until it consumed her life. She OD’d when I was twenty. That I couldn’t save her is one of only two regrets in my life.
Jillian Carver’s demise is the main reason I control my liquor consumption carefully and I never take narcotics. I drill it into my men and our staff not to touch the drugs we supply to a wide network of VIP clientele. Addiction is a one-way road to hell, and I won’t tolerate any mishaps in my organization. You use? You’re out. It’s as simple as that.
When we pass the sign for Sierra’s hometown, I ponder my only other regret. I wish I’d never fucked my ex’s little sister because I can’t erase the memory of that night from my brain no matter how many years have passed or how many women I screw. It’s as if she imprinted herself on a part of my soul, and I can’t get her out. I’ve been tempted to look her up, during certain weak moments, but I have always resisted.
Radiant goddesses like Sierra Lawson have no place in my world. Even more so now. Angelo’s condition is worsening by the day, and it won’t be long until the entire empire is officially mine. At thirty-five, I will be the richest, most powerful boss in the US and one of the most successful businessmen to boot. I’m proud of my achievements, but it has come at a high price.
“Have you reconsidered contacting Gifoli while we’re in town?” Leo asks, from his seat beside me.
I shake my head. “The timing isn’t right.” I eye the twosoldatiin the front seats so Leo doesn’t say too much.
Alessandro is my most promising soldier and a man I trust with my life. He’s only twenty-six but smarter and more observant than men who have been killing for longer than he’s been born. It’s why I elevated him to my personal bodyguard a year ago. The other man in the car is Frank, Leo’s younger brother. Another soldier with strong potential. I trust them, but there are plenty of things that can’t be discussed in front of them.
They are aware my father is very ill, and they know to carry the secret. Keeping Angelo’s stage-four-cancer prognosis from becoming public knowledge is critical. We are at a pivotal juncture within the organization, having united most of thefamigliaacross the US under The Commission’s governance, and we have consolidated forces to help in the upcoming war with the Russians. Chicago and Florida are the only twofamigliaon the outside, but we are hoping to bring them into the fold in due course. The Russians are mobilizing, restructuring, and getting organized. It’s only a matter of time before they make a move.
If the Bratva or any of our other enemies discover my father is dying, it leaves us exposed. With the right persuasion, it could weaken The Commission at a time when we are not fully united. And if The Outfit discovers the truth, it could tempt them to push for ultimate control. Right now, I’m acknowledged as the Mazzone heir apparent and acting boss, but they assume Angelo is still calling the shots.
He’s not. I’m in charge in everything but name.
“We’re here, boss,” Alessandro says, swinging the blacked-out SUV into the church parking lot.
“Damn. This takes me back.” I peer out the window at the familiar gray brick church.
“You went to church?” Leo asks, disbelief evident in his tone.
“Angelo ensured I was baptized before he abandoned my mom,” I admit. “I don’t know if she felt some sense of obligation, but she frog-marched me in that door every Sunday. Half the time she was too high to even realize what she was doing. I often wondered if she felt it might absolve her of her sins.”
I don’t talk about my mother much. Leo knows the full story. Frank has heard bits from the Messina family over the years, no doubt. And Alessandro can be trusted to keep his mouth shut.
It’s no secret I’m Angelo’s bastard son. Everyone knows he only looked me up when Mateo—the half-brother I never met—was gunned down in cold blood in the streets of Manhattan. To this day, no one has been charged with his murder. My father suspects the Russians or the Irish were behind it. Without proof, he couldn’t go after them. Not without inciting a full-blown war. I’m sure that sticks in his gut, but he never mentions it to me. He never talks about his firstborn son. Not even with my sister Natalia.
“You want us to come in, boss?” Alessandro asks, glancing over his shoulder at me.
I shake my head as I slip on my suit jacket. Early September is still warm enough in Chicago not to need a coat. “That won’t be necessary. Leo and I have this.”
It’s not like I’m expecting a shoot-out in church. New York might have beef with The Outfit, but it has never turned violent. We find other ways of taking potshots at one another.
