I respect and love my father, even though he’s become surly and cantankerous lately. Family is everything to me, and my father deserves my loyalty. He doesn’t deserve mutinous rebellion that would make all of us Santoros look weak to our enemies.
I glance down at the contract again, unclenching my fist and smoothing the crumpled corner of the paper. As much as I crave the freedom I foolishly let myself start to believe that I had, this contract reminds me who truly holds the power here.
“Family above all,” I state the phrase that has been instilled in me since birth. I regard Silvio, who has stood beside me through thick and thin. “Santoros above all.”
He looks at me with determination and commitment. “And I will give my last breath to this family. Toyou, Tommaso. As will any of our men. We have your back for how you want to deal with this.” He jerks his chin at the papers on my desk.
I have no doubt that if I choose to challenge my father, he and our men will have my back. But even if I challenge my father and am successful, breaking the blood contract with the Alteras could lead to war.
“You need to fall in line,” Marco advises.
I stare down at my hands. Like my body, they bear scars that attest to my willingness to defend what’s mine. As much as I may look like the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, with my neatly styled hair and impeccably tailored suit, I’m a criminalleader. Yet, I wouldn’t classify myself as a thug or a warlord. I’m a strategic man, raised within the criminal underworld and governed by a set of non-civilian—and what most would classify asuncivilized—laws, who is intent on protecting his family and keeping what he’s built.
Lifting my head, I meet my brother’s eyes and nod. “I’ll fall in line.”
“Fuck,” Silvio mutters, but sighs with resignation. “Then who is the lucky bride-to-be?”
I push the papers across the desk, and he looks through them, then drags his tongue over his teeth. “Rosa Altera. The fucking Texans.”
Marco grabs the papers from Silvio and scans them, his face and body getting tenser the more he reads.
“DoesPapànot realize the shit the Altera family is rumored about getting into?” His eyes snap to mine, and I see his cunning mind trying to make sense of why our father would make a stronger alliance with them. “Flesh,” he seethes. “They’re not just pushing coke…they are interested in moving women, Tommaso.”
Silvio rubs his jaw, looking concerned. “The ‘Ndrangheta is allowing that?”
“The syndicate as a whole is still against it,” I growl in answer.
The Santoros may be criminals, but there are lines we won’t cross. Or so I thought. I have no idea what our father is up to or why he agreed to make this alliance. Plus, both the Santoros and the Altera family are part of the same syndicate, so we’re already allies. Usually, arranged marriages aren’t made between syndicate families because that’s basically a waste of a good, arranged marriage to gain more power and wealth.
None of this makes sense.
According to Riccardo, a lot of what our father is doing lately doesn’t make sense. That’s what concerns me more than this forged contract.
“Shit.” Silvio pushes his hand through his hair, then settles his gaze on me. “At least she’s a looker.”
Marco tosses the papers onto my desk in disgust. They slide across the surface, revealing Rosa’s picture.
She is a looker. A stunner, in fact. Yet I have no reaction to her as I study her picture.
She’s a classic mafia princess. Born and bred to serve her family, to be the beautiful trophy on a man’s arm. Her marriage merely a transaction to make him and her family more powerful.
But I don’t want a docile, subservient wife. I’ve always envisioned a strong-willed woman, a queen, to be at my side while I ruled.
“This isn’t Italy, Tommaso.” Silvio’s voice is low, as if he can read my mind. “You don’t have to comply with Stefano’s orders.”
I rub my left temple, which is aching, indicating a stress headache is coming soon. Likely one of many in the future. “Stefano Santoro giveth, and Stefano Santoro can taketh away.”
Unfortunately, in his eyes and the ‘Ndrangheta, he is the ruler of my universe.
Silvio leans forward, resting his elbows on my desk, staring intently at me. “Then remove yourself from under his thumb.” He tries one more time to convince me to resist falling in line.
“Silvio,” Marco growls a warning. “Those are words of treason,” he repeats my earlier words.
“Fuck that.” He grunts. “Stefano isn’t my king.” He turns back to me. “You are. My loyalty is to you. Same goes for our men. Contest the contract and outright say that your signature is a forgery.”
Marco stands, comes around, and leans against the corner of my desk. His flared temper is banked, leaving my steadfast,trusted advisor looking at me. “Internal fighting will only give our enemies an opportunity to push in. The Triads will strike if they think we’re distracted and weak.”
There’s five competing, and as a result, warring criminal factions in San Francisco—us, the Triads, the Havoc Guardians motorcycle club, and two gangs: the Saints and the Fire Clan. There are other criminal factions in the city, but the five of us are the strongest and are vying for the crown.
