“Sounds like you’re in luck, Sandro,” Miko says, his blue eyes glinting as he turns them on me. “No more need to find comfort at Portentia’s once you tie the knot.”
I grunt in response and toss back my drink.
It’s no secret that I’m the last of my brothers to continue frequenting the private members club that belongs to our family. Though it was Miko and Leo who introduced me to the pleasure of getting lost inside a woman when they took me and Raf to Portentia’s for our fifteenth birthday, they’ve long since quit sex clubs in favor of their wives’ beds. But I’ve never seen the appeal.
Why willingly accept a weakness when I’ve spent my entire life trying to wring every last ounce of it from my veins?The soft spot I have for my brothers is one I’ll never be rid of—even if our father tried his damnedest to change that. But I refuse to lower my defenses for anyone else.
Still, I can’t deny Evelina is strikingly beautiful, and her composure tonight was unshakeable. That will be an invaluable quality in a Mafia bride. But I won’t say as much because it might muddy my brothers’ understanding of where I stand on this whole ludicrous plan. I don’t want a wife. But the Lombardis have the numbers we need, so this will be an invaluable alliance. All I want is revenge for our family, and if marrying Evelina will help accomplish that goal, then that’s what I’ll do.
“Now that negotiations are settled,” Miko says, changing the subject since I’m clearly not interested in discussing the current one, “we’ve been putting off a more pressing conversation for far too long.”
Raf and I share a dark look. I’d almost prefer we go back to talking about my impending nuptials. But Miko, it would seem, is determined to rip the Band-Aid off.
“What with Leo quitting the illicit side of the family business and Gio refusing to take part in revenge—or running things—now that they’re both married and becoming fathers…” A fact that, thankfully, hasn’t softened Miko’s thirst for Tanaka blood, at least. “The Chiaroscuro family no longer has a Don,” he points out.
The way he says it makes it painfully clear that he no longer considers himself a part of that family—even if we still consider him a brother. But he is Novikov by blood, no matter what I think on the matter.
“The men need someone to get behind if we’re going to take back what the Tanakas stole from us.”
“You should be the one to take over,” Raf says, his voice cool and rational. “You’ve been leading Chiaroscuro men for nearly a decade now. They trust you. And you’re already the head of the Novikov Bratva. You’ll unite the two in a way no one else ever could.”
Miko shakes his head. “I have my hands full running one family. Besides, Don Augusta was right. I’m not a true Chiaroscuro. The men won’t follow me—especially now that we know who I really am. No, I will be your ally to the end—and always your brother in the ways that count—but I can’t run two such distinctly different families.”
Silence stretches between us, the tension humming in the air as I consider the reasoning behind his decision. He’s right. When it comes down to it, no Italian would willingly follow a RussianPakhan—even if thatPakhanwas raised to follow the code the Family abides by. Miko might understand all the intricacies of our world and hierarchy. But Don Parelli—thecapo dei capi, in charge of approving our next Chicago Don—would never allow it.
He’s already made it very clear how little he likes that Leo abdicated after receiving his blessing. Thankfully, we never got far enough down the path of making Gio Don to ask for his blessing a second time. This is the last chance we’re going to get before Don Parelli might decide to remove our family entirely. And if he does, then no amount of fighting or bloodshed will return us to power.
“Then Sandro and I can rule together,” Raf says, his jaw setting as that familiar look of determination ignites a spark behind his eye. “People practically think of us as one person anyway,” he jokes. “And since they can’t tell us apart, who’s to question us about which one should hold the title?”
I appreciate Raf’s hesitation to claim the title for his own—especially considering that the long and glorious tradition of naming a new Don usually ends with infighting and blood between brothers, if not outright murder, rather than a peaceful compromise. But I’m shaking my head before he’s even finished suggesting his plan.
“I don’t want the title,” I state. “I’m the muscle, not the brains.”
Raf frowns, his expression darkening, even as Miko chuckles.
“I hate it when you say stuff like that,” he grumbles.
“Let’s face it. You were born to be Don, Raf—more than any of the rest of us, really—even if our father couldn’t see it. The only thing that’s stopped you from being the best choice to lead thisfamily are stupid, archaic traditions that say you can’t because we’re the youngest. But you’re the kind of man with a voice and mind that our men will rally behind. Not me. And they need that now more than ever if we’re going to take back our birthright.”
It’s probably the longest speech I’ve ever given, and Raf seems surprised by the compliment, but Miko’s smile just broadens, and he claps me firmly on the shoulder.
“Can’t argue with that,” Miko says, turning his eyes on Raf.
And after a moment’s hesitation, Raf gives a single nod of acceptance.
4
EVI
The morning of my wedding dawns with an eerie stillness. No birdsong, no cheerful chatter of maids rushing about—just silence, thick and oppressive, that settles in my bones like a premonition. Maybe it’s nerves, maybe it’s dread, but I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something I can’t turn back from.
Not that I would if I could. My family needs me. My brothers need me. My nephews need me to ensure they grow up with fathers and the promise of full lives themselves.
So here I am, pretending I’m not already shaking like a leaf just waiting for the ceremony to start.
If things had gone according to tradition, I would be at the grand Chiaroscuro estate right now, a sprawling jewel of Italian architecture cloistered in acres of trees and nature despite its proximity to downtown Chicago. Though I’ve never seen the estate, my father told me that the weddings they hosted there were legendary, the kind that ripple through Mafia lore for decades.
I had been invited once, when the former heir, Leonardo, got married earlier this year. But my father refused to let me go, since in his words, it was the wedding I was supposed to be dressed in white for. He took considerable offense after Don Augusta so casually rejected his proposal that I marry Leonardo when I came of age, and I haven’t heard the end of what a terrible decision the Don made since his effort to form a Yakuza alliance backfired so horribly.
