Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
A part of me is pissed I didn’t return the favor, but I get it. If the shoe was on the other foot, and he had kidnapped my bride, I’d have done a lot worse than putting a bullet in his shoulder. But I guess at the same time, I should be somewhat grateful. I did try to kill him and would have killed his darling Sián had she not gotten through to us.
“Ouch,” Prince says with a hiss. “Did you at least put one in whoever it was?”
“Sit,” Grandfather interrupts, then coughs again before bringing his cigar to his lips and lighting it.
I hate smoking. It’s disgusting and reeks like shit. Not to mention it’ll fucking kill you. But then again, when you live the life we do, death from lung cancer is the last of your worries.
“Nonno.” I greet him while lowering myself in the seat next to my cousin and crossing my ankle over my knee. When I sit back, I wince from the jolt of pain that shoots through my shoulder.
Grandfather exhales, a cloud of smoke blurring my vision, and I dissipate it with a backward wave. But he takes another puff, this time blowing the smoke toward the ceiling.
Renato De Luca, Capo, ruthless ruler and biggest cocaine distributor in all of Italy. He’s a hard man and evil when angered and whoever was on the other end of that line did just that.
“He’s in a mood,” Prince leans in my direction, stating the obvious.
“Clearly,” I retort.
I’d bet a million dollars that I know why he’s so riled up—when he’s pissed at one of us and when someone fucks with his money. My money’s on all of the above.
“Is it done?” Grandfather asks, his tone stern.
Bingo. I know this man better than anyone. My whole life has been spent at his side, learning everything there is to know from him, and that includes his tics. You don’t become Sottocapo by being oblivious to the signs right in front of you. But you also don’t earn the title without shedding a little blood.
And because avenging my mother was important not to just me but the entire family, he allowed me to have that moment. For years, I’d been obsessed with finding out the truth, and once I finally put all the pieces of the puzzle together, I couldn’t think about anything else.
Soon, I’ll be sitting right where Renato is, but the way my grandfather saw it is that I’ll never be the ruler I’m meant to be if I don’t make the man who killed my mother and left me bleeding on the side of the road pay for what he’d done. Even if that man was my father, he shed De Luca blood, so it was only fitting we did the same. And now that I’ve gotten it out of my system, I can finally become the man Renato raised me to be.
“Samuele Russo is dead, a bullet between his eyes.”
We stare at each other for a moment, his gaze pensive and cold.
“And your brother?”
I swallow a breath. “Not going to be a problem.”
“Good.” He snuffs out his cigar, then uses his eyes to instruct Prince to pour us all a tumbler of whiskey. “Now on to business.”
I nod and settle in for the meeting. Prince hands us each a glass of our own and returns to his seat. Things have been in the works to establish a territory in the States, but dealing with my estranged family was something that couldn’t wait. And he had been willing to allow me that. It’s the only way I could truly focus on the family. Finding out the truth about Inna, my mother, and killing my father had become an obsession, one that I was forced to overcome or risk losing my title as Underboss to Prince.
Grandfather has been grooming me from an early age, and as the years have gone on, he’s prepared me to take on more of a leadership role. He says it’s time that I earn the name I’ve been born into, and for that reason alone.
He hasn’t figured out yet that Prince and I see the toll this life has taken on him. He’s aging, and while still a son of a bitch, he’s not nearly as quick as he used to be. Not to mention all of the coughing fits lately.
We haven’t found the courage to let him know that we see him, despite how strong he is. And we won’t. De Luca men don’t do sympathy, and they’ll never admit to weakness.
“I’m ready.” I bring the glass to my lips, swallowing the contents in one gulp.
Grandfather clears his throat before taking a sip of whiskey. His eyes are dark, sunken as if he hasn’t slept in days, and though he’s fighting hard to keep a steady hand, the trembling is obvious. He’s sick and has been pretending he isn’t ailing for some time now.