Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I’m not sure how much love there can be, truly, in a mafia family, when fathers can disown daughters and set sons aside, but my grandfather was not an easy man.
After Angelo’s death and much to Sonny Caballero’s dislike, I became the beloved grandson, the golden boy who was not only born into the family but had proven himself by taking a bullet for Angelo. I took Angelo’s place as Humberto’s successor. I even took my grandfather’s last name, adding it to my father’s. It was important to be accepted by the family. I became Amadeo Del Campo Caballero. Bastian did the same.
Not to say I came with the best of intentions because I have had one goal in mind for as long as I can remember.
Vengeance.
Make the Russo family pay.
And I knew the way to do that was through my grandfather, even if it meant becoming the man my mother did not want me to be.
But Sonny had support within the family, and my brother and I were American-born usurpers. When Humberto named me his successor, Sonny was not happy. He still isn’t. Although, that’s his problem as far as I’m concerned.
As the driver comes to a stop at the front entrance of the villa, I see it again. The glances I sometimes get. I don’t care. Let any one of them stand against me if they dare. I have made examples of people, and I will again. My hands are bloody, as are Bastian’s.
I glance over to Bastian as we step out of the SUV and climb the wide stone stairs toward the 18th-century door. It was taken from a church in Pescara Del Tronto, an ancient village devastated by an earthquake. I brush my fingers over the wood, thinking about all the men and women who have passed through it over the years. All those forgotten souls.
“Where is our mother?” Bastian asks one of the soldiers as we walk into the house.
“In the kitchen, sir.”
“The girl?”
“Upstairs in the room you had prepared.”
“Good.”
Bastian and I head toward the kitchen. “The Russo business is weaker now that Daddy is gone. It’s time to bring him to his knees,” Bastian says. “We don’t need the girl to do what we need to do.”
“We made a plan, Bastian. We’re sticking to it. Why are you second-guessing it now?”
He stops, and we face each other. “She’s going to make trouble. I feel it.”
“I have no doubt. But it’s nothing we can’t handle.”
He studies me. “I saw how you looked at her, Amadeo.”
“Brother—”
“She’s a fucking Russo. There’s only one place she belongs, and that’s with her father in the ground.”
“Patience, Bastian. Trust me.” I continue toward the kitchen.
“Fine. Gift her to the men,” Bastian says casually, too casually, as we near the door. “It would go a long way to gain their favor.” Since our grandfather’s death, our uncle has managed to split the family in two. My brother and I need to present a united front at all times. But fuck if I’m giving anyone a gift to gain favor.
I set my hand on his shoulder. He is younger than me. His hate of the Russo family expresses differently. It blinds him. And if we are to win this the right way, he needs to see.
“Fuck their favor. They work for the family. We are the family.”
Bastian squares his shoulders and looks at me. He’s my height, my build. We could be twins but for the color of our eyes and the five-year age difference.
“Besides, how would that make us different than Lucien Russo if we were to gift her to anyone?” I ask him.
He glances away momentarily, then back, jaw set tighter. “Hannah,” he says as if I need reminding.
“How would gifting Vittoria Russo to the men make us different than him?” I repeat tightly. In his heart, he knows what he’s suggesting is wrong. I know he does. “And why would either of us care about gaining favor with the men?”
“Brother—”
“No one touches her. She belongs to us now. And we look after what is ours.”
He studies me, and I can see the wheels turning, his doubt clouding his vision. He’s wanted this for so long. We both have. And I understand what he’s saying. She will make trouble for us, this girl.
“Are we on the same page, brother?” I press, squeezing his shoulder because I need to make this very clear now.
He doesn’t answer for a long minute. I raise an eyebrow.
“Bastian, we want the same thing.”
He finally nods. “We’re on the same page,” he says. “I smell Mom’s tomato sauce. Let’s go eat.”
I push open the swinging door to the kitchen to find Francesca and our mother. They’re busy at the stove stirring the bubbling tomato sauce Mom has been making since we were babies. It instantly puts a smile on my face.