Page 65 of Days Of Valentino

Episode Thirty

Twenty years later…

Ikick at the body passed out on my living room floor. My cousin, Romeo. “Get the fuck up,” I grunt at him, my foot hitting slightly harder than it should. But this little shit needs to stop using my fucking apartment as his drop zone.

“Aw, fuck, Seb. What the hell?” he groans and rolls over.

“If you weren’t on my floor, I wouldn’t be kicking you. What are you doing here?” I ask him.

Romeo is four years younger than me. He’s seventeen and acting every bit the shitty teenager he is. He’s my Zio Dante and Zia Josie’s eldest kid and named after my grandfather’s twin, my dad’s uncle. Being the eldest fucking sucks sometimes. Like right now. When I have to deal with the hungover teenager sprawled out on my floor.

This kid is also far too fucking smart to be wasting his brain cells drinking.

“I couldn’t go home last night. My pops would have shot me on the spot,” he says.

I roll my eyes. There is no way any of our fathers are shooting us. Our mothers would never allow it, and despite what people think, it’s our mothers who run the show in our households.

“Get up. I’ve got shit to do and you’re not staying here,” I tell him. “But first go and shower. You smell like a fucking brewery.”

I walk into the bedroom, finish getting dressed, and then strap the fuck up. Because the shit I have to do, well, it’s not aboveboard. Being the eldest in my generation means I’m destined to take over the family. Although, that day isn’t happening for a really long fucking time. The current boss, Alessandro, is my dad’s cousin. My pops is the underboss. He was a child rockstar, but when I showed up, he slowed down. Didn’t produce as much music. He wanted to watch me grow up, and he didn’t want to drag me and my mother around on tours. So he started working for the family. And well, now, I’m next in line for the throne.

That comes with responsibility and making a name for myself. I don’t want to be given the position because of birth order. I want to earn it. Which is why I’m working around the clock to make myself known in this city. When people hear my name, they respect it. Fear it, and above all, revere it.

My dad and his cousin rule this city with an iron fist, as their fathers before them did. I’m sure as fuck not going to be the one who destroys the Valentino dynasty. It’s a lot of pressure, but I thrive under it.

“Where are we going?” Romeo asks when I walk out to the living room. He’s freshly showered and looks half alive now.

“I have a stop to make. You can help me,” I tell him.

I pull up out front of the dry cleaners and turn to Romeo. “You strapped?” I ask him before deciding it’s safer for him to stay put. “Actually… wait here. Don’t fucking move.”

I have no idea what I’m walking into. I don’t think shit’s going to hit the fan, but you just never know in this line of work.

I step out of the car and make my way inside. The old man behind the counter visibly pales.Good. He fucking should.

I tilt my head at him. “Julian, you know why I’m here?”

He swallows and nods his head. “Please don’t hurt my family,” he pleads.

“I have no interest in hurting your wife or kids. You got my money?” I ask him.

He borrowed a decent stack of cash and is late on his repayments. By three fucking months. The fact he is begging for his family to be spared tells me he ain’t got it today either. Which means my hands are about to get fucking blood on them.

“Palms flat on the counter.”

Julian shakes his head. “No, please, Sebastian, I will get it. I promise,” he says.

“You see, I heard that last week. I gave you a seven-day grace period. You failed to deliver. Now, put your fucking palms on the counter, or I’ll do it for you. Trust me, you do not want that option.”

He follows my instructions, placing two shaky hands between us. I don’t know why these idiots don’t just pay their fucking bills. It’d save me a lot of time. I pull the small blade from my ankle and take hold of Julian’s right hand. I know the fucker is right-handed, which makes losing a finger a lot harder to deal with.

“You know, I don’t want to do this, Julian. You’re leaving me no choice,” I tell him as I begin to slice into his index finger. Some would think a pinkie would be first. I save that one for last, though. We use our index fingers a lot more.

Tuning out his screams, I pick up the knife and bring it down hard on his digit. It slices off clean. Blood splatters everywhere.

“Tomorrow, I’ll take another finger, and another each day I come here and you waste my time by not having my fucking money,” I warn him. I grab a piece of paper and wrap up my prize. “Thanks for the souvenir.” I smirk and walk out the door.

The moment I slide into the car, Romeo turns and stares at me. “What the fuck? I thought you were just picking up a suit,” he says.

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