Page 180 of Poison Aches

I eye Vaughn who is now glaring at me. I hold his gaze but answer Emilio. “Maybe your son just needs a little attitude adjustment. His disrespect can’t go unanswered.”

The fear that rocks the room is evident. After all, everyone present knows what just happened was well in my rights as theheir. But the very fact that I hold so much power, above even my uncle, has him almost snapping.

“But he’s your brother! You’re the same age!”

“Are we?” I say sarcastically.

There’s obvious ridicule in my voice. I don’t respect the man and everyone knows it. And because I’m me, my mother’s son and the heir to the powerful, ruthless, bloody throne of the Easton empire, he’s the one that has to respect me. Not the other way around.

“Well…” Emilio falls silent.

Technically, Vaughn and Iarethe same age, but I’m older… by three days. A fact that rubs both him and his father the wrong way.

“And, Uncle,” I call as he rushes over to check his son. “I am an only child. Remember that.”

If looks alone could kill, Emilio’s angry, bitter glare would’ve made me croak a long time ago, but I hold his gaze.

“Next time, teach your son to watch his mouth.”

My voice is low, almost soft as if I’m comforting them, but inside, my lungs and muscles are screaming in agony… but all that pales in comparison to the actual real threat that pounds sickeningly slow and tortured in my chest.

I need to get out of here and go rest. I overdid it today.

I’m surprised it’s still going even after that…

“You know what, your disrespect toward your elders is getting worse! How dare you speak like—” Emilio starts but cuts himself off immediately when he sees the man standing in the dark corner. I saw him ages ago, but it’s clear that this bastard hadn’t recognized the danger until now. “Uh, Father, you’re here.”

Grandfather doesn’t even spare his son a glance. Instead, he walks slowly, but with powerful strides over to my corner of the ring.

He wears a cold, expressionless look on his face, which is intimidating as hell, but I don’t dare back away or show fear.

He’s wearing a charcoal black suit, paired with a stark white shirt—his usual getup—paired with a rare Gurkha Royal Courtesan cigar hanging between two fingers. The heavy smoke adds some danger to the dusty, misty dungeon of the Easton mansion.

He stops a few feet away from the ring, eyeing me silently.

I eye him back.

It’s like we’re sizing each other up.

The rest of the room has already fallen silent.

Even the groans and pants from my cousin have trailed into nothing but silence at Grandfather’s presence.

He is, after all, the head of the Family. The Big Boss. The man whom I loathe with my entire being.

“He hit you,” he says with a heavy Italian accent.

I hold his heavy stare, never backing down even if I want to strangle him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did you let him hit you?”

A shiver goes down my spine, but I suppress it. I already know what’s about to come and I know I won’t be able to get out of it.

“To give him a chance,” I answer clearly. I don’t stutter like I used to. In front of him and the rest of the Outfit, I keep my words level, straight, and intact.

No failure.

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