Page 68 of Poison Aches

“My mother?” I mutter, as the thing in my chest tightens. No one ever dares to mention Daphne in this house. Ever.

“Yes… she heard it from her mother, Madam Narcissa Easton.”

My grandmother. A woman whose existence in the Family is also marred by unexplained incidents.

What I do know for sure is that Grandfather truly loved her. And after she was killed by a rival family, everything completely changed.

I want to ask Rip how long exactly he’s been with the Family, but before I can, Ripley looks away and continues leading me down the long, dark halls of the medieval castle-like mansion.

Only deeply personal Family business is ever conducted here where only the closest and upper members of the Outfit are ever invited.

And tonight, those same high-ranking, loyal-to-the-core capos are present tonight… all waiting for me.

As we walk, a familiar young man walks up to us. He hands Ripley a silver tray with a newspaper on top.

When the guy notices me, he jumps back and immediately lowers his gaze to the floor but not before I notice the panic in his eyes.

“Good evening, sir. Apologies for my rudeness,” he says in a thick Italian accent. “I hadn’t noticed you.”

And yet he knew I was coming. Interesting.

“Andre, right?” I ask intentionally.

He looks up so fast, a surprised look on his face. He quickly pulls himself together, but I notice how he takes three steps back.

“Andres, sir. Only my family used to call me Andre,” he says in a steady voice.

I know that.

I also know that his family was slaughtered in the middle of a bright sunny day for being too poor to pay off debts that were never theirs to begin with.

The children were sold off.

The women were humiliated severely before being mutilated and their organs sold on the black market.

I know everything about him, just as I know that he approached me on purpose, likely with the intent of having me notice him.

Good… after all, I did save his life.

“A good name,” I say, watching him closely.

“It was my father’s name, sir,” he responds with barely-contained rage.

Even better… he’s hungry for revenge.

“We should thank him for the name, no?”

At that, the young man looks up at me with a bit of surprise that morphs into eager anticipation.

“We should, sir,” he says darkly. I smirk.

While Andres looks like an innocent twenty-four-year-old, he’s actually shaping up to be one of the most ruthless torturers in my faction.

The only thing is, the ones above him, underestimate him.

But one thing I know about people like Andres, like George, like my-fucking-self… never underestimate someone with a desperate hunger for revenge AND nothing to lose.

“Andres,” Ripley says and gestures to the tray he just handed him.

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