Page 70 of Poison Aches

These are the closest higher-ups of the Outfit.

All unique in their own way.

All with hidden agendas and their own loyalties.

But as soon as I walk through the small iron gate, in a synchronized move, they all step aside, parting into two lines as they form a wide passage for me.

No one dares to say a word or cough or even whisper. It’s just the sound of the rain.

Without sparing any of them a glance, I leisurely walk down the path.

A saner person would be shaking in their boots at this reception because a few years ago the same welcome was given to one of Grandfather’s trusted friends of forty years, just before his throat was slit for betraying the Family.

But I’m used to this. No one dares get in my way when I’m around.

Not because I’m the heir, but because I’m more than my last name and they know it.

As I pass each of them, they bow their heads in silent respect.

I ignore them as well as the irregular beats in my chest, only focusing on one thing.

The end.

As I get closer to where Grandfather is, I spot the people I wanted to make sure are here tonight.

My uncles and their offspring.

Armando Alessio Easton had four children. One daughter and three sons.

In order, it was Daphne, Emilio, Giovanni, and Angelo.

With the disappearance of the female heir, the other three have been doing all they can to take her place.

Unfortunately, their older sister birthed me, which is why the animosity and anger on my uncles’ faces doesn’t faze me.

I can tell what they’re thinking as they watch me.

How dare the disgraceful son of a mere dirt spoon and a traitor to the Family be heir?

But more than that, I know what they suspect—which is really what they hope happens more than anything.

My death.

There’s Uncle Emilio, the second-born and oldest son to Grandfather.

Emilio is actually three months younger than my mother—birthed by Grandfather’s then mistress—but it’s that little, almost invisible age gap that has been eating at him all these years.

He has two sons. His oldest son, Vaughn—who is my age—and his seventeen-year-old child, Lucien.

While his own son is third in command and close to Grandfather, Emilio stands at the very end of the line. Five persons away from Grandfather, to be exact.

That placement is not his preferred choice either, but Grandfather’s opinion on Emilio is clear.

I notice the thunderous expression on his face as he watches me.

The fact that he makes his hatred for me so clear is a comfort of sorts.

He doesn’t wear a mask, but instead, shows his displeasure for me—and for the status of his birth—so clearly that his own father subtly demoted him.

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