Page 8 of Veiled Vows

“You should focus on that,” I say, wrestling to keep the anger out of my tone. “When this Japanese half blood takes over thisfamily becausemyfather sees my worth, the first thing I’m going to do is get rid of you.”

“In your fucking dreams.”

“I won’t kill you. I’ll break you until you’re nothing but a shell of wasted air, and then I’ll make you watch my reign. You’ll exist knowing that you’re nothing more than a slimy, racist piece of shit whose own father loved the son of a whore more than him.”

I swiftly exit the meeting room before Alto can respond, and what sounds like a chair smashes to splinters against the door half a second after I close it. Going back in and beating the ever-loving shit out of Alto would make me feel better. For years, he’s talked down to me like I’m nothing more than a roach caught on the bottom of his shoe. His upbringing as Santino’s only son gave him such a complex that my arrival sent him into a tailspin.

If he were smarter, he’d use those feelings to remain on top, but Alto is lazy and quick to temper. I, on the other hand, have a much bigger plan that requires me to remain thegoodguy. No matter how badly it strangles me from the inside.

Most men like Santino would kill their illegitimate children, but I was different. Different because I’d proved myself to be an invaluable assassin and asset long before I revealed he was my father. By then, I was deeply ingrained in a few of Santino’s plans, and he had no choice but to accept me. Through my hard work and dedication, he’s slowly brought me deeper and deeper into the family.

I’m the son hewisheshe had. I’ve made sure of it.

And now I have an invitation to the Mancini party. Once I show my face there, I will be remembered by everyone.

It’s late and bed calls to me, but as I’m heading toward the stairs, my father appears out of his office and motions me inside with the curl of his hand. I follow him instantly and step into the deep red, plush office where he spends the majority of his time. When he’s not plotting how to crush Enzo Falzone, he’s trying toweasel in on Russian territory or stir up trouble with the Irish. My father isn’t capable of sitting back and doing nothing.

“This party,” he says as he stops next to his drinks table and pours two glasses of straight vodka. “I trust you’re up to date on the etiquette required at such an event.”

“Yes,” I reply, accepting a glass. “I know that every move and every word is under their scrutiny, and one wrong comment could see us executed within the day.”

“Exactly. Do you remember the Barrones?”

“No, sir.”

“Exactly.” He tips his glass at me, then takes a deep swing as he moves back to his desk. “You know, given the state of your upbringing, I’m surprised to see you adapting to things so well here.”

My heart skips a beat, and I fight to keep the pleasant smile on my face. “My upbringing?”

“Yes. Before you came here, you were basically a pig living in shit, correct? God knows what it was like having a mother like that to care for you, never mind all the…” He looks me over and winces. “Japanese women…the worst of the worst.”

The ridges of the glass cut into my palm, and anger simmers like bile at the base of my throat. It’s not the first time he’s been unkind about the absolute darling of a woman who raised me, but each time he insults her, it gets a little harder. She’s not even alive to defend herself.

“You’ve shown me how things should be,” I say tightly. “And I’m eternally grateful for that.”

“It’s nothing. It’s what any decent father would do.”

There’s nothingdecentabout Santino Gatti, but I keep the smile on my face even as I lie through my teeth. “You gave me a new chance at life, and I’ll continue to do everything I can to prove where my loyalty lies.” At the age of forty-one, I’ve beenproving that for over twenty years, and only now does it start to bear fruit.

An invite to the party shows my father finally sees me as one of the family.

“We’re going to do great things, you and I.” He drinks deeply. “If only the same could be said for your brother.”

“Some people aren’t built for taking charge.” Taking the opportunity to sow seeds of distrust about my brother gets me one step closer to my real goal. “He tries, I see that. But he doesn’t make decisions like someone at war. We have to be soldiers and make really deep cuts into the enemy otherwise we’ll be at each other’s throats for eternity, and no one has time for that.”

“Exactly,” Santino smiles. “Excellent work with the Germans by the way. Try not to have them killed. I’d much rather they worked for us, but I’m less inclined to pay them.”

“Don’t worry, I already have information on their families.”

“Excellent.” For a moment, he looks genuinely proud to know me, and then he reaches his hand across his desk. “Sleep well, Roman, you’ve earned it,” he says as I shake his hand.

“Goodnight, Father.”

He waves me away and I leave the office, heading up to my bedroom while repeatedly flexing my hands into fists. Every word out of Santino’s mouth is another nail in his coffin. For decades I’ve taken his shit, his racist comments and insults about my darling mother. And each time he does, I bury it deep down until there’s nothing but darkness in my heart. It’s all a painful stepping stone to my real goal, the goal I’ve been clawing for ever since I left the Yakuza.

Becoming Santino’s most favored child puts me right in line for the throne.

Only then am I going to be able to destroy that man and everything he’s ever built.

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