Page 5 of Hateful Vows
“Under his leadership, we flourished, experienced relative peace and diversified our activities. I intend to keep that legacy alive, foster that peace with new alliances. And bring necessary changes to keep growing and prosper. His death won’t go unpunished.” I pause for effect, murmurs of agreement spreading through the crowd. “I will chase his murderer to the end of this world and end them the only way they deserve.”
It’s an easy promise to make. Even if I have to pave my way to Hell in order to have my revenge. I’ll do it for my mother who will remember the bastard Italian boy she fell in love with decades ago. I’ll do it even if he didn’t have enough balls to goafter the people who took Gio from us. Because I’ll never be anything like him.
Tino is the first to come up to me and kiss my cheeks. Three times as a sign of respect and acceptance as his new leader. My underboss Lorenzo follows. Then every capo in the church and their families. I brace and wait for each and every person to proceed with the ritual.
My tailored Armani suit feels too tight and my cheeks almost raw by the time we’re done. The last person before me is the official representative from Sicily. Even if we all work independently on our own territories, a percentage of our earnings still goes to the Motherland. They don’t get involved unless we’re bracing for war.
The man is lean, around my age, and carries himself with an air of authority, but he kisses my cheeks with reverence, satisfaction shining in his brown eyes.
“Benvenuto, Signore Ventura,” he says then clasps a golden cross set with precious red rubies. It used to be locked around my father’s neck and won’t leave mine until the day I die. My cross to bear. For the good of everyone in this place.
I look up to the vaulted ceiling as if Gio could see me from wherever he is. I wish he’d be here instead of me. I dismiss the thought and return to my grieving mother before we move to the adjacent cemetery and the ground swallows my father’s remains.
I’m lost in thoughts, looking at the freshly turned soil in the damp cemetery, when Tino approaches.
“Someone’s here to see you,” he says under his breath, and I nod, allowing the visitor to talk.
“Mr Ventura, I…” the kid starts. I look over my shoulder. The scrawny boy must be no older than thirteen. He looks familiar but with how many capos my father had, it’s hard to tell whose son he is. He straightens and rolls his shoulders back, fakely boosting his confidence and I almost laugh. Even Tino lifts an eyebrow. “I have information for you. But… I’d like payment.”
Bold. I like it.
I turn around and take a step towards the kid. He steps back with my approach, bumping into Tino. It’s a miracle he doesn’t whimper in fear.
“Who’s your father, kid?” I ask.
“Amor Venti, sir.”
“Don’t drop your eyes. You came here for payment, earn it. Look at me, tell me what you want,” I instruct, eager to see if this kid has a backbone and can be of use. He’s around the age at which my father started letting me in on our business. This child doesn’t deserve it; he should be out playing with his friends, getting into mischief, but that’s not my choice to make. “What’s your name?”
“Francisco Venti, sir. And I’ve heard rumours about your father’s murder. I want one thousand and one hundred pounds for that information.”
Tino whistles and I chuckle, which makes Francisco’s skin turn white as a sheet.
“That’s oddly specific. I’ll bite, Francisco Venti. Did your father send you?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you started your initiation?”
“No, sir,” Francisco says with a drop of his shoulders. “I’m a second son.”
I hum low in my throat. Only first-born sons are initiated into our system at the age of thirteen, every other child after that sent to private boarding schools and universities for networking, or trained to kill. Part of our outdated systems I intend to change.
This kid is eager to be just like me, I can see it in how he keeps rolling his shoulders to stave off the fear. He doesn’t know what he’s in for.
“Alright. I’ll give you the money you want. Tell me what you know,” I tell him.
“I heard my brother talking to his friends at your father’s wake. They all received an anonymous text about getting money for assassinating the king. Some of them complained that the killer got to your father before they could. My brother and cousin Fabrizio beat them up bloody for that. We’re loyal, Mr Ventura, we would never do that. But the texts are making the rounds through everyone's first born sons above the age of sixteen.”
Tino and I stare at each other while the kid continues his loyalty prayer between us, vowing his blood and that of his family to the Venturas. I’m not listening anymore. The edges of my vision turn red with rage, hot fury spreading across my skin.
“We have a snake,” Tino breathes like saying it out loud will make it more real than it already is. If the kids got the text, there’s no way their parents wouldn’t know anything about it.
“Francisco, shut the fuck up,” I snap and he does. “Lesson number one, kid, get the prize before you spill.” He blanches but that lesson will be hard learnt. Better he get it from me. “Have your father and brother report to the Ventura mansion in one hour. Come with, too, and don’t fucking be late.”
I march towards the town car, and hear Tino ask the kid what he wanted to do with the money.
“I just wanted a phone. My father won’t let me have one,” Francisco explains but I’m already gone.
