Page 11 of Savage Empire
“I believe so.”I’m more certain than ever. Abramo all but confirmed it.
“Poor things,” he mutters sadly. “Being attached to the name of a traitor is never easy.”
Most crime syndicates aren’t as reasonable or forgiving as ours. Dad would never dream of punishing children for the act’s of their parents. But plenty of made men would use a traitor’s family to set an example.
Of course, we have no mercy for those who actually betray us. We’d just never stoop so low that we’d blame their innocent flesh and blood in the process. You can’t choose your biological family, and so you should never be forced to pay for their crimes.
I grunt in agreement. “The boy is sixteen, he seems teachable.”
A fond smile graces my father’s lips. “Are you planning to mentor him?”
“I doubt his sister will make it easy.”
He lifts a questioning brow. “When has a challenge ever stopped you before?”
“You meddle more than Jade does, you know that?”
“I’ve given you more than a decade to pick a wife—to settle down,” he reminds me. “Trust me, son, you haven’tseenmeddling yet.”
Glaring at him with halfhearted frustration, I cross my arms and sigh. “You need a girlfriend, or a hobby.”
He only chuckles. “Back at you, son. Back at you.”
My eyes threaten to roll like a petulant child’s. I should have seen that one coming.
“Now go get changed before you catch death.”
Huffing, I move to walk away. I was already planning to change, but Dante Moretti loves to have the last word.
“Oh, and Apollo?” he says, his deep voice laced with amusement. “I’m excited to meet this girl. I wonder if she’ll yell at you again, I think I’d like to see that.”
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” I snark, continuing to stride away.
“You’re lucky it’s not. If I were in bed, you’d be stuck sitting at a wedding in your soaked suit, refusing to leave the area unprotected.”
Case in point, the last word.
It’s only mildly annoying how correct his assessment is.
Chapter Four
Rayna
It almost makes me tear up how well Yordan fits into Leon’s clothes. He’s always been on the slimmer side, never having enough time or resources to bulk up in the way that I know he’d like to. But he’s so tall, approaching 6’1 at sixteen years old. And since moving in with Federico, he’s been able to eat more without worrying about money.
Federico was an asshole of the highest order, but he was a rich motherfucker and he didn’t starve us. We didn’t live like royalty, but it was a far cry from poverty. My little brother was able to go to sleep in a warm bed—his very own bed—and slumber without the nagging discomfort of an empty stomach. He wassafe.
And I stand by my belief that Federico could have been much worse. He shoved me around, got angry and made me feel weak. But he didn’t force me into his bed, and he never hurt Yordan. Being saddled to him at twenty-one was less than ideal, he was already forty-three and he made my stomach churn during our first meeting.
Still, I didn’t have another option. I knew that theBulgarianMafiyawas coming for our father before he did. I wasn’t always this cold and reclusive. I had friends. Plenty of them. Women I grew up with, women I trusted. Women who knew how to listen while men treated them like arm candy or clueless objects that simply decorate the rooms they command.
I got the tip that my father was being watched and suspected of stealing money from his leaders, and I knew I needed to act. Yordan was only thirteen, but I couldn’t trust that his young age would save him from retaliatory men. Our father had stolen millions over several years, and he was going to be caught. He was going to be executed, nothing could stop that from happening. It was an inevitability.
I wouldn’t allow the same to happen to my little brother.
Luckily, Damyan was a talkative drunk. The same night that one of my friend’s tipped me off, he came home slurring about Romeo Giuliani. His own bosses weren’t the only ones who wanted him dead, he’d also wronged The Capo of the Casa Nostra. He was responsible for putting Romeo’s brother in the hospital, and eventually in the ground.The man had seen something he shouldn’t, Damyan said. So he shot him.
He never expected the man to live long enough to give Romeo his name. Though his brother died in surgery, the notoriously vicious Capo knew who to hold responsible. It became abundantly clear that my father wasn’t a smart man. He lost most of his wits when his wife died, after all. Yordan was only five, and I had just turned thirteen. He checked out, and my brother became my responsibility.
