Chapter 4

This is the last thing I want to be doing right now, but someone has to be that person. The one who is constantly checking in and making sure everyone else is doing okay. Or as okay as they can be, considering the cards we've been dealt.

Which is why I'm standing out front of Vin's school, waiting for him. I thought I knew my father. The bad and the ugly side of things. I didn't think that he could shock me from the grave. But what I saw in that house our little brother knew about when the rest of us didn't, well, that's some shit that no one should ever have to fucking witness in their life.

And it only raises the question. How the fuck does Vin know about that place while the rest of us had no idea it existed? Not even Gio knew. If he had, there is no way he wouldn't have put a stop to it and our father sooner.

Vin approaches me with his brows drawn down. "Where's my car?"

"I had Jimmy take it home. Get in," I tell him, walking around to the driver's side of our blacked-out SUV.

Vin makes his displeasure known as he throws his bag into the back, and then proceeds to slam the door shut before he gets in the front passenger seat. "Did someone die?"

"No. Well, not to my knowledge." I shrug.

He turns his head and stares at me. "Then why are you here?"

"I went to that house," I tell him, watching his reaction from my peripheral vision, then add, "The address you handed over to Gio."

Vin doesn't say a single thing. He doesn't react. The kid is the ultimate picture of cool, calm, and collected. Except for the tapping of his pinkie finger. It's his only tell. One that says he's either anxious or pissed the fuck off. I can never tell which it is until he wants me to know.

"How did you know about that place?" I ask him, trying to keep my tone casual when I'm anything but. I want to rip my fucking father apart. Vin should never have been anywhere near that fucking house, or the fucked-up shit that was happening inside it.

Vin lifts a single shoulder. "Dad took me there a few times."

"Why?"

"Why did that fucking asshole do anything he did?" he counters.

My fingers grip the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. "Vin, did he… did you…" Fuck, I don't even know how to ask the fucking question. When we pull up to a red light, I turn to my brother. "Why didn't you tell one of us? We would have stopped it."

Vin's lips pull down. "If I told any of you, he would have made you all do it too," Vin says. "I didn't want that to happen."

I can feel tears prick my eyes. The thought of my little fucking brother being trapped in one of those bedrooms with those sick fucks… what they would have done to him… The fact that our father sold him to the highest fucking bidder…

"I'm sorry… I didn't know. I should have known," I choke out, and there's no hiding my emotions.

"You weren't ever supposed to know," Vin says. "This isn't your fault, Gabe. And I'd prefer if it stayed between us."

"You know we need to tell Gio." There's no not telling him.

"Why? What good will that do? He's finally settling down, finding happiness. He deserves that. He does not need to take on burdens that are not his to bear. Neither do you," Vin grinds out.

"This…I think you should see someone," I tell him.

"What? Like a head quack? Pass. I'm fine. I've dealt with it," he says before diverting the conversation. "Did you find anything there? At the house?"

"You mean other than a fucking child brothel and a heap of sick fucks? No. Not a fucking thing," I grunt.

"Where are we going?" Vin stares out the windscreen when he notices we aren't headed home.

"The warehouse. Marcel has that fucker Hamish hanging like the rotten pig he is," I hiss through clenched teeth, while images of what we found when we walked into that house flash through my mind. It makes me fucking ill. Physically. I fucking puked my guts up when I walked out.

Hamish is the fucking asshole who was running the whole operation. The rest of them met a much quicker end when Marcel and I went through the place. Hamish, though, he's going to get what's coming to him. The kids were in bad shape. I had to call in a favour from a doctor friend. She came and collected them, assuring me they would all be treated privately.

"Why am I here?" Vin asks.

"Because I thought you'd want to do the honours." I smile at him. I know I shouldn't be encouraging my younger brother, a minor at that, to torture someone. But this is who we are. Who we were born to be. No matter how much we'd prefer to be someone else.

Vin doesn't say a word. Not as I park the car. Not as we walk into the warehouse and find the asshole hanging from a butcher's hook that was expertly inserted through the back of his neck. My baby brother doesn't say a goddamn word as he walks over to the bench and picks up a pistol. He simply takes aim, pulls the trigger, and sets the gun back down on the bench.

Then Vin turns to me. "It's done. Can we go home now?"

"Yep." I follow him outside, telling the guys to clean the place up while noticing Marcel isn't anywhere to be found. "You good?" I ask Vin as soon as we're closed inside the car again.

"Yep," he says with his eyes focused out the window.

I'm about to try to get him to talk more when a text message pops up on my screen.

Marcel:

Get home now! Santo is losing his shit.

Me:

On my way.

I should have driven faster. That's my first thought when I walk into the house and find Santo throwing punches through the living room walls. The one room where there's actual fucking furniture. Gio refuses to purchase anything else without Eloise's input. He's insistent that she's moving in.

Maybe Santo isn't the only one losing his damn mind. At this point, I think we all fucking are.

"What did the wall do to you?" I ask while stepping up to Santo.

He's covered in sweat, his fists bloodied and bruised. His dark eyes turn to me. They used to be so full of life… when Shelli was around. Now, there's nothing but pain and guilt. He's blaming himself for what happened to her.

"Fuck off, Gabe," he snarls, and the distinct scent of whiskey seeps from his pores.

"I see you've been drinking all our profits again." I give Marcel a pointed look.

This isn't the first time we've had to "manage" one of Santo's breakdowns. It also won't be the last. Seeing my brother like this makes me wish I could conjure my father up from hell. I wouldn't grant him a quick death like Gio did. No, I'd take my fucking time, ensure he felt everything I wanted to do to him.

"Santo, you need to stop." I grab hold of his arm right as he's swinging at the wall again.

"No, I fucking don't!" he yells. "What I need is my fucking fiancée. But I can't have that, now can I?"

"No, you can't. But you're still here, and Shelli wouldn't want you hurting yourself like this," I remind him.

"What she wanted was to be my wife. She was supposed to be my wife," he says, his voice much quieter this time.

I release his arm and Santo's body drops to the floor. This is the worst part. When the anger dissipates and the deep fucking grief takes over. I can handle seeing my brothers angry, but seeing any of them like this? Broken. Beaten down. Not wanting the air that forces their lungs to expand. It fucking destroys me. It's one of the many reasons I hate the life we were born into. We were all groomed by our father to rule the underworld of Melbourne, each of us mastering a different skill.

Gio was always destined to take over as boss. Santo, he's our enforcer. He's a mean motherfucker when he's on his game. Me? I was trained to get intel, and I'm fucking good at it. While Marcel is studying business. He's going to be running the legitimate side of things. Then there's Vin, who's finishing up high school. The old man wanted him to study law at university. Because, in his words, every good crime family needs an attorney.

I lower myself onto the floor and position myself beside my brother. "I know nothing I say is going to help you. But I need you, Santo. We need you to find a way through this, because if you don't, he fucking wins. And we can't let that happen. Don't let him break you. Please."

"He already did." Santo looks at me with tears in his eyes.

"No, he didn't. You're not broken. You're just… learning to be a new version of yourself. Be angry. Get as pissed the fuck off as you want. As you need to be. But do not give up," I tell him.

I can see it in his eyes. He already has. He's given up on existing. There is less and less of him here with each day that passes. Gio has us watching him around the clock. Our big brother is afraid that Santo will try to take his own life. Honestly, I'm surprised he hasn't already.

"I have an idea," I say while pushing to my feet. I walk over to the bar and pick up a full bottle of whiskey and three glasses. "Marcel, come and sit." I nod my head towards where Santo is still slumped over with his head in his hands. Placing the glasses on the ground, I pour us each a healthy serving of whiskey and hand them out. "To us. No matter what shit the world throws at us, we will always have each other," I toast before throwing the smooth liquor down my throat.

Can this day get any fucking worse?

I refill all three glasses. My plan is to give Santo enough to knock him the fuck out. If he's not going to go to bed willingly, I'll make sure the whiskey does it for him.