Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Alex

A drop of wine slid down the rim of the glass and over my fingers. I sat in the middle of an elegant staircase with a half empty wine bottle at my side. There were more comfortable places to sit in the front room of my family's house, but that spot gave me the best view of the portrait hanging over the door.

Raising my glass, I toasted the painted image of my father.

"Long live the King. Killed by his own empire."

"Don't speak about the departed like that."

I had known Valente his whole life and easily recognized the man standing at the bottom of the stairs without even looking. Rather than respond right away, I first drained the rest of the wine in my glass.

"What? It's true isn't it? He went and got himself killed and left me with this mess to clean up. He's not even in his grave yet and he's probably rolling in it."

Looking at the empty glass, I considered pouring myself another drink, but it would take too much effort. Instead, I let the wine glass dangle by the stem from my fingers and watched the last drops of red fall to the floor.

"Maybe it's good that he died before he had to see me take over. This way he can't be disappointed."

A pair of spotless leather shoes stepped into my vision. As usual, Valente hadn't made a sound when he moved.

"I don't know what your father would think about you right now, but he would have supported you." In an odd show of emotion, Valente's mouth and eyes drew tight around the edges. He looked back at the portrait on the wall. "Being the head of the Mariano family doesn't leave room for soft emotions, but I know your father loved you in his own way. In fact, I think you're the only one he loved."

As much as I wanted to argue, I couldn't find a single word to say.

If anyone could claim they understood David Russo, it was Valente. The man who had stood beside my father since before I was born.

The relationship between my father and I had never been easy. I knew, in many ways, I wasn't the son my father wanted. I didn't blindly follow orders. I didn't commit myself to the role of the perfect heir. I didn't live, breathe, and die for the family.

Yet, I couldn't think of a time when my father truly didn't support me.

When I insisted they take in my cousin Ghita, who was only twelve at the time, to keep her out of her father's clutches, my father had agreed.

When I came out and turned down the marriage that had been set up for me, my father hadn't fought me about it or tried to make me hide my sexuality.

When I had insisted on enjoying my freedom and refused to get too tangled in the family's affairs, my father had given me that freedom.

I shook my head. If I went down that train of thought I'd end up questioning everything about my life, and I wasn't ready for that level of self-reflection.

Instead, I set my empty glass aside and climbed to my feet, adjusting the cuffs of my sleeves to hide the wobble in my balance. I hadn't bothered to read the label, just grabbed the first bottle of wine I found. It must have been a stronger vintage than I realized. I wasn't fully drunk yet, but I was more inebriated than expected.

"You've questioned the surviving assassins from the aquarium, right? Any updates on who tried to kill me."

When Valente looked away from the portrait and back toward me, his neutral expression was back to normal. "A little, yes. We suspect it may have been the Bianchi family."

I nearly missed a step as I descended the stairs, but this time I could blame it on surprise rather than alcohol. "Really? Of all the possibilities, I wouldn't have thought..."

I'd met the heads of two rival families during the meeting at the aquarium. The Bianchi family, and the Vidales family. Between the two, I'd always been on better personal terms with the Bianchi family. Their leader, D'Angelo Bianchi, shared many of my same values.

Caprice Vidales, on the other hand, was a hard woman who could make enemies with a bat of her eyelashes. Her distain for me was as bold as the polish on her nails.

Especially, after I turned down the marriage to her niece.

I came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. "You said you suspect the Bianchi family is behind it? So, you don't know for sure."

Valente gave only the barest nod of his head. "We haven't gotten a clear answer out of anyone yet. However, they've hinted that they'd be willing to trade information for safety, since their employer probably isn't happy with them. One man let slip that the person who hired them was at the aquarium and got shot in the crossfire."

I clearly remembered the head of the Bianchi family taking a bullet in the arm. I'd been half hidden behind a bench at the time, so I hadn't gotten a clear view, but the man's blond hair was impossible to mistake.

"That's not enough. We need solid answers. My mother is with the survivors now, right?"

The main part of the house looked no different than any other residence in Mantoloking. Each grand building encroached on its neighbors without actually touching. The Mariano family's estate wasn't the largest in the area, though it came close.

Its true uniqueness was found in what lay below ground level.

The only word I had for it was a dungeon . Concrete walls were insulated to block out all sound, and plexiglass walls divided the area into separate cells. It ensured that prisoners could see each other, but not hear anything.

The physiological warfare it caused worked wonders. Often people would crack just from seeing what was happening to others, knowing it would soon happen to them. In that way, you could torture a dozen people simply by hurting one.

Several of the cells were currently filled, each holding one person strapped to a chair. Some only had minor injuries, while some were barely hanging on to life. One of the cells held a man I vaguely recognized. Not enough to know the man's name, but enough to know he worked for our family.

At least he did, until now.

The man in the cell was in the worst condition out of everyone. Stripped naked and castrated, both his hands and feet had been removed so his limbs ended in mangled stumps.

Watching the man for a moment, I realized I couldn't see any chest movement. The man was already dead, propped up on the chair like a child's doll.

Perhaps my mother had decided to keep the corpse on display as a message to the other prisoners.

I found her in a cell with another prisoner. She stood over the bound man with a pair of bloody pliers. Several of the man's teeth and fingernails already sat in a bowl on a nearby table. The interrogation had come to a halt as my mother decided what piece to remove next.

Yet, surprisingly, instead of cowering in fear, the prisoner was laughing.

"You think your family is untouchable, but we came so close to killing your brat. Would have succeeded if not for that so-called bodyguard of his. We thought it was just another boy toy. He's had so many before. It was only bad luck that this one turned out to be a trained soldier."

At the word toy several images flashed through my brain at once.

A bridge with a bloody handprint.

Wine dripping down the wall, and a bent iron headboard.

Club lights casting a halo around Garrison when the man protected me the first time.

Lightning flashing as Garrison walked away.

The knife was in my hand before I realized what I was doing. I practically knelt on the chair over the bound man, pressing the tip of my knife between his grinning blood-spattered lips.

"Say that again."

The man didn't answer, unable to talk around the blade stabbing into his tongue.

Fury twisted my face until my lips pulled back over my teeth. I yanked the knife to the side, slicing through the side of the man's mouth.

"Come on. Say it again. Call him a toy again."

Bright crimson blood flowed like wet Jello from the man's open cheek. He babbled something, but the words were lost in the gore flowing down his chin and over his chest.

My vision blurred around the edges, coating the world in a red mist. I didn't feel the impact as I drove my knife into the man's throat over and over. I didn't smell the blood or hear the last gasp of air escape from dying lungs.

Harsh hands grabbed me and pulled me back.

"Alex." My mother shook me several times to get my attention. "Alex, get a hold of yourself."

I had just enough mental clarity to make sure the knife didn't cut my mother as I shoved her away. "Fucker deserved it." Blood dripped down the blade over my hand, my fingers sticking together with the gore.

My mother grabbed the knife from me and started cleaning the blade. "Of course he deserved it. He tried to kill you. But we can't get information out of a corpse. I taught you better self-control than that."

"I won't just stand here while that bastard spouts bullshit."

"He can spout whatever he wants. The more someone talks, the better. That's how we get information. You know all that." Once the knife was clean, she folded up the blade and handed it back to me. "You aren't yourself right now. I understand your father's death has come as a shock. Go rest. I'll take care of things here. Come back once you've calmed down."

I stared at the knife being offered to me. It was a familiar weapon. I'd carried it for years. Yet, at that moment I couldn't bear the touch of cold metal.

Turning away, I stormed out of the cell and up the steps until I was out of the basement all together, leaving the knife behind.

Back in the main body of the house, I returned to the front room where my family's portrait hung. The half empty wine bottle still waited for me on the stairs. Not bothering to find a glass, I brought the bottle to my lips and drained the rest of its contents.

The wine didn't last as long as I'd like. Soon enough, my throat was dry again, and I was left clutching an empty bottle.

Thiat was how my cousin, Ghita, found me. She stood a step above me, arms crossed as she studied me half draped over the stair railing.

"How much have you had to drink?"

I raised the bottle in my hand. "Just the one."

Grabbing me by the wrist, she tugged my arm over my shoulder. "I think it was more than that. I know you. This is not you after just one bottle."

I let myself be pulled away from the railing, but I immediately tripped over the next step. "Not myself. Mother said that too. Not myself."

Ghita nodded along as she guided me up the stairs, one difficult step at a time. "Aunt Serafina is usually right. You'll feel better after some rest."

The world spun with each step. Maybe I had drunk more than I realized. I tried to remember, but my thoughts were like water slipping through my fingers. They flowed in whichever direction they wanted.

"You're both wrong. I'm too much myself. That's why he left."

My unsteady balance tipped me hard to the side, and I nearly tumbled to the floor. Ghita barely managed to hang on to me long enough to set me down, then joined me sitting on a step just a few feet from the top of the stairs.

Her chest heaved and a drop of sweat rolled down her temple.

"Who left? You're not talking about your father, are you?"

"No." I leaned against the railing, tapping at the bottle I still held in one hand. "Garrison. My bodyguard. That's what you said, right? Get a bodyguard. Well, I did. Real interesting one."

Through a mix of disjointed sentences, I managed to recount the whole situation. It probably wasn't the best explanation, but it seemed to be enough as Ghita nodded along.

"So, you hired this Garrison guy because you thought he was attractive. Didn't tell him you're mafia. Slept with him. Then, when he found out the truth, he left."

"Hey." I pointed at her with the neck of the bottle. "I hired him because he's a badass soldier who saved me. And because I wanted to climb him like a tree." A rush of heat warmed my cheeks and I giggled. "Seriously. I could have too. Guy's got shoulders for days. Fucking him is like scaling Everest."

I gestured too wildly with the bottle and nearly fell over again.

Ghita grabbed me by the shoulders, pulling me back before I could somersault down the stairs. "I don't want to know about your sex life. But I am wondering... what did you think would happen?"

The world spun. I tried to ignore it and focus only on Ghita.

"What'd you mean?"

With a groan, Ghita climbed to her feet and pulled me up as well.

"I mean, what was your end goal here? You knew he had to find out eventually. So, what was your plan?"

We managed to make it to the top of the stairs and started the long trek down the hall toward my room.

An unfamiliar carpet passed beneath my feet. My mother must have redecorated recently.

"No plan. I just wanted..." I trailed off, distracted by the carpet. The old pattern had been better.

We reached my room and Ghita propped me against the wall so she could open the door. "I know. You just wanted to get him into bed."

"No." I shook my head so hard it hit the wall. "I wanted... He was mine ."

The door swung open, but Ghita didn't pull me into the room. "What do you mean, he was yours?"

"I mean he was mine ," I repeated again, louder this time. "Not employed by my family. Not provided by someone else. Just mine ."

"Ah." Ghita nodded, and wrapped her arms around my waist. Propping her shoulder into my armpit, she guided me inside. "I think I see."

Well, at least one of us did, because I still felt clueless.

She helped me stumble over to the bed and pushed me down until I sat unsteadily on the mattress.

"Can you handle it from here? As much as I love you, I'm not undressing you."

I waved her off, assuring her that I could take care of myself. Although the words were more of a slurred mess than actual syllables.

She ran a hand over my hair. "Good. Get some rest. We'll talk about this more in the morning once you sober up."

As she left, I waved the bottle at her. "I only had one."

The door clicked shut and I was alone.

I sat motionless on the edge of the bed. The whole room spun. Even the slightest twitch of my muscles sent me reeling.

Without moving my head, my vision blurry, I stared in confusion down at the bottle in my hand.

I'd only had one.

A feeling of dread descended on me like a curtain drawing across my vision.

Something was wrong. I knew my own alcohol tolerance. I shouldn't be this drunk from only one bottle.

I tried to stand up and go after Ghita, but my feet wouldn't hold my weight and I fell to the floor. My vision was really going dark.

The carpet pressed against my cheek as I lay on the floor, unable to move or even call out. My fingers went limp and the empty bottle rolled out of my hand.

Just before I passed out, I heard the door open again.

Then everything went black.