Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Alex

A few hours later, I found myself sitting at the end of a long table facing my mother. The Mariano family owned over a dozen houses in almost as many countries, so there was no one location that I considered home . When my mother requested that I come home, what she actually meant was to meet her wherever she was at the time. At first, I'd feared that meant traveling to our house in Venice where she usually preferred to stay during the spring. Luckily, she had already flown into their Matoloking residence, so I only had to travel an hour and a half from Newark.

Serafina Mariano was a petite woman with the look of a strict schoolteacher. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun without a single hair out of place. Despite being over forty, she showed not a hint of gray, though I couldn't be certain if it was a result of good genetics or hair dye.

I sat in a high-backed chair, one leg crossed over the other and my chin braced on my fist. There were three other people seated at intervals down one side of the table, but I ignored them for now and kept my attention on my mother at the far end.

"So, how exactly did father get himself arrested on human trafficking charges when he's already in prison?"

The Matoloking house, like most of the Mariano homes, was a mix of antique and modern design. This meant a lot of clean lines and open spaces, complemented with older details around the edges. My voice echoed just a little too much for comfort, though not enough to be truly uncomfortable.

At the other end of the table, my mother shifted position so her fingers intersected like a steeple, allowing her to peer over them and create the illusion that she was bigger than she actually was. "I'm wondering about that myself, but I've held off on this conversation until you were here." She glanced over her shoulder at the man standing adjacent to her chair. "Valente? Surely you have an answer."

Valente Guerra. Bodyguard, gopher, and all around right-hand-man to my father. He reminded me of a panther, dressed in a deceptively simple black suit that easily concealed half a dozen weapons. In his entire life, I couldn't remember once seeing my father without Valente just a step behind.

Looking at the man now, standing alone in the vast room, he looked like half a person.

Tipping his head in a slight bow, Valente addressed the room in general as though speaking to a crowd.

"The Boss was out on a day pass and we were conducting an inspection of one of our facilities in Baltimore. We'd received reports where the numbers didn't add up. Product going missing. Delayed payments. That sort of thing. Unfortunately, during the inspection, local police conducted a raid of the facility. The Boss was caught on location and arrested. That, alone, we could have handled, but it turned out that some of the products were minors from other countries, which drew the attention of Interpol."

I tapped the toe of my polished shoe against the leg of the table, a staccato of irritation that matched the twitching of my eyebrow. "On a day pass… It turned out... " I repeated, putting just enough emphasis on the words to make my mockery of Valente's words clear.

"You say that like my father didn't know he was trafficking literal children. He couldn't even wait till he's gotten out, for fuck's sake? He only had a few months left! I hope you aren't foolish enough to think this whole thing was a coincidence." I rolled my eyes, knowing my disrespect would piss the man off. I didn't care.

This time it was my mother who responded, snorting daintily through her nose and waving one hand in the air like batting away a fly. "Of course not. The police showing up right when your father was visiting is too coincidental. It was obviously a setup. At first, we thought it was only an attack against your father, someone trying to take him out of the game permanently, but now that someone's made an attempt on your life, it seems they're after the entire Mariano family. Until we figure out who is behind this attack, we all have to be extra careful."

For the first time, I paid attention to the three people seated along the side of the table. Bloody and bruised, one of them was barely conscious, kept upright only by the ropes binding him to the chair. Another bled profusely from both ears, likely the result of punctured eardrums, and sobbed quietly to himself through a gag. Only the third person, seated closest to me, remained fully cognizant. He said nothing and barely moved as he glared daggers at me, his teeth grinding against the gag and his hands repeatedly flexing into fists.

The three had been in much better condition when they'd been trying to kill me. No doubt their new wounds were a result of Valente's work.

I gestured toward the bound captives. "You've already questioned the people who attacked me. If you still don't know who's behind it, then I assume they were hired anonymously."

My mother nodded, barely sparing the three a glance. "It was a careful job. No names. They never met the person who hired them, and all communication was made through a burner phone. Our only hope right now is to track down the store where the phone was purchased and get access to their security cameras. It'll take some time, and there's no telling how long the case against your father could drag on. Right now, the family needs a strong leader. It's time for you to step into your responsibilities as the Mariano heir. If your father is released, then he can resume his position, but until then, you are now the acting head of this family."

I dropped my casual posture, leaning forward with my elbows on the table in a way that would have earned me a cane to the knuckles when I was younger. "What? Why am I suddenly in charge? Why not you? You've got more experience."

A slight pause before answering was the only indication of his mother's irritation "Experience doesn't matter as much as blood. I married into the Russo family, I'm also a woman, and as such, I will never command as much respect as someone, a male, born with both Russo and Mariano blood. It has to be you, or we risk looking weak to the other families."

I recognized my mother's stubborn expression. It looked almost the same as all her other expressions—the woman had a legendary poker face—except an extra tightness pinched the corners of her mouth.

There would be no arguing with her. If I tried, it would be the same as bashing my head against a wall. Painful and ultimately pointless.

"Fine. I'll take over as head of the family... for now. So, if you'll excuse me, it's late and I apparently need to get ready for a very busy day tomorrow."

I stood with as much decorum as I could muster, breathing a silent sigh of relief when neither my mother nor Valente called me back. On my way out of the room, I stopped just behind the seat of the attacker who had been glaring at me. Pulling out a thin silver knife from the inner pocket of my jacket, I fisted a hand in the man's hair and plunged the knife into his eye.

My attacker writhed against his bonds, screaming through the gag, but I just held on tighter as I twisted the knife. I was careful not to let the blade slip too deep. After all, I didn't want to puncture the brain and accidentally kill my assailant. The man still had plenty of uses. I just couldn't stand the arrogance in the man's eyes. Even beaten and bound, the man still had the audacity to glare at me. Fucker.

Satisfied that the offending eye had been permanently dealt with, I removed my knife and released the man, letting him slump against his ropes. Then, giving my mother and Valente a nod, I left them all behind.

Like everything else in a Mariano house, the hallways of this particular residence were large and grand, giving me plenty of time to think as I hiked to the front door. Using a silk handkerchief stored in my pocket, I absentmindedly and methodically cleaned the blood from my knife as I reviewed the last twelve hours. When I woke up this morning, my biggest concern had been boredom. Now, I was burdened by too much excitement, and not the kind I enjoyed.

Tossing the stained handkerchief into a trashcan, I heaved a sigh. "I need a drink."

"You're not taking this seriously."

Stopping in the middle of the hall, I turned toward the sound of the familiar voice. My cousin sat half hidden on a window bench. She held a book in her hands that was open to a page somewhere in the middle, as if she'd been lounging there for hours.

I wasn't fooled.

"Long time no see, Ghita. Eavesdropping on people's conversations is rude, you know."

Ghita had inherited the short stature of most Mariano women, but with the added benefit of more curves. She also kept her dark hair in a modernly short, asymmetrical cut that made the traditional members of their family click their tongues in disapproval.

She set her book aside, not bothering to mark her page as she gave up the innocent act.

"I don't need to eavesdrop. It's obvious just from the look on your face. You aren't taking this threat seriously. Someone tried to kill you tonight, and they're certainly going to try the same thing with your father."

Despite being a year older than me, when Ghita stood she only reached the center of my chest. I ruffled her hair in the way I knew she hated, just to see her pout.

"This isn't the first time Father's ended up on the wrong side of the law. It's an occupational hazard in this family, but he always manages to wriggle his way out, in the end. Just you wait. In a few weeks the charges will be dropped, he'll be out of jail again, and everything will return to status quo. Besides... " In my hand I still held the recently cleaned knife. I twirled it between my fingers like a butterfly darting between flower petals. "I'm not exactly helpless."

With quick, precise movements, Ghita plucked the knife from my grip and tossed it over her shoulder. The sharp blade planted point first in the wall. "Still, I'd feel better if I knew you were taking this seriously. At least get some extra security in case you're attacked again."

Bits of drywall floated to the floor when I retrieved my knife. "Fine. I need a new bodyguard anyway. But this time I'm choosing them myself. The last one was a major disappointment."

I could tell my cousin still wasn't happy, but she seemed to realize further arguing would be pointless and let the matter drop.

"Fine. Better than nothing. But if you get killed, I swear I won't grieve at your funeral."

Just for my own amusement, I ruffled her hair again. "Sure you won't. I'll see you later, GeeGee."

She gnashed her teeth at me as she smoothed her hair back into place. It was a good sign for me to leave before I lost a hand.

A few dozen yards away, the hall opened into the front foyer. Here, I stopped and looked up at the large painting that hung above the door. It showed me when I was younger, standing beside my father who sat on a wingback chair. My mother was positioned just behind us, one hand on her husband's shoulder. Although created only fifteen years ago when I was ten, it was styled to look like an antique oil painting.

Everything about the image was fake.

They never even posed for the picture. It had been computer generated. If they had posed for it, they would have needed to glue me to the floor to get me to sit still long enough, and my mother would have had to stand on a box to be seen over the tall chair. Not to mention my father would have had to actually be present, instead of serving the first of his many stints in prison for the murder of a New Jersey couple. How the man always managed to get caught red-handed, I'd never know. My grandfather would probably roll over in his grave if he knew his legacy had turned into this kind of circus.

Since its creation, I had barely given the painting a second thought, but I stared up at it now, meeting the gaze of my father's recreated eyes. I'd never noticed before, but they were the same shape and color as my own.

David Russo was a complicated man, to say the least. Marrying my mother and combining the Russo family with the Mariano family, their biggest rivals at the time, made him the most powerful man in the mafia at a very young age. Maintaining his position at the very top of the Italian crime syndicate from the time he was thirty was not a simple feat, but by force and by loyalty to the original families, he managed to uphold the legacy he'd been given. Well, the thrill of the power he held over others went to his head and he started making stupid mistakes rather quickly. My father held a lot of traditional beliefs that probably contributed to his multiple arrests, including insisting on checking the problematic facilities in their portfolio himself to show his willingness to get his hands dirty.

A little too dirty.

I didn't know what to think about my father sitting in prison through most of my childhood and my formative teenage years. My father had been a hard man to live under, but he had his soft moments as well. Somehow he'd managed to maintain his business, keep his wife's family in line, and be somewhat of a father to me despite his on again, off again incarceration. For many years, I'd looked up to him, my silver-haired idol, and wanted to be just like him.

Now, at twenty-five, I knew better.

Two years ago, an engagement had been arranged for me with a girl from one of our rival families. It had been meant as a way to forge alliances and was exactly the same way my own parents had ended up married.

Rather than follow tradition, I had taken that opportunity to come out as gay, insisting I could never make any bride happy. I'd expected punishment, reprimand, maybe even disownment.

What I hadn't expected was for my father, after a long moment of silent contemplation, to sigh and reach for the nearby phone.

"I guess I should tell the Vidales family that the engagement is off."

For all his traditional values, my aging father had simply accepted my declaration and moved on to the day's business as if nothing untoward even happened. I had to respect the man for that, considering I knew it had to go against every ingrained thought my father had ever had. It wasn't what he'd been taught as "acceptable" but he accepted it anyway. In his own way, my father loved me, his only legitimate son, and he would do what he had to to make sure I was happy.

From that moment on, I had been free to live openly, at least as far as my sexuality was concerned. I would never call my father a good man, but in this one instance he'd been exactly the supportive parent that I needed.

Now it was my father who needed support, and I was going to try, even if I thought the whole thing unnecessary. Just as I'd told Ghita, my father would likely be out of prison before I was even officially recognized as the head of the family.

A sleek black car waited for me right in the middle of the house's long turnaround driveway. The engine was already running, just waiting for me to slip inside. I practically collapsed against the backseat, directing the driver to my Newark apartment as my mind buzzed with all the things I'd need to take care of tomorrow. It was going to be a nightmare, and now I had to hire a bodyguard on top of everything because I refused to break a promise to my cousin.

An idea came to me, lighting up inside my brain like a candle glowing at the center of a hurricane.

Pulling out my phone, I dialed one of the few numbers saved in my contact list.

"Hey, Ricco. Get me the footage from the Ultraviolet Room's security cameras. Yes, from tonight. There's something I want to look into."