3. Rocco

3

ROCCO

G rief was a terrible thing.

One week ago, my father, Aldo Adami, was murdered in cold blood, placing the fragile peace between the Irish, Italian, and Russian Families on the brink of collapse.

Today, I sat on the armrest of a chair, holding my sobbing mother as she broke down in floods of tears after finding one of my father's silken handkerchiefs at the bottom of her purse. Unable to form words, she clutched at the tail of my shirt and wept desperately as I offered her another tissue to add to the growing collection on her lap.

To my left, my best friend Dino stood with a grim look on his face and his hands clasped together at his waist. Each sob from my mother tore at my heart, but I fought to keep a lid on the turmoil bubbling beneath my skin. It may have been a week, but my distress hadn't dampened. I was angry, furious. And hurt. My father was a decent man. We didn't always see eye to eye and we'd had our fair share of explosive arguments over the years, but he always strove to do his best when it came to his family and those under his protection .

The fragile peace we had nurtured these past seven years had been his creation, and now, with his death, we were on the brink of war once again.

" Signora Adami?" A servant, clad in black trousers and a red shirt, poked her head through the door. I was about to tell her to fuck off when she stepped further in, holding a glass of whiskey.

That was the only thing that brought my mother any peace, and I wasn't going to deny her that so soon after my father's death.

Mother didn't lift her head, so I motioned the servant in with my free hand and slid the one on my mother down her back in a comforting stroke. The servant dipped her head and scurried closer, then handed the glass to my mother, who accepted it with trembling hands. Sobbing, she lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip.

Three sips later, her sobs had calmed. Five more, and her crying had dried to silent tears streaking her powdered cheeks. Silence fell, and I forced my eyes away from her and toward the window, staring out at the vast forest lining the edge of the Adami Estate.

We hadn't been back here in years, so the house was rather empty and cold compared to the houses we owned in the city. But my father had always desired to be buried back in Baxton, in the family plot, so here we were, preparing to place him in the ground.

His funeral would mark two things—the end of his successful line as the Don of the Italian Mafia and the end of the peace that clung by a thread until he was in the ground. Old law stated that any retaliation or war as the result of a death from a Family Head would grant a ceasefire over all arguments until after the funeral.

I'd already received word that the Irish and Russians were honoring this law as a show of respect to my father. But I knew someone, somewhere, had spat on that respect and was spitting on us. After all, my father wouldn't be dead otherwise.

"Sir? "

I hadn't noticed that the servant hadn't left after giving my mother her whiskey. "What is it?" I barked.

" Signore Vito is here to see you."

My grandfather. I knew why he was here. My father's death thrust me to the head spot of the Adami family, but I knew my grandfather eyed the spot. He saw this as a second chance to reclaim his old glory, and it was likely fueled by a bloodthirsty desire to get revenge for the death of his son.

My rage burned hotter.

"Watch her," I said to the servant, then I turned to my mother and pressed my lips to her warm temple. " Mamma , Vito is here. I must tend to him."

My mother didn't make a sound. She gripped her glass and continued to sip while staring at nothing. I kissed the top of her head and slid from the armrest, sending a glare to the servant to ensure they didn't leave her side.

I walked toward the door, and Dino was my shadow until my mother spoke.

"Rocco?"

"Yes, Mamma?" I turned to face her, and the blankness on her face was gone, replaced by heartbroken rage.

"Make them pay."

Walking the hall of the manor was a strange feeling. I hadn't been back here since the night war broke out among the families and my father whisked us all away to the city to handle things. That had been simultaneously the best and worst night of my life.

The girl I had crushed on for my last year of study had finally noticed me. To this day, I could still remember what her lips felt like pressed against mine. Family loyalty stole me away from her, away from this life in Braxton, and so much had changed that looking back, it was hard to see the version of myself then as being at all related to the version I became.

My grandfather stood in the study, angled toward one of the bay windows that looked out at the large fountains in the side garden. Like all of our clothes, his trademark charcoal jacket had been replaced by black, and despite his age, he stood proudly. Since my father's death, he'd abandoned his cane. I suspected it was his grief that was keeping him steady now.

" Nonno ." I approached him slowly. Dino remained by the door, taking up his place next to Jian, my most trusted bodyguard. They exchanged a glance I caught out of the corner of my eye, and I focused on them to keep me grounded as I approached.

"Rocco." My grandfather, Vito, slowly turned to face me. His face was grim, and the dark shadows underneath his eyes enhanced the deep-set wrinkles about his face. It was no secret that Vito hated this town. I could see it written all over his face, but this place was dear to my father's heart, so we would honor his wish to be buried here.

"How is Beatrice?"

"She is…" I cast my thoughts back to my mother and swallowed a wince. "as to be expected."

"She is a strong woman," Vito said. "She will get through this. As will we all." Vito stalked away from the window and approached the wooden desk filled with books. He placed a wrinkled hand on top of the nearest one. "Did you look at the proposal I sent last night?"

"I did." I stopped just in front of the desk and widened my stance. "My answer is no."

"No?" Vito's eyes turned sharp and his gaze narrowed to a point. "What do you mean, no ? How long must we sit idly by while they laugh at us? Do you have any idea how weak this makes us look? How they will laugh us to the very graves they will send us to and spit on? "

"You want to start a war," I snapped. "You want to charge ahead and start killing as if the consequences of that won't be dire. We're already in a tough spot. Killing at random will do nothing if we target the wrong family."

"How could it be wrong if they both conspired against us?"

"You don't know that." One of my hands curled into a fist, and I dug my nails into the softer skin of my palm. "You have your suspicions, but without proof, we stand to unravel everything my father—your son— put in place."

"And if we do nothing?" Vito snapped angrily, spraying his words.

"Doing nothing is what Rocco has decided we will do." Dino spoke up from behind me, his voice much firmer than my own. "He is the head of the Adami Family now, and with respect, he has decided to follow the old law to give Beatrice and others time to grieve. You should honor that as he honors the laws you laid down."

"Please." Vito scoffed sharply, and his eyes snapped back to me. "You don't have the experience to do this. We both know that. You should step down and let me take the place we both already know I can control."

His voice grew in volume as he talked, stoking the flames of rage that constricted my chest and made breathing more difficult with each passing second. He spoke to me like a child, like I had no idea what to do with the grief and rage that boiled in my gut. I had worked closely with my father for the past seven years, and truthfully, I didn't expect to take over the family for at least another ten years.

But this was the hand fate gave me, and I was going to make him proud.

I remained silent until I was sure I had a hold on my anger, then I straightened my shoulders .

"This family is now my responsibility," I said firmly, staring unblinkingly at Vito. "I know how we are going to handle this."

"Just because you are his son, that does not mean all trust automatically moves to you," Vito snapped. "You are new. I have trust built up while you spend your time hanging around with the Triad. That's enough to stop anyone from trusting your instincts."

I immediately sent an apologetic glance to Jian, who remained utterly unreadable.

"Vito, I will make two things very clear." I approached the desk and only stopped when my knees bumped the wood. Then I locked onto his eyes. "One, stop with the fucking racism. You see Asian, and you think Triad like it means anything these days. Second, now is not the time for infighting. Do you really want to waste all your time and energy fighting me for power instead of finding out exactly who killed Father?"

Vito's thin lips parted, but he seemed to change his mind and closed them again. There was no apology for Jian—there never was from him—but not arguing back was a start.

"Then what do you decide?" he asked finally, not hiding the bitterness in his tone.

"We will not be acting until after the funeral. We have agreements from the Russian Pakhan and the Irish Captain that we will be granted a period of mourning, and I will not let us be the one to betray that. Our laws and values will not end with my father."

"And if they don't honor it?" Vito spat, his bitterness slowly fading.

"Then we will know where to start looking for father's killer. Understand?"

Vito remained silent for a few long moments, then he finally gave me a curt nod. "So be it. "

The tightness in my chest didn't ease, so with a return nod, I quickly excused myself from the office and didn't stop walking until I made it past the glass double doors and out to the swimming pool. There, the crisp afternoon air flooded my lungs with the scent of forest pine and a faint hint of chlorine.

I gasped, loosening the black tie around my throat and breathing deeply. The tightness didn't fade, but breathing became a little easier. I forced deep breaths and turned my eyes skyward as tears sprang into the corners of my eyes.

In just one week, I had learned more about my father's struggles as a leader than I ever saw from the outside. I understood why we had to leave so abruptly seven years ago. Personal feelings had no place in this position.

And yet, my heart was broken. My father was dead. My mother was in pieces.

A soft touch pressed to the small of my back while I closed my eyes. I didn't need to look to know Jian and Dino were with me.

One thing was certain in my mind, though, as the tears fell and my heart burst in my chest.

After my father's funeral, I was going to find the son of a bitch who killed him.

I was going to find him and kill him with my bare hands.