Page 61 of Vicious Redemption

But it’s so many countless people, they start to blend together. Their faces and words all hold the same emptiness. They’re going through the motions, but none of these innumerable people loved my father.

He wasn’t one to inspire love.

He knew how to inspire fear.

Respect.

Obedience.

Never love. And I can see that now.

“Leo, Tia, we are so sorry for your loss.” Signora Romney’s voice cuts through the fog of indifference that surrounds this pointless fucking tradition, bringing me back to the here and now.

“Sincerely,” Mayor Romney adds, placing a palm over his heart.

“Thank you,” Tia says steadily, her tone never shifting as she says it for what must be the hundredth time.

But anger flares inside me, wiping away the dark emptiness and replacing it with white-hot rage. “Are you, Honorable Mayor? Really?” I demand. “Because, from where I stand, it was in his effort to protect your auction prizes that my father was shot in the first place, and the men responsible were pardoned and set free within days.”

The shock on Mayor Romeny’s face is worth the scene I’m making. And frankly, I don’t care. I’m so sick and tired of men like him looking down their nose at me, pretending I’m the villain, the mad beast that should be brought to justice, when he’s in a position of power that could do something about it. And still, he turns away.

“Funny, isn’t it? That the same day those men were freed, my father ended up dying mysteriously—though the doctor assured me he was well on the road to recovery. That hardly seems like the lawful protection, the justice you so vehemently spout. You accuse me of violence, of taking the choice about a man’s life into my own hands, and yet, Mayor, it would seem to me that you’re just as guilty of permitting it as the rest of them.”

Gasps echo around me. And from the corner of my eye, Tia pales visibly. But she doesn’t let go of my hand. She doesn’t step away from me. We’re in this together, and I can feel her pride growing as I speak my mind.

Signora Romney, on the other hand, looks on the brink of fainting, her fingers pressed to her lips in stunned mortification. But I’m not done just yet. Today, I free myself of the shackles that bind me to this twisted town’s double-standard idles.

“In my eyes, your law’s leniency against the Guerra men you set free is the reason my father is dead. So, while you condemn me for what I did at the charity ball, make no mistake, I hold you personally responsible for killing Marco Moretti.”

Stunned by my accusation, the mayor gapes openly, his face turning a dangerous shade of puce. “Forgive me,” he sputters in clear discomfort.

Taking his wife’s hand, he leaves quickly, pulling her behind and offering their sincerest apologies to anyone they pass in their haste. For a lingering moment, no one says a word.

Beside me, Tia squeezes my hand, and I turn my head to meet her gaze. Tender understanding greets me, and for the first time today, I feel the familiar knot of grief tightening in my throat.

“Breathe,” she mouths subtly, pulling her full lips into a soft smile.

I do as she says, releasing the tension on a heavy breath, then clear my throat.

The procession takes a moment to start again, the guests seeming hesitant to approach after the intensity with which I confronted the mayor. None of them wish to face the same wrath.

Not that they would.

Because I don’t see a single Guerra face among them.

It’s hardly a surprise, considering most are being detained at one of my properties in the warehouse district on the outskirts of town. Likely, the few I haven’t caught are worried I would take advantage of their presence and take them into my custody as well.

Even Don Guerra stays away, though I haven’t given orders to have him hunted down just yet. Another confirmation of his guilt in my mind.

It’s an exhausting day, and well into the evening, by the time the mourning service has finished and the final well-wisher leaves. The social gathering took place over the span of several rooms, and aside from a small break in which Tia and I had time to feed ourselves, we’ve been on our feet and conversing with all the people who came to pay their respects.

“Thank you, Rasco,” I state, excusing my extra contingent of men who have stuck to us like glue for the entire day.

“Sir.” He gives a slight bend at the hips, before signaling the rest of his men to follow him from the room. And though they haven’t said as much, I know my men are the rare few who understand the significant loss of our don.

He might have taken a back seat in the day-to-day affairs of our family’s operation. I might have been spearheading our drive for more territory. But he was a leader who commanded respect, who steered this family toward success even before I became his top general and the weapon that brought us to new heights.

The door clicks shut, finally leaving me and Tia completely alone. Groaning, I sink onto one of the drawing room couches, utterly spent. Planting my elbows on my knees, I let my head sink into my hands.

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