Page 2 of Born into Sin

“They’re mine to do with as I please, Uncle Salvatore. You know that.”

My cousins swore an oath to this family, the same as we all did, and that means they’re mine. They will bleed for me, they will die for me, they will do whatever the fuck needs to be done for this family, and that means both their asses will be coming with me to the States.

“What about Italy?”

I look back at my uncle, feeling my patience start to dwindle as I take another drink. “What about it? The other families haven’t tried to encroach on our territory in a very long time. We have an agreement with all of them, and I see no reason for that to change. I won’t be as active here, they know that, but I also won’t be interfering with their shit, and that’s all they really care about. If things change in the future, I’ll deal with it, but right now, there’s more money to be had in America. I have a good thing going there, Uncle, and I’m not about to lose everything I’ve worked so damn hard for.”

“You mean with the fucking Russians?”

He looks like he wants to spit over his shoulder after he says it, but instead he tips his glass and finishes his drink.

“They’ve been loyal friends to me, and without them we wouldn’t have found Isabella’s killer,” I remind him.

“Papà,” Sandro starts to say, but Salvatore waves a hand at him, and even though my cousins are both in their thirties now, they respect their father too much to speak over him.

After a few seconds, Salvatore sighs and says, “Will you at least let your Aunt Maria introduce you to one of the nice girls from the village? She’s been pestering me for weeks about this girl she knows from Mass.”

When he sees that I’m about to protest, he quickly says, “I swear I’ll shut the hell up about marriage and you taking my two sons, my only sons,” he emphasizes, “away to America.”

I sigh and scrub a hand over my jaw.

“If you don’t agree to this, I’ll never hear the end of it. I’m begging you. Have pity on an old man and just agree to meet with her. She’s twenty-five,” he says, like that’s supposed to make it better.

“Too young,” I say. “I’m forty-three, Uncle.”

He gives a soft laugh and looks at his sons. “Too young?”

Dario joins in and shakes his head. “It’s not like she’s eighteen, Dominic.”

Knowing there isn’t a chance in hell this is going to lead anywhere, I finally nod my head. “Fine. I’ll meet with her, but I’m holding you to your word. No more talk of marriage and no more lectures about America.”

My uncle smiles. “You’ve saved me from a lot of grief. Maria will be so happy when I tell her.”

“Can I at least get my father buried before this godawful setup?”

Salvatore puts his curled, stiff hand against his heart. “My brother’s death breaks my heart, Dominic, but I’ve had a long time to prepare for this. We all knew it was coming.”

He’s not wrong. My father lived a long life, even if it was filled with sadness and violence. His death wasn’t a shock to anyone. If anything, we’re all relieved it’s over. Antonio Alessi was more than ready to leave this world. I think he’d been wishing for it for years. I down the last of my drink, more than ready to get this over with and get back to America.

Two weeks later, my ass is being lead through the house by my very bossy and insistent aunt.

“Aunt Maria, don’t get your hopes up,” I tell her for the tenth time in the last twenty minutes. I can see the wedding plans taking place behind her warm, brown eyes, and that shit needs to stop. I gently reach out and squeeze her bony shoulders. She’s as petite as Salvatore is large, but there’s a strength to my aunt that goes beyond her small frame.

“Nothing is going to come of this,” I tell her, trying to not sound like an ass.

She smiles up at me and gives my cheek a soft pat. “She could make you very happy, Dominic. She’s a sweet girl. Never married, helps look after her parents, beautiful.” She smiles even bigger. “Good birthing hips.”

“Jesus,” I groan and then raise my hands in apology for the blasphemy.

She points a finger at me. “You need a woman to look after you.”

Without giving me a chance to respond, she spins on her heels and marches to the front sitting room. When we walk in, there’s a young woman already sitting in one of the chairs that never gets any use aside from short visits like this one is most definitely going to be. The woman is blonde, tall and curvy, and looks scared to death when she sees me. Jumping up, she meets my eyes for all of one second before dropping them and fidgeting with the dress she’s wearing. She’s chosen black—a proper mourning dress that is both respectful and modest and absolutely boring as hell. She’s pretty, there’s no denying that, but I feel nothing when I look at her. Well, that’s not true. I feel irritated and bored and wishing I was already on my flight home.

“Dominic, I want you to meet Beatrice.”

Aunt Maria beams up at me and then looks at the woman.

“Beatrice, this is my nephew Dominic, the one I’ve been telling you about.”

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