Page 61 of Cruel Tyrant

He doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s because I do. Oh, look, Laura’s yelling at the DJ.”

And sure enough, his little sister is shouting for the DJ to, in her words, shut the fuck up with your stupid iPad bullshit and end this travesty of a party, but I’m still hung up on what he just so casually admitted.

He adores me. He genuinely adores me.

I pull his face to mine and kiss him. He seems surprised, but doesn’t resist. The bastard never resists when I want my lips on his.

“What’s that for?” he murmurs. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I adore you too.” I kiss him again. “I really, really adore you.”

“I know you do, baby.” He smirks and hugs me tight. “Did you drink too much?”

“No. Yes. A little. But this is real.”

“Don’t worry, when you wake up tomorrow morning with a headache, I won’t tease you too much. But I am going to take advantage of your intoxicated state tonight. This is your chance to opt out.”

I shiver with excitement and bite his chin. “I am very much opting in.”

“Good girl.”

He kisses me and holds my hand as he drags me from the party only moments before Laura flips over the DJ table, signaling the end of the night.

Chapter 36

Davide

I walk down a sterile, cinder-block lined hallway with Simon. He’s pushing my father’s wheelchair, and the three of us are following a very stern lady in a prison guard’s uniform. The hall opens into a visitation room filled with chairs, chatting couples, men in brown jumpsuits, and more than a few vending machines. Guards wander around, looking pissed-off.

And there, sitting by himself, is my brother Angelo. He stands as we approach. His beard’s thick and scraggly, and his hair’s buzzed down to the scalp. The guy looks jacked—the cliché about prisoners doing nothing but hanging around and lifting weights is true in his case—and he beams as we approach. It feels incredible to see him again, and I immediately wish that I could visit him every day. Angelo’s got a way about him—there’s a lightness, a humor, a sort of calm that I can’t explain—and he’s always been able to bring me back from the brink. I miss the fucker.

“It’s good to see you guys,” he says, hugging each of us, including Dad. Angelo’s always been outgoing and friendly, so much like Mom, and I worried that prison would break him. I’m glad to find him totally unchanged every time we visit.

“You look like you’re thriving,” Dad says as we arrange ourselves in a little private corner of the crowded room. It’s like everyone knows not to get too close, and I catch more than a few respectful nods from fellow inmates, and the guards seem to give us more space than all the others.

“Life on the inside is mostly boring,” Angelo says and stretches his legs, leaning back against his chair. “I’d rather hear more about what you’re all up to.” He smirks at me, head tilted. “Especially you, bro.”

I grin back and catch Simon sharing a look with Dad. They haven’t been happy with me recently, and I don’t blame them.

I’ve been on the warpath these last few weeks, leaving bodies in my wake as I burn my way through Santoro’s hierarchy. I tell Angelo about Joey, and about Joey’s boss, and about the Capos he gave me, and the soldiers they handed over, and the whole sticky web of Santoro’s organization slowly unfolding in my hands.

“All it takes is a little pressure and a sharp knife,” I say, swatting away Simon as he tries to punch me in the shoulder.

“Also, a whole lot of stupidity,” Dad mutters.

Angelo’s eyebrows raise. “I take it our dear father here doesn’t agree with your methods?”

“He’s being short-sighted,” Simon says before I can answer. “But we’re dealing with it. I’d rather talk about something else instead of my brother’s bloodlust.”

I shrug and gesture for them to move on if they’re so inclined, but that word bloodlust bothers me. It’s not that I want to be out murdering a bunch of men—I don’t get some kind of physical pleasure from taking lives—but someone has to be on the front lines of this war. It can’t be Simon, since he’s the Don, and Dad’s in a wheelchair. Elena’s not involved in the family that way, though Laura would do it if given the chance. Fact is, I’m the only person with the skills and the stomach for this kind of work, and maybe they don’t like it, but that’s too damn bad.

I get enough worry from Stefania. I don’t need it from them too.

Angelo tells us about some of the men he’s been spending time with behind bars, about his job in the kitchens, about an upcoming talent show. “It’s like fucking high school in here,” he admits. “Almost literally since there are classes we can take. Then there are all the fucking gangs.” He rolls his eyes like it’s the most annoying thing in the world.

“But you’re safe,” Dad says and it’s not a question.

“I’m not the only Bianco in here.” Angelo scratches the top of his head. “And I haven’t been sitting on my fucking thumbs for the last three years. You guys know I’m fine. Quit coming here and acting like I’m about to get shanked and ass-fucked.”

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