Page 34 of Possession

“I’d hardly call it alone. You’ve had a bunch of wives, whores, and nannies to help you.” He shrugs.

My father lifts his shoulder, then waves his hand at Rocco as if batting away his comment. “The whores didn’t come near you boys.”

This pulls my attention and pisses me off. “Apart from when you had us fuck them,” I grit out.

I lost my virginity at thirteen years old to one of my father’s whores. It was in his bid to forge me into a made man, and the same day, he had me put a bullet in her pretty little head for not forcing me to come.

He sees women as disposable and has always encouraged us to feel the same way.

“And kill them.” Rocco smiles manically as he draws his signature knife from his belt. The same knife that killed our father’s last wife for attempting to seduce him.

Our father locks eyes with the blade. “Mmm, you can’t trust any of them.”

Rocco rolls his eyes at his words. “What about Nancy? You liked her.”

Our father shuffles from side to side. As always, he squirms when he discusses Nancy. Out of all the women to enter his bed, Nancy was the only one he felt anything for, even if he refuses to admit it. His actions tell us everything. He still provides for her son, Robert, even though the scrounging little bastard never visits. He’s a couple of months younger than me, yet worlds away from Mafia life. The little prick lives off the money from our family’s legacy, though, while becoming a raging alcoholic insurance broker. The last I heard, he was married with a young daughter.

My father’s gaze lands back on me, and I grit my teeth, waiting for his next words. “This girl you’re shacked up with, does she know the score?”

“No.” I turn my attention back to my plate.

“Mmm.” His low hum and question irritate me, and my skin prickles with a need to destroy something. Instead, I simply clench my teeth to refrain from causing irreversible damage.

“She’s clearly important to you. Do you think you should explain—”

I cut him off with a menacing look. “No.”

He nods. “Very well. But when she finds out—”

“She’s mine,” I bite out, pissed I’m showing my hand much sooner than I anticipated.

Rocco throws his head back on an obnoxious chuckle, and I seethe with anger. “I don’t know what the fuck you find so funny, little brother.” I raise an eyebrow, daring him to continue. He swallows thickly and shakes his head, as if banishing his amusement.

He knows I’m well aware of his activities and the lengths he’s going in order to ensnare and manipulate the girl in question. The one he’s so obsessed with, he would create a war over. He knows I could end it all before he even dips his dick in her cunt again.

“Knock her up, then.” My father grins back at me.

“I intend on it.” I smile back, just as menacing. My brother’s lip twitches, telling me he’s planning on doing the same damn thing with his girl, and I exhale, knowing the shitstorm that’s going to bring with it.

“I want you both at the Halloween party this year, no excuses.” My father points at me, knowing how much I detest these public events, but when visions of Ellie dressed as a schoolgirl flood my mind, for the first time ever, I’m actually on board with the idea, so I give him a firm nod, and he eases back into his chair.

“Now, about this fucking warehouse!” he bellows, slamming his fist on the table, his erratic behavior not surprising to me or Rocco, who sits toying with the tip of his knife. “I want the informants found and their skin hanging on the warehouse gates.”

“That might raise eyebrows.” Rocco sits forward.

“I don’t give a fuck,” our father snipes out, then pushes back in his chair to stand and throws his napkin onto the table like a spoiled child. “Deal with it. I have somewhere to be.”

He slams the door shut behind him, and I relax back into my chair.

“Kai’s confident we have a target,” I inform Rocco.

He sits forward, excitement rolling off him in waves. “Yeah?”

I dab my napkin to the side of my lips, and he watches on with humor in his eyes. Being so much younger than me, the kid was brought up different. He lacks table manners, for a start. Our father would have never let me wear a leather jacket, let alone at the dinner table.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

I narrow my eyes. “What thing?”

---