Page 17 of SINS & Lies

No, my expertise registers on a darker scale—from broken bones to a gun to the skull, all of which I’m fantasizing about now as Uncle Andre speaks.

As I take my sweet time considering his offer—partly to annoy him, and partly because I’m genuinely contemplating my options—he sports a smug grin. “Come on, son. Say yes and spare me the misery of having to sell your little sex toy off to the highest bidder.”

The word son hit me like a slap, and my pulse kicks up. I tamp it down and say nothing.

When I still don’t reply, he adds, “If we go to war, my first order of business will be to have Antonio declared dead. You’ll lose it all anyway.”

Ice crystallizes along the walls of my chest, squeezing all the air from my lungs. Losing our father is not an option. Not like this.

Five years ago, my brothers and I made a pact. Until Antonio D’Angelo’s lifeless body is presented at our feet, he is alive. Period.

That glimmer of hope that he might still be out there keeps us going.

Keeps me going.

In the flurry, my mind is bombarded with bright red warning signs, which I promptly ignore. In an instant, the barrel of my Glock finds its place against my uncle’s chest. Through gritted teeth, I seethe the threat. “Do it, and your death certificate is next.”

But as swiftly as I act, Rocco’s gun is pressed to the base of my skull.

Uncle Andre chuckles, diffusing the tension by waving off his attack dog. “There’s no reason for family to fight, Enzo. Join me,” he offers again.

I ease back the gun a fraction. “I feel like I’ve seen this movie before,” I scoff, the comparison hitting too close to home. “The dark lord asking the young Jedi to join the dark side?” I scoff again. “Yeah, me, too. And even then, all I could think was, ‘Fuck that guy.’”

Andre’s smile sinks.

With a smirk, I return the gun to its holster beneath my blazer. “I already have plans to join you,” I tell him. “In hell.”

All amusement evaporates from his expression as his lips form a hard line. “So be it. Then there’s the pressing issue of your little girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I correct, annoyed. Why does everyone have to put labels on my obsession?

“Oh, good,” he replies. “Then you won’t mind if I settle her debt by selling her for pennies on the dollar...to Rocco.”

Rocco’s twisted grin erupts in a chuckle. “I’m gonna have a great time teaching your little pet how to take it in the ass for me.” He slaps me twice on the cheek.

There’s this pinch point within me. A rush that floods in so swiftly and sweetly that it’s impossible to see straight. It blurs my vision, clouds my judgment, and tightens my rage into one big, brutal release.

Without warning, my fist flies into Rocco’s face so hard his body goes crashing into the fountain, chasing off birds in a frenzy of startled chirps and fluttering wings.

With all three hundred pounds of Rocco hitting it at once, I’m genuinely stunned he didn’t break the damned thing.

Seconds from laying another blow to his ribs, he spins around, letting the barrel of his gun catch me right in the gut.

After a long moment of wondering if I can get another punch in before he pulls the trigger, my uncle steps closer and pockets his hands. “Her debt is due tomorrow. But I’ll give you one week to decide, Enzo. Before I sell her off.”

I say nothing as he eases Rocco’s gun aside and helps him to his feet.

“A week?” I ask, and I can’t believe I’m actually considering his offer because I know there’s a price.

There’s always a price.

He nods with his trademark sadistic grin. I take a meditative breath. “What do you want?”

He holds up a finger. “One.”

His eyes dart from me to Rocco. Or rather, to Rocco’s hand. And I know what exactly what one he wants. Payback for putting a bullet through the fucker’s hand.

Dante’s words come back to me like a warning. “Get it through that Swiss cheese brain of yours. If you get hit—even once more?—”

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