Page 50 of Owned By The Bratva King

"I dropped out of school and went to the streets. I did some shady things but met some good people willing to take a chance on a kid desperate to work."

I haven't had to lie so far. I indeed tried to earn money legitimately at first. But a boy of twelve has few options in a city like this, and it wasn't long before Don Emilio Vercotti found me. Silvio’s father was a good old-fashioned mafia kingpin at that time.

"I got some money, but it was too late. I had no choice but to make an anonymous report to the welfare people, telling them a woman was sick and alone in her apartment. I hid and watched them take Mama to hospice."

"Why didn't you ask them to help you too?" Quinn asks. "You were only a child."

I can't tell her. I can't watch as the innocent light in my new wife's eyes disappears.

Truth is, I was in too deep. My father was a mafia enforcer, and by then, he was dead, taken out in a negotiation that went south. That's why Don Vercotti sought me out; to make amends and give me a job.

"I was afraid they'd ship me off to an orphanage somewhere out of town,” I lie. “New York was all I knew, and I had friends. It took a lot of hard work to get where I am today, but that's another story."

"It must have been terrible to see your mother suffer that way." Quinn reaches for my hand, and I take it, weaving my fingers through hers. "Did you ever see her again?"

"Once. I pretended to be a delivery boy and sneaked into the care home. I talked to Mama for a while, but she didn't recognize me."

I swallow, trying to steady my voice. "She just cried and told me to leave and bring her real son to her. I went to what passed for her funeral. It was the priest and me. Mama was buried in a cardboard box, and with a few words of comfort, that was that. I got her a headstone as soon as I could afford one."

“I’m so sorry,” Quinn says. “I understand how you feel. I lost my parents too.”

Something about Quinn's openness is pulverizing the walls of my mental fortress. I always thought that lowering my guard could only lead to pain, but my wife's unvarnished empathy is like a salve, easing the sting of these bitter memories.

Her small hand is warm in my large one, and I raise it to my lips to kiss her palm.

"We were dirt poor, and Dad did something stupid and ended up in debt to the mafia," Quinn says. "Or at least, my father was; my mom was in the way. I don't believe my dad was a bad person, but he was heavily into drugs, and Mom could only do so much to protect me. After they died, Julian became my legal guardian, and things only got worse from there."

She sighs, a lifetime of pain rushing into the air on her breath. "My parents were murdered for the sake of a few dollars."

It takes tremendous effort not to tense my every sinew when I hear those words.

Thank fuck I didn't tell her the truth about my life. I know more people in the mafia and bratva than outside it. I'm also livid that I agreed to back off from finding her cunt of an uncle and flaying the bastard alive.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." I press her hand to my cheek. "I will see that no one hurts you ever again, but remember, you're strong."

"I wouldn't know what to do if I saw my uncle again," she says. "Panic and freeze, probably."

"My advice is to go for the balls or the eyes." I grin at her shocked expression. "Don't worry, baby. You have me to protect you now."

The sun is kissing the fuzzy line of the horizon, and the North Star is visible. I must turn the boat around and return to my life, but I don't want to.

Can I make this bliss last? Not if it’s built on deceit. Quinn is kind and compassionate despite the horrors life has wrought upon her. I find myself wanting to come clean, even if she hates me for it.

But not now. Not yet.

39

Quinn

We’re heading for the shore. Downtown grows taller by the second, but it no longer feels ominous; instead, the city seems to gaze down benignly upon me.

The evening sky rolls over us, and the galaxy of artificial stars that make up Manhattan reflects in the water, breaking apart in the yacht’s wake.

I’ve never seen New York this way before, and I’m staggered by its beauty. I came here to hide, but to Roman, it’s home.

I rest my head on Roman’s shoulder as he steers the boat toward the harbor. A dream stole into my heart tonight and planted a tiny seed of hope.

Maybe Roman and I will be happy, and I’ll have what I always wanted. A home of my own where I’m safe and, dare I say it, loved.

---