Page 2 of Prodigal

Aldo made a sound and turned his head, lashes fluttering and lifting. His gaze was unfocused, but in the depths of his once-gray eyes, Gideon saw a ticking clock. They had hours, probably.

“M-my son.”

“Don’t talk.” Gideon hushed him. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Aldo’s lips twitched a little. “Are you ready?’ The question was just breaths tumbling over each other, words barelydiscernible, but Gideon understood. He’d always understood his father.

“I am ready,” he told Aldo softly. “I know what has to be done.” He’d been waiting for a long time for what came next.

“I-I am p-proud of you. So proud.” Aldo’s chest rose and fell, breath wheezing out of him. His hand shook in Gideon’s clasp. “Your mother is too.”

Gideon shook his head. He couldn’t?—

“I’m going to be with Mama.” Aldo’s voice had zero inflection that time. “She’s been waiting a long time for me.”

The day after Gideon turned thirteen years old, gunmen ambushed their home. His father was gone, and Gideon was home alone with his mother. They came for him, for the son of the most powerful man the criminal underworld had ever seen. Gabriella Winters sent Gideon to hide and refused to hand over her son when ordered to do so, despite the masked men’s promise to leave her unharmed if she did. They gunned her down, and she lay in a pool of her own blood, choking on it, when Gideon found the courage to crawl out of the secret space she’d shoved him into.

He held her in his arms as she took her last breaths.

Until that moment, he’d had no clue just who and what his father was.

Six months later, masked men came for him again. His father had an army of bodyguards around Gideon then, but somehow their enemies managed to ambush them on Gideon’s way to school one morning. He ended up with a bullet in the arm and a graze to the temple, hiding under the much larger body of one of his bodyguards. Playing dead.

Aldo faked Gideon’s death that day and sent him away. He’d been gone ever since. But he was back now. Back to watch his father die. Back to take over the throne. Back to right the wrongs done to his family. There was a traitor in TheCouncil, the underworld body that controlled all the power in the U.S. The group of seven had been started by Gideon’s many times removed great-grandfather. There would be no Council without the Winters and there would always be a Winters on The Council. For now, the other members of The Council were languishing under the illusion that Aldo’s death would mean an end to the Winters’ reign. They didn’t know Gideon was here, biding his time, ready to do anything to reclaim his birthright.

He stroked his father’s hand, kissing the knuckles, as Aldo kept talking, his already low voice threading in and out.

“Mama and I will be waiting for you.” His gaze, barely focused, landed on Gideon. “But you have work to do here first. Make them pay for what they took from us.” He coughed.

“Hush. Rest.” Gideon stroked his father’s chest. “Lie back.”

But Aldo shook his head. “You’re better than me,” he choked out. A lone tear stroked down his left cheek. “I made sure of it. And I made sure they can’t touch you.”

Wouldn’t stop them from trying, though.

There’d been lessons—so many of them—while Gideon had been in hiding. Weapons training. Combat training. Mental conditioning. Aldo had made it his mission to ensure Gideon would never be helpless again. Would always be untouchable, physically and mentally. His father had hired people who taught Gideon to be a machine. Capable of doing whatever was necessary to survive.

“Thank you,” Gideon whispered to him as Aldo’s lashes lowered. Thanking him for all he’d done, all he’d sacrificed. He loved his father and he knew how much his father loved him. “I love you, Papa.”

Aldo’s lashes fluttered but his eyes didn’t open, though his lips twitched in a sign of a smile. His fingers made circles in Gideon’s palm. Over and over and over. And Gideon held him,watched him, tears brimming in his eyes as he watched Aldo struggle to breathe.

Until he stopped.

His chest ceased moving.

His pulse disappeared.

Gideon still held on to him, screaming in his mind for his father the way he’d screamed out loud for his mother that day. She didn’t answer him then. Aldo didn’t answer him now.

His father was gone.

2

His father had madehis funeral plans beforehand. All Gideon had to do was wait. And watch. Even though they’d known for a long time that Aldo was dying, it still didn’t seem real not having the old man around. They hadn’t gotten to see each other much over the years, what with Gideon being in hiding and Aldo having to maintain his secrets, but they always remained in contact somehow.

He’d said his goodbyes to his father already, in a private ceremony attended by only Gideon and his team. They were the only people who mattered. The only people whose loss and grief was real.

He stood now with a hand shoved into the pocket of his slacks as he held a pair of binoculars to his eyes with the other, staring down at the public graveside service. A crowd was gathered to send off Aldo Winters—a giant, a powerhouse, a lethal motherfucker when the need arose. As far as everyone else knew, there were no family members present. Gideon was all his father had left, but to everyone else, Gideon Winters had died many years ago.

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