Page 6 of Stolen Seconds

Before I had a chance to spew the same reply I always did, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Usually, I’d go after her, but I had to deal with the menace of a human—our father—first.

I walked up the steps to the arched double doors and pushed them open.

The moment I stepped foot inside, I stilled. The house had kept its distinct smell. Even though that smell belonged to my dead mother, who’d been gone for years.

The urge to turn back and never set foot in this cursed house again was intense. Instead, I closed the door and walked through the foyer to the hall on the left.

I knew security was watching my movements as I maneuvered through the house, alert and ready to tame me if I acted out. Not that they’d get to lay a finger on me before I snapped their necks.

My father wished he could see that part of me, only toremind me how alike we were—ruthless and unapologetic. A monster.

He was wrong. In every sense of that word, he was.

I would’ve never killed my wife like he had.

As I neared the waxed oak door to his office, I picked up my pace. The sooner I talked to him, the faster I could leave.

I walked in without knocking, sat my ass on one of the black leather chairs, and put my feet up on his desk.

If the old man was triggered by my actions, he hid it skillfully.

Zeno Canaveri was one of a kind, truly. With a thirst for violence, it wasn’t surprising why the fucker always had security with him. The minute he was alone, his head would be on a stick.

Even now, a burly man occupied one corner of the well-furnished room, staring at me as if I stole his favorite toy.

“Leave,” I ordered him.

The man gaped at my father, who was more focused on the paperwork in front of him.

“Don’t look at him, look at me.” His thick neck moved as he swallowed before he settled his attention back to me. I nudged my head to the side. “Get the fuck out and close the door.”

That’s the irony of respect. It’s not earned by being civil. No, it’s by asserting your power and getting rid of anyone who questions it.

Everyone in this manor knew exactly what kind of fucker I was. They could all appear unfazed, but we all knew they ate from the palms of my hands like dogs.

When the door clicked shut, I relaxed further into the chair.

“You’re in no position to order my employees.”

My father finally looked up; his hazel eyes boring into me.

I could deny any internal similarities between us, but the physical traits were always there to remind me exactly whose son I was.

“And you’re in no position to sabotage my operations,Father.”

“Yours?”he enunciated by widening his eyes. “Nothing is yours, boy.”

I gritted my teeth, knowing exactly the direction this conversation was taking.

“You could have all of this.” He raised his arms, gesturing around himself. “Yet you choose to work for Roman as if you aren’t a Canaveri.”

My lips spread into a smile as I regarded the man in front of me. “And I bet that drives you insane, doesn’t it? Knowing I’d rather associate myself with the Cosa Nostra instead of the Camorra.”

His eye twitched, a tell that it did in fact drive him crazy that I willingly chose another over my family, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

The Cosa Nostra was held in the highest regards when it came to the Italian Mafia and no one questioned Roman, not even my father.

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