Page 13 of Savage Hero

Sergio and I turn to face Father. He lifts a hand, beckoning me with a twitch of his finger.

“Pa.” I stalk over to him, pressing his hand back into the sheet. He does seem weak, fragile even. “You should rest,” I grate out.

We’ll take care of Bogota while he gets his strength back.

“Where is he?” Father’s eyes take a second before they focus on me. “Where?”

I turn and gesture for Sergio to join us. But Father shakes his head when he sees his brother approach. “Not him. The boy. The one that…” Bryan pauses, his chest heaving and falling as he finishes his sentence. “That saved my life.”

Nyx? She didn’t fucking save his life.Idid. I dragged my father out of there when everyone else was bleeding out or dead on the floor. Not her.Me.

I open my mouth to tell him Nyx is gone, but Sergio clears his throat. “Vito!” he hollers over his shoulder, aiming his voice at the bathroom door. “Stop jacking off and get out here.”

Christ—the last thing I need is Vito seeing Nyx again. If I can keep up the pretense for just—

I shudder internally as I remember the sensation of grabbing Nyx’s dick. It realize it was fake, but I can’t shake the feeling.

“I’ll bring he—” I grunt. “Him. But only after you rest.”

Father’s lips tremble, but he doesn’t argue.

Vito emerges from the bathroom, his hair neatly slicked back from his face, his suit pristine. If I didn’t know how much pussy he got in any given week, I’d have assumed he was queer, if only because he was always,always,so goddamn immaculate. He gets his vanity from Sergio. My uncle is five years younger than Father, but he looks ten years younger. Unlike my father, who goes around in circa-1980 pinstripe wool suits with oversized shoulders and suspenders, Sergio wears a custom-tailored Hugo Boss three-piece. Always black, always freshly laundered. His hair is jet black too, but he dyes it.

“My man!” Vito ambles up to me, holding out a hand for me to shake. “Where’ve you been?”

I use our handshake to pull Vito aside, keeping my voice low so Father can’t overhear. Although I doubt he would have heard anything even if I was standing right beside him. His eyes are glued shut, and it looks like he’s sleeping.

“Has anyone told Viv yet?”I murmur.

Vito widens his eyes and shakes his head. “You shitting me? Last thing he needs is that botoxed whore sobbing all over him.”

I nod and give him a pat on the shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Now what the fuck are we doing about these Bogota assholes?”

Sergio walks up to us, gesturing us with a tilt of his head as he veers toward the sitting room. He opens the double doors leading into the executive study and then closes them behind us again.

“I don’t think Dom Bryan will approve of a closed—” Vito begins.

Sergio backhands him.

I’m so caught off guard that I flinch. Which pisses me off, because Iknewit was coming. Sergio will never hit me again—the first and only time he did it, I beat him to within an inch of his life—but Vito gets backhands from his father more often than I jerk off in the shower.

Nyx.

She’s in my fucking head, stirring up shit that I buried years ago, that’s why I’ve been a step behind the entire day. It’s ever since I spotted her in Father’s restaurant and she widened those pretty blue eyes of hers at me.

Even Vito doesn’t seem surprised at the show of aggression. He steps back, keeps his head lowered, and gently fingers the angry red mark on his cheek.

“Bryan is weak,” Sergio says, ignoring Vito’s remark. “But he’s alive. For all we know, Bogota thinks he’s dead.”

I straighten at his words, share a look with Vito. Of course they do—no one came back to finish the job. They emptied out their clip in that place, and no one stood up again. Father went down along with all six of his bodyguards. They couldn’t have known I wasn’t in the room, so they probably assume I’m dead too.

“We can use this to our advantage,” I say, stepping in front of Sergio and turning to face him. “If they think they’ve done enough damage to send us whimpering back to Colombia, then…” I trail off when Sergio’s eyes narrow.

“Have it all worked out, don’t you, Caesar?” He’s one of the few cartel members who don’t call me by my nickname, English or Spanish. “When did you become Capo of the Domingo Cartel? Even if, God forbid, Bryan doesn’t make it through the night, you’re not next in line.” He points toward the window. “Now you stand there, and you listen, and you obey.”

His disapproving glare rakes over me and then Vito. “Both of you.”

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