Page 115 of Mafia Don's Secret Twins

I need to get my ass to the main house to figure out what the fuck Benicio wants me to do with his goddamnprisoners, but for a second, I watch Johnny’s receding back as he walks down the long hallway to his room in the barracks.

I’ve been an outsider in my own home for so long, it doesn’t even occur to me that people in my family want to help without any other motive.

Johnny doesn’t know me. Not really. He hasn’t watched Marco and Sal get every ounce of love from the man who I thought was my father, with nothing left for me. He didn’t see both of our parents dote on fucking Caterina like she hung the fucking moon. He didn’t see everyone else get time and attention…

Except me.

He doesn’t fucking know.

When I was a kid, Marco would help, but it came at a cost. Namely, my fucking freedom.

There’s a cost now. I know there is.

I just don’t know what that cost is right now.

What if there isn’t?

I push the thought aside, burying it deep in my mind.

Of course there’s a fucking cost.

Things don’t work in that fucking rainbows-and-sunshine way. Marco might be my brother, but our family doesn’t work like that. We don’t do shit for each other. We don’t expect things to just be given to us.

Well.

Caterina does, I guess.

But Sal and Marco and I have had to fucking fight our way into the good graces of this fuckin’ family. Literally, if you’re me. I’ve had to take on so much shit just to even be considered fuckin’ part of the goddamn picture.

All because you weren’t really his son.

And he knew it.

The wound that I’ve never had a name for, buried deep in my chest, aches again.

I slam the door to my barracks room shut.

Marco isn’t looking out for me. He wants something from me. I make a mental note to ensure Johnny gets the hell out of here after this.

He’s not built for this shit.

Not like I am.

I crack my neck as I prowl down the hallway toward the main house. Benicio Souza wants me to torture some fucking pissant to see if he’s stealing?

Fuck it.

He’ll have that information from me. Ten fucking minutes, flat.

The scar on my neck tingles, and a grimace crosses my features.

Yeah.

I can torture information out of this poor fuck. I’ll have no fucking problem with it.

I learned from the best, after all.

My brother-in-law, my brothers… they taught me all I need to know about how to cause pain.

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