Page 11 of Vito

I almost laugh at that thought, but our father coughs, pulling my attention to the phlegmy, heavy sound.

He has bronchiectasis—where the airways have widened, causing excess mucus build-up and making him more prone to infections. Most people with the disease live a normal life expectancy; however, for some reason, our father isn't responding to treatment. Every time he gets a lung infection, he's one step closer to the grave.

"It's a good turnout."Babbodabs his mouth with a handkerchief before slipping it into his pocket.

"Is there a required number of mourners to qualify as a good turnout,Papà?" Massimo asks.

Babboscoffs, then cuffs Massimo lightly on the back of the head. "Saggio." Wiseass.

I chuckle but quickly cover it with a cough.

Tommaso Santoro is a man many fear. He's powerful, demands respect, and is ruthless as he protects our family and empire. However, he's a fair man, not necessarily a given trait of a criminal organization leader.

He isn't soft on his sons, though. Massimo and I had to rise through the ranks in our organization, passing many trials to get the positions we hold in the inner circle of leadership. But henever holds back in showing his love and respect for any of his three sons.

He coughs agains, and my chest tightens at the rattling and soft wheeze that follows.

Massimo's face is stoic and hard as he stares ahead. He's been groomed from birth to be the next Don of our family. But he, like Creed and I, will be happy if that doesn't happen anytime soon.

OnceBabbois composed, he says, "Venite, figli." Come, sons.

"You and Massimo go sit,Babbo." I indicate the chairs. "I'm going to stand here at the back."

He pats my cheek with a smile. "Always our family's protector." He knows that I'm standing back so I can watch for threats against him and Massimo.

They move toward the seats, but before they sit, they stop at a couple who look to be in their late fifties.

My father speaks to them, then shakes their hands, and I assume they must be Aiken's parents. It doesn't look like any other immediate family members sit with them. Aiken never spoke about his family—talk about family isn't really in the approved 'neutral-relationship' categories of conversation—so I don't know if he has siblings.

In the past few days, I've realized I don't know Aiken as a person and who he really was. I only knewwhathe was.

And that he had a woman named Ed, who was his biggest regret.

That thought brings the jealousy back. I curse, forcing myself to focus on the service as it starts.

To any observer, I look like I'm paying close attention to the priest's words as he leads the graveside service; however, I keep a vigilant awareness of our surroundings.

Security is set up around the perimeter. This graveyard section has been cordoned off, and everyone has to pass through the guards to gain entry.

I had mused to Massimo and our father that maybe the purpose of Aiken's murder was to bring all the Chamber heads together in one public spot to strike at them in one fell swoop. The five leaders were usually only together at the Tower, which was guarded much like the White House. That musing had gotten some teeth, and today's security presence and protocols were amped up, including weaponized drones circulating above. Security at Gilly's was also increased since the Chamber heads would all be there to reveal who Aiken named as his successor.

According to the security comms I'm looped into, everything looks good, but I scan around again.

On this pass, my body goes taut as I observe a woman crouching at a grave a short way away. She's wearing a long overcoat and places flowers on the grave.

Only the people attending Aiken's service are allowed through security into this graveyard section. I know she would've been cleared by security to enter; however, she isn't participating in Aiken's service.

The back of my neck tingles. I feel the weight of my guns and knives.

My eyes skate over her and the long overcoat that hides her body as she crouches. She isn't participating in Aiken's service and doesn't seem to be paying attention to it or any of the attendees, either. Her hands are in plain view as her head is lowered, almost like she's in deep thought about whoever's grave she's at.

The guards wouldn't let her in even if she had a sob story about visiting her dead loved one's grave during Aiken's service. With the Chamber heads here, the assets they're protecting are treated like heads of state, and not following protocol won't just come with a dressing down; it will come with their blood being spilled.

I narrow my eyes as I watch the woman. Her brunette, shoulder-length hair falls forward to shield her face. She looks non-threatening, but that means nothing. Many assassins are women, innocent and guileless looking. Pix, the Havoc Guardians' enforcer, looks like a tiny pixie, but she's deadly as fuck. WithBabboand Massimo here, I'm not taking any chances.

I ease away from Aiken's service and walk in a wide arc toward the woman. Keeping to her back, I slowly advance until I silently come up behind her. I scan the headstone of the grave where the woman is crouched. I can't make out the name, but I notice from the date of birth and death that the person was twelve when they died.

I'm a hunter, a predator, and I know I made no noise behind the woman. However, she stiffens and slowly stands as if she senses a threat is now at her back.

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