Page 126 of Wounded King
The kind that settles in your bones, like dust in an abandoned room.
He's gone.
The man who bullied my mother into a shadow of herself. The man who turned my childhood into an emotionless time warp. The man who never gave a damn about me.
I thought I'd feel something when he finally met the end he always deserved. Maybe a dark thrill. Maybe some sense of justice.
But there's nothing.
Because hating someone requires giving them power, and he hasn't had that in a long, long time. Now he's just… gone. A bad chapter closed. An ugly smear on my family name is finally wiped clean.
Good riddance.
I reach for my glass of whiskey, swirl the amber liquid once, then toss it back. It burns, reminding me that I still feel something, just not for him.
I call Toni.
"I don't want to know," I say first, before he can speak. "But you need to know that we're good."
There's a pause, but it's not hesitation, it's respect.
"I'm glad," he replies, his voice as smooth as ever; he doesn't pretend to deny it. Good. The last thing we need is lies between us. If he'd tried to feed me some bullshit about fate or coincidence, he would have proven himself untrustworthy, and I would have been forced to eliminate him. I like him much better as an ally than dead. Now I can accept the simple truth: a son avenged his father.
That's not betrayal. That's tradition.
"I didn't have the patience to listen to the warden," I say, leaning back in my chair. "What's the official version?"
"Stabbed in the showers. Shiv to the gut, couple more for good measure." He lists without much emotion. "Looks like the Russians had their hand in it."
"The ones you're in business with?" My tone is dry. It's no secret that Grigori, the Russian Pakhan, and Toni are opening their own security business. It's blatantly obvious that the Russians would have had no interest in killing Carlos other than as a favor for Toni. But even in the mafia, you have to have some proof to throw out accusations—especially an accusation that impacts another capo—and I have a feeling that neither Toni nor Grigori will talk on this matter. Silencing Edoardo, who I'm sure is fuming on his end of the city. Toni outsmarted him, and there's not a damn thing he can do about it. It's fucking brilliant.
"If you want to talk to Grigori, I can arrange it." Toni offers.
"Like I said, I'm good. No hard feelings toward you or the Russians." The other capos might expect me to retaliate on behalf of my father's death, but I'm going to disappoint them. Most of them already know what's coming next, and it has nothing to do with the Russians.
However, there is one loose end I do need to take care of. Lester. The man in jail assigned to my father's security. Either he's dead too, or he looked the other way when it happened, and that I cannot and will not let slide. Unless he's dead, he will be punished for Carlos' death. It's what we call collateral damage.
I can't have a traitor run free. No matter whether I liked my father or not.
A moment of silence passes between Toni and me. I appreciate that he doesn't offer me his condolences. He knows I have nothing to grieve for. Stephano and I helped him take Carlos down. Fuck, I delivered the files that helped bury him. If I hadn't stolen my father's leverage over Judge Lambert, he wouldn't have ended up in jail.
"It's probably bad timing, but I wanted to make sure you're still coming to my wedding?" Toni finally interrupts the silence.
"Maldives, right?" I don't wait for him to acknowledge. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. I'll bring my fiancée."
Fiancée. The word tastes like a double-edged sword to me. I'm proud to call her mine, but I would much rather call her my wife.
He doesn't sound surprised, which doesn't surprise me. He has surveillance on me just like I have on him. It never hurts to know what your allies are up to. Knowledge is the one currency in the mafia that is worth more than even money.
"Looking forward to meeting her," Toni replies politely.
We hang up, and I immediately pick up the phone again. As much as I hate it, I need to plan a funeral for my father. It's expected by La Famiglia. Like it or not, it looks like I'm a team player now, so I call my assistant to tell her to make the necessary arrangements.
A few days later…
The wake for Carlos Orsi is done. Not that the fucker deserved one, but since I'm starting a new chapter in my life—including a family of my own soon—I play by La Famiglia's rules. There is an upside. Once the entire burial and wake shit is over, Toni, Enrico, Stephano, and I are able to have a small meeting amongst ourselves without arousing Edoardo's suspicion too much. The wake was held in the city, and now we're all piled in my penthouse.
I hand out glasses filled with Blue Label, and Enrico leans forward, elbows on his knees, holding a glass balanced between his fingers. "My old man sends his regards; he's not backing Edoardo if the vote comes."
