Page 6 of Dark King (Advantage Play 2)

The silence in the car is deafening as I tilt my head and study a man I barely know, yet somehow trust. And that’s when I finally piece together the conversation with Eddie and D’s unusual reaction. Same eyes. Same mouth. Same strong jaw.

Holy crap.

“Eddie’s right,” I murmur. “You do look like him.”

Again, D glances toward me then back to the road but doesn’t say a word.

“So, who is he?” I press.

“He’s no one.”

“Lie. Tell me the truth, D.”

The silence that follows is more telling than anything he could say, but I don’t let him off the hook by changing the subject. Instead, I continue to stare a hole in the side of his head, channeling my inner Kingston in an attempt to turn up the heat and make him crack under the pressure. I’m sick of always being kept in the dark. It isn’t fair they get to weed out all my secrets, and I’m left trying to piece things together on my own.

After a few seconds, I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows thickly. “He’s my brother.”

My mind reels as I try to make sense of the screwed up truth. “How is that even possible?”

Like for real. How the hell is that possible? I thought family lineage was kind of a big deal in the mafia. Maybe I’m crazy, but I could’ve sworn that brothers couldn’t be on opposite teams. I almost snort as the thought crosses my mind because let’s be honest, it’s not like they’re playing kickball during recess. Well, unless it involves drugs, racketeering, smuggling, and more. Still…Diece having a brother? And said brother beating the crap out of me last night? What the hell? There’s got to be a good story there.

“It’s a long story,” he hedges, looking uncomfortable.

Called it!

“Yeah, I don’t give a crap if it’s a long story or not. I’ve got all day, D. Now, spill. How the hell did you each end up working for different families?”

Exasperated, he gives in to my prodding. “Technically, he’s my half-brother. My dad and mom got divorced before I barely turned two, then she ran off, and he got stuck with me. He had a habit of visiting…prostitutes.” He forces the word out as if it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “And got one of them pregnant. She ended up owing Burlone a shit-ton of money, so she gave him her only son then disappeared. Some people suspect that he killed her or sold her through the skin trade, but no one knows for sure.”

The car goes quiet as I try to wrap my head around the information he just divulged. Damn, that sounds like a pretty crappy upbringing. I almost feel sorry for the guy.

“Why would Burlone want a kid to take care of?” I probe, confused.

He shrugs but gives me the best answer he can. “Rumor has it that he can’t have kids and was wanting an heir. He took two boys in within a few months of each other, and they’ve been fighting for his attention ever since.”

“But how do you know he’s your brother? Other than the uncanny resemblance?”

“Because my dad found out before Dex’s mom disappeared. She came to the Romano estate begging for money, but he sent her away. In the passenger seat, he saw Dex, did the math, saw the resemblance, and the rest is history. He even approached Burlone a year or two later asking for his son back, but Burlone refused.” The sadness in his voice is potent, making my heart hurt for him and the brother he never knew.

“You have a brother,” I mumble before reaching over and squeezing his forearm in an attempt to be supportive.

Looking over at me, he confirms, “Yeah. I have a brother.”

“Does he know about you? About his past?”

With a shake of his head, a somber Diece goes quiet. Patiently, I wait for him to gather himself as we turn down Kingston’s street.

“Honestly? I have no idea. Part of me wishes he knew so that we could meet. I could take him under my wing. I could teach him everything I know. The other part knows how much it would kill him to know his mom gave him up to pay off her debt and that his dad turned him away without knowing the repercussions. That’s pretty fucked up, ya know?”

I nod, taking a second to step into his shoes and feel his pain, which only makes my cheek and nose throb. Looking in the side mirror, I assess the damage and grimace. My entire face is purple and blue.

“Does he usually hit women?”

Slowly, D looks over at me, taking in my busted lip, swollen nose, and raccoon eyes, just like I had. His gaze shines with pity as he softly shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Last I checked, he would collect Burlone’s debts and rough up a few people on occasion, but he didn’t hurt innocent women.”

I don’t know why, but D’s answer seems to relieve the tension in my chest. Maybe there’s hope for him after all.

“Do you think he knows that Burlone’s into human trafficking?”

---