Page 52 of Murder & Mayhem

I don’t respond as I try to wrap my head around what she’s saying. All I’ve ever known is my family, and while I may not be a completely loyal and obedient soldier, they are all I know. All I have. Theyareme.

My fingers flex on her delicate neck, and I feel her pulse press more firmly against the pad of my thumb as I press down on it. “I don’t have likes and dislikes. I don’t feel pleasure or joy or satisfaction.” I pause as I feel her fingers come up to grip my belt, the tips skimming over the top of my shirt, just above the waistband of my pants.

“I don’t believe that.” Her voice has taken on a low, raw quality that draws me in. “Are you saying you never get angry, never lose your temper or lash out at those around you?” My resounding silence is answer enough. Her hand lets go of my belt, dipping lower to brush over my straining erection. “You say you don’t feel pleasure, but you’re hard, so you mustlikesomething.” She takes a step back, the distance dislodging my hand from her throat, and I let it fall to my side, completely thrown off balance by her words. “I don’t think youcan’tfeel. I think you just don’t know how to recognize those positive emotions. So when you do feel something out of the ordinary, you don’t know how to handle it.”

Another step backward has her at the door, and reaching behind her, she grabs hold of the handle and pulls it open, slipping out without another word, leaving me completely perplexed. If I thought I was intrigued before, well, I’m fucking obsessed now. Red has my undivided attention, and I have no intention of letting her go. I’m going to lay claim to every inch of her until she doesn’t know anything other than me. I will make her mine. Whether she likes it or not.

***

Two days later, I step out of the elevator into my father’s penthouse that overlooks the entire city. I hate being summoned like this, especially when Lor and I were busy going over the intel we’ve gathered on some gang called Reaper Rejects. Apparently, they are the only other gang, besides Grim Bastards, left in Black Creek—because they fucking destroyed everyone else. How the hell we weren’t aware of them before now says everything about how little attention we’ve been paying to the goings-on on our own turf. They’re looking like the primary culprits for the destruction done to our clubs, but I want to be sure before I retaliate.

However, my father doesn’t give a shit about how busy I am. When he calls, I’m expected to come running. Not even I can refuse my father’s orders. It’s just easier to do whatever he wants. The only time I’ve ever clashed with my father was when it came to Lor. Nothing else has ever been worth the hassle of incurring his wrath.

The first time was when we were five, and he beat him half to death when he caught us playing together. After that, we were more careful, but both of us suffered several more brutal beatings at such a young age before we learned how to properly hide our friendship from my father. Over time, we fell into our roles—Don’s son and bodyguard—until, on the outside, it’s all anyone ever saw. But behind closed doors, our relationship grew. Every time I had to watch my father or his men pound on Lor, simply because he was my friend, it just added bricks to the wall forming between my father and me. As a young boy, my father was my idol. I looked up to him the way I imagine any young son does. But with every bruise he left on Lor, every rib he broke, and drop of blood he spilled, my opinion of him changed. I’ve never really understood it because until then, nothing ever bothered me. And watching another man get pulverized has never had the same effect. But there’s something about Lor that, when I saw him beaten and vulnerable like that, this angry thing inside of me that I hadn’t known existed, raised its ugly head and screamed,FUCK NO.

I imagine my father still has his suspicions regarding our friendship, but he is happy to ignore it as long as he never witnesses it. And that works just fine for us. Pushing all thoughts of Lor and the past to the back of my mind, I stride through the empty living room and head for his office, noting the absence of anyone else. Usually, the space around my father is teaming with security, his consigliere—Santos—and his underlings. It’s normally a hive of activity, but everything is eerily quiet today. That can’t bode well for this meeting.

Pushing open the door to his office, my hackles rise as my father’s furious face lifts to meet mine. He used to instill fear in me as a boy. His dark eyes and devil-like features could harden to stone in an instant. Even his cold, calculating smile would send shivers down my spine. Thankfully, I’m immune to all of it now. The undisguised loathing that currently darkens his features is nothing new. I’ve seen it plenty of times and had it directed my way more than once, but he’s angrier than I’ve seen him in a long time.

I wrack my brain, trying to work out what could have him so angry. He stands as I close the door behind me and circles his desk. He paints an intimidating picture. He’s only an inch or two shorter than me, but the sheer authority that pours off him more than makes up for those few inches of height. Even now, in his fifties, with his hair graying around his temples and age lines carving crevices into his features, he still appears as harsh as he was ten years ago. My gaze flicks from the violence shining in his eyes to his hands. In one hand, he’s clutching pages in a death grip, and in his other is a pistol. He lifts it, pointing it at the spot between my eyes. I stand frozen, waiting for him to either pull the trigger or be done with this act of intimidation.

“If you weren’t my only son, I’d put a bullet in you here and now.” He drops the gun to his side, sneering in disgust as he shoves the pages into my chest. He circles back behind the desk while I look down at the photos. Photos of Lor and me—together. “You’re a fucking disgrace to this family,” he snarls. “A faggot.” My eyes snap upward. His nose is scrunched in repulsion, and he’s shaking his head like he can’t believe he could have fathered someone who didn’t conform to exactly what he expected. I do absolutely everything he demands, no questions asked, but the fact he has these pictures is proof that he doesn’t trust me. That he’s had someone following me; spying on me. If he hadn’t dug his nose into my personal life, he wouldn’t have uncovered something he found so fucking revolting.

“As if that wasn’t bad enough,” he continues, seething. “You fuckhim.The son of a traitor. Not even some back alley whore.” I can’t tell what bothers him more. The fact I’m fucking a guy, or the fact that that guy is Lor. He’s always hated Lor. Blamed him for his father’s crimes, even though he was a kid at the time. It wasn’t enough to kill his father and be done with it. No, he had to keep Lor close and hold his father’s sins over his head at every available opportunity, embarrassing him and using Lor’s need to prove he’s not his father to get him to do whatever the fuck he wanted. I don’t think he expected Lor and I to form any sort of friendship, but our mutual hatred for my father bonded us in a way he hadn’t anticipated. We’ve gone to great lengths to hide our friendship, in any case.

“It’s just sex,” I remark casually.

His hand slams down on his desk. “That’s what whores are for.”

I shrug, acting nonchalant about the entire situation. “Sometimes, I fancy something different. It means nothing.”

His gaze snaps to mine. “Well, it stops now. Ineverwant to see images like this”—he sneers at the other photos still scattered on his desk—“again. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.” There’s no other answer he wants to hear, and I know which battles to pick. This isn’t one of them.

“Good. It’s past time you were married, anyway. You’re thirty, Dante. You should be working on producing heirs to continue on my legacy.” His gaze flicks up to mine, but my face gives nothing away. “I’ll reach out to my contacts. Find someone suitable.”

I simply nod as though I agree. There is no point in arguing with him, but my silence should not be mistaken for compliance. I have no interest in marrying some high-maintenance mafia princess. I never have, and especially not now that a certain brunette dancer has stolen all of my focus.

Seeming appeased, he sinks into his chair. “Obviously, you will have to pick a new Consigliere now. You can’t choose someone you’re…” we waves in disgust toward the photos still clutched in my hand. “You need someone trustworthy; someone loyal.”

I grate my teeth. He’s been against Lor as my second in command ever since I told him who I’d chosen—not that I was surprised. This is the ammunition he needed to force me into picking someone else and probably why he went digging for dirt in the first place. “He is loyal to the Famiglia,” I argue.

“This is not a discussion. I’m giving you an order, boy. An order I expect you to obey. Pick someone else, or I’ll pick someone for you. It’s bad enough that thattraitoris responsible for protecting you, but I willnothave him standing in a position that commands respect.” He holds my gaze until I give a reluctant nod of agreement. Now is not the time to push him, but there is no way I’ll be picking anyone other than Lor. I don’t trust anyone else.

My father looks away, gathering the papers on his desk and locking them in his top drawer. “Where are we on this whole business with the damaged clubs?”

“I’m looking into possible suspects.”

“Well, hurry up. We can’t let this go unpunished.”

The finality of his words let me know our business is concluded and without another word, I stride from his office. I refuse to agree to any of his demands. I won’t stop fucking Lor, I definitely won’t be picking someone else as my Consigliere, and I sure as fuck won’t be marrying whatever spoiled princess he’s handpicked.

Reaching the elevator, I stab the button and wait impatiently for it to arrive. Through the roaring in my ears, I become aware of the sound of my father’s voice coming from down the hall. He mustn’t have closed his office door, and I focus in on his words.

“… should have killed the kid along with his traitorous father.” My teeth grind, and my fists clench in annoyance, but it’s his next words that snag my attention. “What about the club whore?” There’s a moment of silence as whomever he’s talking to—probably Santos—answers. “Find out what you can, then get rid of her. Don’t need the complication.”

The elevator doors open, and I don't want to get caught eavesdropping, so I step in and press the button. My mind whirs the entire way to the ground floor. Were they talking about my Red? They must be. If my father was able to find out about Lor and me then it’s likely he found out about Red as well, and if he views her as a complication, he wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate her.

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