Page 17 of Once Upon a Villain

“I was hoping not to start a war tonight.” He nibbled on my neck and then my shoulder, still digging his long fingers into my skin.

“I know.” I turned around and pressed my lips to his. “We’re not gonna let the bastards win.”

Chapter3

And Yet They Have To

Santino

Manhattan, New York

My father’s office fit me. The high ceilings, the expensive, one-of-a-kind art, the bookcases filled with first-edition books, and a bunch of other crap that screamed power and old money.

When I was a kid, I could sit on Dad’s gray leather sofa, facing the tall windows, and get lost in the city view. The shape of the buildings, the tiny people beneath me, and the gentle hum of the AC offered an odd sense of comfort. The entire setup was nice when it wasn’t my own gilded cage. Yeah, my father’s office fit me—that didn’t mean I liked it.

I paced the length of the room, keeping my gaze on the passing clouds, feeling like a caged animal. For the past couple of years, my father’s health had been—diminishing—to say the least. Don Buratti needed a successor. As the eldest of five, the honor—or the curse—fell upon me.

“Sir.” Lia’s small voice stopped me in my tracks. Actually, it wasn’t her voice that caught my attention, it was the scent of whiskey that now lingered in the air. “Your drink, sir.”

“Took you long enough.” I took the glass tumbler from her and sipped. “What the hell is this?”

“Pappy Van Winkle, sir. Your favorite…” She framed her answer as a question.

A five-thousand-dollar bottle of bourbon should please me. I supposed I understood her confusion. “It tastes like water.”

“I could remove the ice.” She offered me the small silver tray in her hand, so I could return the drink.

“No, leave it. It’s fine.” I knocked the rest of it back.

In truth, my lack of taste buds, or overall numbness, had nothing to do with the Pappy and everything to do with my father’s visit. He liked to keep himself relevant by showing up at my office once a month. Today was that day.

I glanced toward the hallway, past my office doors. My employees were buzzing with excitement, mixed with terror, as they rushed to their positions. That could only mean one thing. Don Buratti had entered the building.

“Show him in as soon he gets here. And Lia?”

She made to leave, but promptly turned around when I called her name. “Yes, sir.”

“No phone calls and no interruptions of any kind.”

“Of course, sir.”

I crossed my arms and faced the city again. Two seconds later, I reconsidered my stance and decided to try and be less hostile toward the old man. I sauntered toward the chair behind my desk and sat, bracing my hands on the armrests. This meeting would be over soon. And then I could go back to doing things my way.

“Ten million dollars in tax deeds?” The double doors busted open, and Don Buratti strode in with Lia on his heels.

“Leave us.” I motioned toward the hallway. When she didn’t move, I sat back in my chair. “What is it?”

“Don Valentino is here to see you as well.” She meant Rex. Outside of our tight group, no one was allowed to use his name.

I chuckled at her predicament. Who had higher standing, my father or the king of the Society, a one-hundred-year-old enclave that managed all criminal activity in the country? Rex Valentino was the sitting king, whether we liked it or not.

“Show him in,” I said to Lia, then turned to Dad. “We’ll double that money by the end of the year, Dad.”

“It’s not about the money, and you know it.” He tossed the manila folder on my desk.

I chuckled. Dad was an old school mobster who thought if his money wasn’t covered in blood, it hadn’t been earned. Times had changed, and he refused to see it. If the Society wasn’t careful and didn’t keep up with the times, they too might become obsolete.

“Well, would it make you feel better if I told you I bullied my way into the real estate auction and bought all the deeds and the properties that came with it? Also, many people will lose their homes in the process. Better?”

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