Page 9 of The Don's Hidden Heir

Who knows? She might even be married, living far away from the darkness that roams around me.

My jaw flexes, and that is when I realize my fingers are clenched tightly around my glass. Jealousy burns like a volcano at the thought of another man touching and claiming what was once mine.

After she broke things off with me, I’d made the decision to let her go for her own sake. I could have claimed her, made her mine whether she liked it or not. But I’m not like the other idiots in the mafia who treat women like toys they can treat however they want.

No.

I like my women willing.

“Look who we have here!”

I spin my head to the door to see Dante. He’s a tall guy with curly brown hair that matches the color of his eyes. For some reason, he thinks he is my best friend, and I can’t get rid of him.

He can be a handful sometimes, but he’s the only person I confide in. Seeing him again after his last visit to Italy a year ago spreads a strange feeling of warmth over my chest. I’m not excited to see him, I just don’thateseeing him.

He strides across the room and pulls me in for a hug before I can manage a reply. “It’s nice to see you again,mio amico.”

I pull away, glancing down to see if my shirt is creased. My suit jacket is draped over my swivel chair, exposing my white shirt to dirt. “I can’t say the same.”

His eyes gleam, a smile spreading across his face. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Regrettably, you haven’t either,” I say as I amble to my chair and sit on it. “How is business going?”

Dante can read me like the back of his hand. He knows it’s not business I’m asking about. “I’m fine,” he answers, dragging my glass to himself and filling it up. “The latest shipment came in this morning, and so did the detectives.”

I cross my arms. “Interesting.”

To the public, Romano Enterprises owns several clubs, alcohol brands and hotels across three continents. It’s a different story behind the scenes, though. We do everything illegal, except women and child trafficking.

My soul is so dark I hardly see light, but hurting innocent people is where I draw the line.

Which brings me back to my discussion. “Who is the traitor?”

I spend a good amount of money on keeping my business away from trouble. If the cops are snooping around my business, it can only mean there’s a mole squeaking something he shouldn’t.

“He wasn’t very sneaky,” Dante says. He fills the glass and downs the contents in one gulp, then he winces. “I have him right where he should be. What should we do to him? Discard him, or put him in misery for as long as his body can endure?”

A smirk lifts my lips.“Put him in misery for as long as his body can endure.”I’m liking this version of Dante, way more than the version who was always eager to put rotten souls out of their misery.

Death is mercy, and I’m merciful as often as I can be. And that is the reason I like my men to be the opposite of me.

Mercy is a luxury only I should be able to afford.

“Any detail on who put him up to it?”

Dante shakes his head. “The fucker wouldn’t speak.”

“He isn’t speaking because you’ve not offered him mercy.” The murk in my soul takes hold. “Bring him to me.”

Dante finishes his drink and leaves to bring the traitor to me. When he returns, I’m wearing my three-sided skull rings, carved from pure gold, and sharpened enough to tear through flesh.

Four of my men drag in the traitor. He’s already been beaten black and blue. His eyes are swollen, his teeth bloody and his face purple beyond recognition. His right cheeks bulges, as if he is hiding a whole apple in it.Poor thing.

“You’re probably a bit disappointed, but this is the mole who squealed on us to the cops,” Dante says, returning to the swivel chair across from my desk.

“Disappointed?” A dangerous chuckle sounds from my chest. “Looks like you still need a lesson or two, Dante.” If there’s anything I’ve learnt from ten years of ruling the Italian mafia, it’s never to underestimate anyone.

Everyone is a threat, and no one can be trusted.

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