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“What are we fighting for?” he asked.

“A long time ago, there was a war, and we lost. The Lucianos who were left agreed to a truce so the name wouldn’t get wiped out, but in return, we could only control”—Lucifer looked crazed, holding up two pinched fingers together with no space in between—“a very tiny part of the city the Carusos never fucking wanted to step foot on anyway, in their fancy shoes.”

Dom’s brows drew together. “So, we’re fighting over land?”

“No.” His father pounded the wooden table. “We’re fighting for power. More land means more money.” He picked up a stack of cash, fanning it out. “And money gives you power.”

Dominic nodded.

“One day, everything that I put you and your brothers through will all be worth it.”

Picking up his second favorite gun—the revolver—Dominic gave the barrel a spin, his voice traveling over the sound making his words seem as if they didn’t come from a ten-year-old. “Like locking me in a closet for three days?”

“Yes.” Lucifer’s unrepentant eyes somehow turned even blacker. “Especially for you, Dominic.”

Squeezing the handle of the pistol as hard as he could, his fingertips turned white. “Why?”

“Because, when we win and I’m gone … it’ll all be yours.”

Dominic’s hazel depths traveled down to his hand, seeing the tan color of his skin return to his fingers. Flipping the gun over, he stared at his hand; his father had harshly grabbed it the first time he’d ever thrown him in the closet. Since that day, he noticed his father avoided his hands, while not caring if he marked his face or torso.

It was as if the winds had changed in the house as realization hit. He needs me.

His father needed him. He was Lucifer’s heir, and if the Luciano name was so precious to him, he was going to make him pay for it. One thing was for sure: the twins were never going to get his approval, because Lucifer saw them as weak, and Dominic intrinsically knew, no matter how much they grew up, their father would never like them. Dom realized why he let them live—he needed them as numbers, even if they would only be casualties.

Lucifer might say Dominic’s gunmanship was nothing special, but he seemed to think it was worth protecting.

“Mark my words; I will be king of this city one day.” Lucifer snapped a rubber band around a stack of cash. “I won’t stop until my dying breath.”

It’ll all be yours.

Since finally getting to hold the gun in his hand, Dominic hadn’t wanted anything. However, if he was going to go down in history as the greatest outlaw to ever live, he needed a city to run.

The only problem was that meant he needed Lucifer too.

Age 11

The banging on the door started when the final gun had been racked, and when his father didn’t make a move, Dominic got up to answer it. He almost missed it at first, seeing no one standing on the other side of the door, but then he saw something squirm at his feet and knew what lay on the porch.

“Dad …”

“What is it?” Lucifer asked, getting up from the kitchen table. He only looked at the thing for a second before he headed back to his seat. “Get rid of it.”

Looking down at the snuggled-up contents, he picked up the pink blanket that was wrapped around a beautiful baby girl. The blonde hair had him wondering why in all the houses in Kansas City had they picked this one, but when his eyes met her black ones, there was no denying it.

Taking her in the warm house, he glanced at his father. “Is she yo—”

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

Dominic had to think for a minute. “I think there’s some baby stuff still in the basement.”

“I said to get fucking rid of it,” Lucifer demanded with his hot tongue.

“But it’s dark and cold outside.”

The devilish man stood abruptly, going for the baby. “Fine, I will.”

“No.” The young boy did his best to match his father’s tone. “Let her stay for the night, then I will in the morning.”

His father stared at him with that crazed look in his eyes before he threatened, “I better not see or hear that thing. Do you understand?”

Nodding, he quickly walked to the basement door to get her out of sight before the devil changed his mind.

The six-year-old twins followed closely behind, wanting to be with their brother instead of alone with their father.

“What is it?” Angel asked when they reached the bottom of the steps in the cold basement.

“Hold out your arms. Strong arms, strong arms,” he coached as he placed the chunky baby in his little arms. “It’s your baby sister.”

Matthias looked at the pink bundle in his twin’s arms. “Our sister?”

“Yes.” Dominic pulled a wooden cage into the middle of the room, dusting it off as best as he could before going back to his brothers.