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Seeing the eighteen-year-old son of the deceased seated in the first pew alone, Dominic walked over and silently took a seat beside him. He had only met him two times, the same way he had met his father, Dante, at the once-a-year meeting. Dominic couldn’t believe it when the seventeen-year-old had shown up as a made man, but then he had remembered what the kid had done to become the youngest made in the two families. Like everyone else, even Dominic had to wait to be of age, but what the oldest Caruso son had done had classified him as an adult. Even the American judicial system would have tried him as an adult, locked him up, and thrown away the key.

The only good thing that would come out of hav

ing a psychopath as a father was that Dominic would know how to deal with his future enemy when it came time. Lucifer was his greatest weapon, and the Carusos didn’t even know it yet.

Both future Kansas City mob bosses sat next to each other in silence, and just like their fathers, the sons were destined for the same adversarial path.

It was strange to know your enemy before they’d become it. It was like staring into a crystal ball and seeing your future. He supposed he should feel blessed, as not many people could say that, but it felt ominous to have your whole life decided before you were even born.

Dante’s son didn’t have an air of arrogance like his father, but rather a cloud of darkness. Today, however, it was gone. He thought it might’ve been because he was forced to wear a suit that he didn’t want to wear, just like he felt, but Dominic was sure they hadn’t wanted to wear it for different reasons. Not only was Dominic’s a size too big, but he had asked Lucifer if it was appropriate to wear brown to a funeral, even if it was dark.

Dom would have killed to wear the suit his adversary was wearing. It had been tailored to him perfectly, but it was the fact that it was all black that had him envious. Unlike the Lucianos, the Carusos always dressed in expensive Italian suits that varied in colors of black, gray, and white. The Lucianos wore clothes that looked worn, their fabrics less lux. They hardly ever wore full suits like the other family did. They’d either not have the tie, suit, or pants to complete the ensemble.

The young Caruso who sat beside him was like the Lucianos in that regard—he hated to wear suits. The only thing Dominic had seen him in was dark jeans and black T-shirts, even to their official meetings. But the suit wasn’t why the dark cloud had evaporated. The air around him was replaced with … sorrow?

Dominic furrowed his brows, thinking he couldn’t possibly possess feelings, even for his mother. He had always thought him to be like Lucifer—incapable of loving another. Dom felt bad for the deceased and for those she left behind, but he hadn’t felt an ounce of care for the eighteen-year-old … until now.

Looking back to the beautiful woman in the casket, he spoke softly and low to the future Caruso boss for the first time. “I’m sorry about your mother, Lucca.”

At first Lucca seemed shocked when he turned his head toward him, clearly not having heard someone say those words to him yet. Then the look disappeared as his blue-green eyes bore into him, forcing Dom to look into his haunting depths. “Don’t act like you’re sorry, Dominic.”

“Was she anything like you?” he asked simply.

Lucca’s brows drew together in confusion. “No.” Looking back to his dead mother, the coldness in his voice left as he said, “She was everything I’m not.”

“Then”—Dominic stood to go sit next to his father—“I truly am sorry.”

“Dominic,” Lucca called as Dom started to leave.

He stopped, turning to look at the enemy. He almost didn’t believe it when the words “thank you” crossed his lips.

It was at that moment Dominic knew two things: the Luciano throne would be his, and the city would be his as well. The future Caruso boss had just made a critical error.

Lucca proved he was human after all.

Giving him a final nod, he went to take his seat next to his father as the ceremony was about to begin.

“Luciano.” Dante came down the aisle, this time sounding a little less sad. “There’s someone I wanted to introduce you to.”

Father and son both stood up, turning to look at where the Caruso boss had walked up from behind them.

“My newest soldier”—a young man in a clean, black and white suit stepped out from behind Dante as he introduced him—“Salvatore Lastra.”

The second Dominic saw him, he felt like he had seen him before and quickly tried to place him from his memory, thinking he had to have seen him from school since he looked so young. If he was made, then he was at least eighteen, and he doubted a day older.