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I thrust my balled fists into the pocket of my trousers. I’m only fifteen but I already dress likeil sovrano… the ruler of the family. My shoes are handmade from the finest Italian leather and they silently tread on the marble floor as I eavesdropped on my Uncle Franco, eating dinner with the heads of three different crime families.
He pretends otherwise, but I knew my uncle yearned to rule. But I’m my father’s eldest living son and it was my turn to reign next. That is if my Zio Franco doesn’t off me to take his shot. He and the rest of the made men held council as they drank red wine and boasted about our latest victory. It took a while for all the men to gather while the police and the government condemned the latest blood bath. We even caught the consternation of the Vatican in Rome, so the celebration over winning the war had to wait. But tonight, The Fiorelli’s are no more. We drove them out of Palermo and extinguished their flame. Only I knew one tiny candle still burned.
“It’s Roque’s crown to wear.”
“The boy is not ready. His hand not bloodied enough, his dick’s never been wet.”
“He took care of the Fiorelli girl. He snuffed her out without blinking once. His father would be proud.”
Zio Franco’s large hand smacked the table. The dishes jumped with a clatter. “I rule until he comes of age. He’s not ready. He’s full of teenage hormones. He’d make rash decisions that would jeopardize all our businesses.”
“Like a mass murder at a funeral gathering? Even our own women and children were hit in the crossfire. It was foolish, the order you gave. We could have held him and his brat while escorting our own out the backdoor. Instead it was mayhem.” The head of the Castellione outfit shook his head and puffed on a cigar.
Through the crack in the door, I watched my uncle shrug. “Collateral damage. Fiorelli killed my wife and my baby on Christmas Eve. If my mistake was passion, so be it. Vengeance was ours.”
“You’ll groom Roque as your brother wanted. I promised your brother his son would wear the crown. I make good on my word.”
“His shoulders aren’t strong enough to support his head. The crown can be heavy, full of thorns and soaked with blood.”
“If you hurt him there will be payback, Franco. Murdering the next-in-line is against our code.”
My uncle laughed. “Hurt him? Roque? The boy is all I’ve got since Fiorelli murderedmi familigia.”
But I saw it in the glaze in his eyes. The way he balled his fist next to his wine glass. Uncle Franco was no longer family. His lust for power was stronger than blood. He wanted me dead and gone, buried like all the rest. I knew he had a mistress. With me out of the way—he’d start over as the DON with a new wife and baby. I could feel it just as strong as the little Fiorelli’s girl’s heartbeat against the flat of my hand where I held it on her neck before I squeezed.
I saw and heard all I needed.
It was time to plan.
I left and went home, sat in my father’s study and moved chess pieces around the board. I still had family…distant relatives of my mother outside of Rome. I’d call on them soon. Ask for support, in return I’d offer my cousins a spot at my table. My mother’s family isn’t as wealthy. I know her brother always wanted in on my father’s business but was shut out. Then, I’d call the one man who could back me until it’s my time to rise. None of the made men will back me at fifteen. Not when I have no access to money, no legal adult status or the muscles yet to make them bend to my will. My Uncle will buy them all, promise them more than he can deliver.
I need my own crew. One I can trust to break me just to build me into the perfect killing machine. One that I can use as a new foundation on which to build my own throne.
Constantine.
It had to be him.
He’s half-blind. Old as fuck but he trained Papa to be the Don he was. It’s a sort of fucked up tradition between our two families. They train us and we wed and bed their women in return, strengthening the alliance by blood. But Papa let it all go to his head. The money. The power. The pussy. Drunk on his own power, he became sloppy and the Fiorelli’s got him.
Money, power and a woman is a man’s weakness. I’d seen it time and time again with my own eyes. It works to my advantage that I’ve tasted none of them. I can exercise self-control to make sure none of the three ever bring my downfall.
Except…the girl. The one whose life was in my hands to take…one heartbeat away from stopping.
My fist smacked against the table as I remembered the feel of her silky red hair in my hands… the way it smelled like innocence and sunshine…how I shook as I held her. I was the one with my hands on her throat and yet she was the one who controlled me.
She’s a tween. Probably doesn’t even bleed yet and I’ve got some sick fascination with her. I should’ve ended it. I’ll find her, no doubt still in her Papa’s house trying to plot how to live. I let her live an extra day. I can’t let her have anymore not when my very place in my own family is being questioned. I will be the head of the Salvatore Syndicate. It’s my destiny and no one will take it from me, not even Little Red.
I grabbed thick rope from the cellar and walked into the dusk. The cold winter air burned my throat as I breathed in deep. I shut my eyes wondering if her throat burned like this as my hands closed around it.
Damn that hellish girl.
I couldn’t do it and that made me weak. She’s a weakness.
In the end, I couldn’t take her life…when something in me wanted to own it. As I squeezed and breathed in the honey-scent of her hair and felt her girlish body tremble… it excited me—her—a little girl.
I’m sick.