Page 10 of Bitter Prince

“I need a fucking drink,” I growled and headed in the direction of the minibar. I poured myself a glass of whiskey, studying the old man sitting behind the desk. “I want to know why you’re working with the Yakuza.”

He paled, shaking his head jerkily. “I’m not.”

I slammed the crystal cup on the glass surface of the minibar, shattering it to pieces. “Stop fucking lying.”

I walked back to the table, stepping over the dead body and sinking into the chair. “Last warning, Romero. Start talking, or Dante will put a bullet between your eyes.”

We might have been a third of his age, but we were stronger. Soon we’d be invincible, and nobody would fuck with us.

“It’d be my pleasure,” Dante said, his smile unhinged.

Romero slumped his shoulders, finally admitting defeat. He looked me in the eyes when he said, “I stole their drug shipment. In repayment, it was either your life or my daughter.”

Daughter, not daughters.It seemed they wanted only one of the girls, and I’d put all my hard-earned money on guessing which one.

Bottom line, it was clear which option Romero took. Well, he’d chosen wrong, because now I had him by the balls.

6

AMON, 20 YEARS OLD

It was a long fucking day.

After the shit that went down, Dante and I needed to decompress. We sat at the bar of The Ritz-Carlton hotel in downtown L.A. The skyline view stretched out, the stars nonexistent with the lights emanating from the city around us. Behind us, guests gorged on steaks and bottles of aged wine.

“Do you think he’ll follow through?” Dante asked, speaking in Italian. We’d laid out terms in exchange for his life. He’d be our mole within the ongoing human trafficking operations. He was to continue with business as usual, and we’d slowly demolish it to nothing from the inside out. “Or do you think he’ll try to backstab us?”

I shrugged. “Time will tell.”

“Shouldn’t we tell Father?”

I shot him a dry look. “Doyouwant to tell him?”

He ran his hand through his hair for what seemed like the hundredth time. “You’re the eldest.”

Any other time, he’d choose to forget that fact. “We won’t tell him,” I stated coldly. “He and Romero don’t get along. This way, Romero will be indebted to us, and we’ll have a hand in ending the flesh trade. It’s a win-win.”

“Unless he stabs us in the back,” he said, repeating his earlier concern.

He had a point there. “We’ll make him need us,” I said. “He won’t be able to move drugs without our help. And we’ll use his existing connections to end the ones that are passing human trafficking through our territories.”

“It’s a good plan,” Dante agreed. “I just don’t trust him.” I didn’t either, but we’d have to give it a try. If there was even a hint of deception, we’d end him. “Don’t you wonder why he never bothered to produce a male heir? He never remarried after his wife died.”

My eyebrow cocked in surprise at Dante’s question. “No, I never wondered, because I don’t give a flying fuck about Tomaso Romero or why he never married again. Why would I?”

“Just seems odd to me,” Dante remarked. “Every family in the Omertà except Tomaso has an heir apparent. The Omertà doesn’t allow women at the table, and for the foreseeable future, it’ll remain that way. So why would he risk losing it?”

“His wife wasn’t part of the underworld and was wealthy on her own. Maybe he doesn’t need that seat anymore. Or maybe he loved his wife,” I remarked sardonically. “Some men do.”

He scoffed. Most marriages in our world rarely valued trust, never mind love.

“I doubt it. Look at our father,” he pointed out. “Anyhow, I think there’s something more sinister behind this shit with him and the Yakuza. Aside from the drugs he took.”

I thought so too, but I changed subjects. “Did you find anything in the house?”

He shook his head. “No, but it was to be expected since it’s not his home.”

“What rooms did you look in?”