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ALESSANDRO

“ I don’t like this.”

“You don’t like anything, Adri!” Ciro snorts, flipping one of his knives over in his palm.

“Seriously. Everybody calls me the hateful one…” Fiero paces, like he does. It’s not nervous, it’s feral. Sometimes he scares me. “You could kill a guy just staring at him like that, Adri.”

Adriano runs his tongue over his teeth. He hates when the twins call him that.

“Someone has to make sure we all stay on task, Ero. Otherwise, you two would just murder everything in sight.”

“And then go catch a movie, or maybe hit the club!” Ciro quips. Ma always called him her little giullare . Jester. Quick with a joke. Always smiling.

Not like he’s any less violent than Ero. Who hasn’t smiled since the day our parents died.

I suppose that’s my fault.

Raising the three of them while coming up in the family nearly broke me. They saw blood on my shirt and on my hands from my first hit and on. Their own hands were stained far too soon after.

“Are you gonna fucking torture me or what?” The man strapped to the chair coughs out a gout of blood and spittle.

“He makes a valid point. Finish beating the answers out of him and be done with it,” Adriano orders.

“Patience and pain, my friend. Both like wine. Let it rest. Savor the taste.” Ciro kisses his fingertips. “Not my best work, but you get the idea.”

“You do your best work in your sleep. Only time you stop talking,” Ero deadpans, clacking the pliers in his hands.

The bloodied and swollen assassin shivers, his bluster gone.

He knows who he’s dealing with. Everyone breaks for the Diamantes.

“Get it done. Now.” That's all I have to say to snap them back to attention, crossing my arms and turning away.

Adriano usually keeps them on task for me, but I am in charge. Even if I’ve only been the boss for a few years now, in practice. It’s official, now that Uncle Giancarlo kicked it last week. Well, now that someone killed him.

Which also marked the start of shit going downhill.

Truth be told, it started when Aunt Eva died. Dom’s great-aunt, married to my grandfather’s brother. The ties holding the age-old families of the Diamantes and the Viperas together.

Tensions are rising in the family and with our allies and our rivals. Several prominent members of our “community” have gone missing, disappeared. All of it reeks of an inside job.

Intimate knowledge of our business, the way we move our people.

And Dom? Gone without a trace.

It all seems to be aimed at one thing: making me look incompetent. Weakening my rule. So naturally, I suspect him.

“Who killed Don Giancarlo, Griko ? Did someone hire your people to do it?” Adriano asks again.

“Fuck yo—Ahh!” A sickening pop marks another finger pulled out of the socket. “D-doesn’t matter. You’re all screwed. Nobody crosses the Lysis!”

“Oh well, in that case…” Ciro rises, rolling his eyes. He spins unbelievably fast, his hand lashing out. The poor bastard doesn’t even have a chance to scream, can’t make a sound when he sees his own eyeball bounce off the floor ahead of him.

The screams start a second later.

We picked him up trying to recruit on our turf. It’s out of place for one of the Greeks, the Lysi hitmen. The Greek order is supposed to be neutral, weapons for hire.

If they’ve taken a side, it’s a real fucking problem.

Fiero is convinced every infraction lately has been made by the same group. A new gang.

If he’s right, they’re subtle. They’ve got good leadership, too.

These new gangbangers are scraping away at our flanks, wearing us down. Like it’s their mission to see us fall.

“All we need is a name. Who took him out? Or should I sic my little brother on you; he’s not nearly as nice as I am.” Ciro flicks little splatters of blood into the guy’s face. We’ve always called Fiero the youngest, even though they’re the same age.

I’m pretty sure Ciro came out last, actually. He’s been trying to make up for it ever since.

“I-I’ll tell you … just please?—”

“Maybe he can’t see what I’m tryin’ to say, Ero. Should we feed him back his eye, maybe then he can digest the situation?”

“Your jokes are the real torture,” Ero grumbles.

“How about this…we’ll let you go if you promise to take a message back to the shitbag who killed our uncle. Tell him we’re gonna find him and chop his fucking head off,” Ciro sings, flipping his knife.

“O-okay…” He raises his head, a sliver of defiance, hope.

“Just make sure you leave us a forwarding address when you go.” Ero is deadpan, ice-cold.

“W-why?” The man is delirious.

“So we can mail you back all your body parts.” Ero takes the guy’s middle finger off at the knuckle, the pliers clacking in a sickening squelch. “Shit. he blacked out.”

I inhale, trying to keep my cool. My hands twitch, eager to do the deed myself. My brothers should see what a real master can do to get information. But I need to let them do their jobs.

“Wake him up,” I snap.

There are flaws to torture, though it’s absolutely necessary. The problem is, it doesn't always get you the answers you want, but it gets you something .

Thing is, when they start begging to stop, when they start promising to tell you answers; it usually means that they're full of shit. They're not really at their breaking point yet. So that’s when I step out of the room for an hour or two. Smoke a cigarette. Take a walk.

“Take your time, get him to come around. Adriano, with me. You two, keep working him over when he’s up. But do not kill him, understood?”

“Yes, Don Alessandro,” Ciro mocks, saluting me. Ero just stares at me.

“I need to know who killed Giancarlo. Tonight .”

I take a deep breath as soon as we reach the top of the stairs to the old, stone basement.

Fresh air clears my head. The docks this time of night are chilly, refreshing. My breath fogs as I light a cigarette.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do even if we get a name? We get revenge, sure. Still leaves us looking weak for not protecting our own, for allowing a hit on an elder.”

“The family wants reassurances. With intel, you can take action. Or at least say you’re going to.” Adriano is all facts. Useful. Sometimes annoyingly frank.

“ Empty promises so far.”

“Everyone trusts you, Alessandro.” Adriano is a solid second. He’s always been levelheaded. Not to say he’s above putting his fist through some guy’s teeth for mouthing off.

He’s no Dom, though. Not that I hold that against him. Adriano didn’t want his job any more than I wanted mine, initially.

Giancarlo chose me, though. And Domenico accepted it.

At first.

It never sat well with him getting second prize. I guess that’s why he left. Just up and vanished one day, a few months after Eva’s funeral. Heard he was last seen in Italy, near his family’s old estate in Veneto a few months back.

Only recently has it started to itch at me, all these coincidences.

But Dom is family, practically my own blood.

Another muffled scream echoes up from the basement of the warehouse. Again, I’m tempted to go down there and do the work myself. I’ve never been afraid of getting my hands dirty. God knows Dom and I did our fair share of ruthless shit to get answers.

Adriano would say that I need to project authority, let my people do their jobs. Like I don’t know that.

But they’re still my little brothers.

Fucking sentimental bullshit.

“Call Tomas and see if they released the body. We need to hold the funeral. Make a show of family unity.”

“Already on it. The wives have the preparations for the reception in hand.” Adriano ticks his head to the right, cracking his neck.

“Sorry,” I chuckle at his discomfort.

“For what?”

“For having to deal with that rabble. No doubt they let you have it about how you don’t have a wife yet yourself. Who’d they promise to set you up with this time?” I smirk, imagining him facing down the wives’ club.

“Giuseppe's youngest daughter. And her older sister, for you!” Adriano spits, shaking his head.

“Fuck me.” The girl is a neurotic nightmare. Just like her dad. Good accountant, though.

“The family’s a lot more worried about you taking a bride and cranking out some bambinos than me, you know.” Adriano’s sly smile makes me want to punch him.

“Don’t fucking remind me. Come on. If he’s not talking by now, I’m going to end this.” I snuff the embers of my cigarette on the ground and head back in.

The scent in the room has changed. A sickly stench lingers from stress and sweat. All threaded with that metallic, coppery scent of blood. Gets my heart pumping.

“So.” I crack my knuckles.

“So, he said he knows who killed our great- zio . Wanted to tell you himself.” Ciro’s got a ring of sweat around his collar, his knuckles nicked, bruised.

Leaning down, I get right in what’s left of the street thug’s face. Fucker soiled himself at some point. “Well, Griko ? Tell me, and this stops. You can go home. Which one of your men did it? And who hired them?” I drop my tone to a gravelly bass. It’s not an ask, it’s a command.

My greatest talent has always been my words. My voice.

When I say something, people believe it. Even if it’s a bold-faced lie.

I can almost feel Adriano’s discomfort. He hates when I use that tone. Ciro clams up, losing his permanent grin.

Calm. Quiet. Smooth.

Deadly.

“No hit. No hire. He did it himself. Just came to us for advice.” I can barely make out the words through the gurgle of blood.

“ Who ?”

“D-Domenico Vipera. He killed Giancarlo.”

A chill snakes down my spine at the words. Even though I suspected it. I hoped it wasn’t true.

The boys are cleaning up, packing their shit. We’ve got work to do.

“What do you want me to do with him?” Ciro cocks his gun meaningfully.

“Cut him loose, like I said.” I back off, uncuffing my sleeves and putting on my coat.

“Seriously?” Ciro gives me that look.

“Yes. He gave up a client. He’s as good as dead the minute he leaves here.”

I have no idea how right I am. We’re halfway to the car, shoving the beaten, wasted and bloody wreck of a man ahead of us when the shot rings out over the water, taking the Greek assassin in the head.

And we’re in the car speeding back to the compound before I can process the fact that someone knew where we were, and they were waiting for us.

The Diamantes aren’t safe.

My family is in danger.