Page 5 of Filthy Little Regrets (Princes of NYC #2)

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MACE

The clouds are heavy and nearly black, a warning of the violence the sky is going to pour down on New York City at any second. The darkness matches my mood. There are very few things I find pleasurable in life, and dealing with a made man throwing a tantrum is not one of them.

“Fuck!”

Pulling my attention from the window, I study Luca.

His face is getting redder by the second.

I hold his gaze, refusing to flinch when he slams his hand on the desk.

In our short history together, I’ve discovered it takes a lot to make the Marino capo lose his shit, but learning someone managed to get into one of his legitimate business’s bank accounts and wire a hundred thousand dollars to the Morozov bratva appears to be the thing that lights his fuse.

Can’t say I blame him. If anyone else besides me and the IRS knows what was done, he’s dead. Any hint of disloyalty in the mafia is enough to warrant a death sentence. It doesn’t matter how high up you are or who you’re related to .

Clenching his fists, Luca shakes his head. “I want you to find who did it, and I want them underground by tonight.”

I arch an eyebrow. What am I, a magician? “It might take me a few days to find them.”

“It better fucking not,” he growls.

Exhaling, I look around his swanky mansion.

Oakland Gardens is a nicer part of Queens, and this house is a little too nice for a capo.

It’s pretty likely that Luca is skimming money.

That’s not good for either of us. On paper, I’m simply the account manager for the legit companies he operates, but I’ve assisted Luca with a few illegitimate activities.

If anyone suspects he’s working outside the family, they’ll try to kill us both.

“Give me a week. I’ll find out who did it, and then you can take them to the boss. Set the record straight so everyone knows you’re loyal.”

Luca slams his fist onto his desk. “Fuck!”

I press my lips together and wait for him to decide. One day to hunt someone down is stupid, and he knows it. He can’t fucking do it, so he needs me.

“What do we pay your family for, huh?” Luca shoves out of his chair and pulls his gun, pointing it straight at me.

Paralysis hits me for a millisecond. I can almost taste the gunpowder.

It’s not the first time he’s shoved a gun in my face, and it certainly won’t be the last. Luca deals in threats of death.

I’ve been almost shot so many times now, the click of the safety disengaging barely makes my muscles tense.

It’s just another day in my life. If I’m not dodging a gun, I’m fending off my dad.

“Are you fucking with me, Mace?”

God, this is getting old. When Dad took over Rex Tech, the company exploded, but garnering the title of the world’s most progressive tech conglomerate also caught the attention of various criminal organizations.

One agreement led to a lifetime of debt, and instead of dealing with the consequences of his actions himself, my father forces me to.

Have I mentioned I really fucking hate it?

Luca is trying to rattle me. Does he really think I did it? I breathe in, count to four, blink, and release my breath on a steady exhale.

“You know it wasn’t me. I don’t need your money.” I keep my voice even. My house is easily twice as big as his. I have more money than I know what to do with. If Luca was capable of rational thought, he’d realize that. “I’ll find who did it. I just need a little more time, that’s all.”

Tightening the grip on the gun, he releases a frustrated, “Arrgh!” then lowers the gun. “This is all I want you working on. If I so much as see you at other meetings, I’ll kill you.”

“No, you won’t.” I stand and smooth my shirt. “I might tolerate you pointing a gun in my face, but don’t forget who I am, Luca.”

“Yeah, fuck you, wolf,” he spits, reminding me of where I came from and setting the gun on the desk. “Call your daddy.”

The nickname brings back a flood of memories that make my stomach revolt.

Of a cage in some abandoned warehouse. Men surrounding it and exchanging money.

Dozens of young boys who stood across from me—children of the betting men who didn’t have a choice either—and the fights and sometimes deaths that followed.

The boys who dropped to the ground when I knocked them out.

Wolf was the nickname they gave me in the ring, a natural-born killer.

No one understood why I refused to lose.

Does he think I’ve gone soft?

Violence rolls through me, muscles tightening and darkness tinging the edges of my vision.

Luca notices the shift and uncertainty ripples over his features.

I step toward him and hold his gaze, letting the silence linger for a few seconds.

A lot can be said without even speaking, but sometimes words help put the assholes back where they belong.

“Shut the fuck up and let me do the job. Otherwise, I’ll make sure Vito knows you’re in bed with the Russians and deliver your severed dick, alongside the evidence. ”

“I could kill you,” he growls.

I’d like to see him try .

“Go ahead.” Grabbing the gun, I push it into his hands, calling his bluff. As expected, he refuses to take it. “Kill me, and kill your only chance of saving your life.”

Luca’s nostrils flare. “I thought we were friends.”

Friends? No. There’s only one reason I’m here, dealing with this shit.

Glaring at him, I toss the gun onto the desk. “See you in a week.” Without looking back, I turn, button my suit jacket, and stride out of the room.

I really fucking hate the mafia.

My golden Aston Martin Valiant idles outside the gates to the Astor compound.

Tonight is our weekly family dinner. The rumble of my Valiant’s engine is almost as deep as the anger simmering in my veins after that meeting with Luca.

I skip the river-rock paved lane to the right, that leads to my mansion, and head up the longer driveway straight to the home I grew up in.

Everyone loves the Georgian-inspired mansion.

The facade is elegance given life, with gray brick turret walls on either side of the flat front and a four-tier, brick-laid staircase leading to the double-entry front doors and a fountain in the middle of the driveway.

Water spills from the vases the sculpted angels hold. It almost looks peaceful.

Fighting a derisive snort, I turn off the car and get out. There’s no peace to be found within these walls. The atmosphere is thick with petrichor, but the storm clouds are holding the rain, waiting to unleash hell.

Thomas, the family butler, opens the door as I jog up the porch steps.

His once brown hair is peppered with gray but still perfectly slicked back, and his suit is starched, not a wrinkle in sight.

Can’t say the same for his pale skin. At sixty, age is quickly catching up to him, but even with the wrinkles, he’s a good-looking guy.

“Mr. Astor, looking quite dapper.” Even though Thomas is from Jersey, that doesn’t stop him from talking like he grew up overseas.

“Hey, Tommy.” I clap him on the shoulder as I pass. “Are they treating you well?”

“The pay keeps my belly and fridge full.” That’s always his response. Even when I was little, and he ushered me and my sisters out of the dining room while Dad flew off the handle, he never complained.

“Glad to hear it,” I say, stepping onto the foyer’s shiny marble floor.

I spot a giant vase of fresh flowers on the round entry table.

My pulse spikes. They got into a fight. Dad only gets Mom flowers after he hits her.

As far as I know, he hasn’t touched her in years, not since I moved out, but the bouquet has my muscles tensing.

The breath I take does nothing to help me relax.

When I lived here, I would intervene, knowing he’d turn his anger on me instead.

Mom begged me to stop, and eventually, I realized I was the thing that set him off and left.

I still wish she would leave, but she’s too afraid.

Dad has all the money and power to hire the best lawyers in the world.

If he didn’t decide to have her killed, Dad would rip her to shreds, destroying the family in the process.

I hate the helplessness that hollows out my stomach.

All those years of fighting in a cage, and I can’t even use what I’ve learned to protect her.

Not without killing my dad and getting sent to jail, leaving my sisters to pay off his debts to the mafia.

Those made men would gladly destroy my sisters.

That won’t happen.

Thomas pauses at my side, and it’s only then I realize I stopped walking. “It’s not what you think. He only yelled at her.”

Dad has a way of flaying people with his words, but relief courses through me. Releasing a harsh breath, I curl my fingers into a fist and nod. “You’ll call me if it escalates.” It’s not a question.

“Always,” Thomas says.

I make my way toward my sisters’ voices in the living room, giving myself a few moments to feel the full brunt of my rage and despair before locking it all down. My sisters already deal with one asshole; they don’t need to tiptoe around my anger too.

“—think Mace will be mad?”

“Be mad about what?” I turn into the living room. My sisters are cozied up on the oversize leather couch, clutching glasses of wine. A line cuts across my forehead. “Who said you could drink?”

So much for not being an asshole.

Melody, the oldest, at twenty, flips me off and takes a pointed sip of her wine. Her blonde hair is wrapped in a ballerina bun, as usual, and her eyes—the same dark blue as mine—dare me to stop her.

She’s the troublemaker .