Page 13 of Forgive Me, Father (Don #1)

THIRTEEN

THE WHITE RABBIT

The low hum of silence lulled me as I sank into the chair, eyes growing heavy.

I drift away and start dreaming about traditions.

The code was nothing, kill a hundred before turning twenty-one. I did it. But somehow, I was the only one.

It wasn’t always easy. When I was six, my grandfather realized my dad wasn’t raising me by the code. Said his son was too soft. So Nunno took over, and raised me himself.

I was seven when I saw my grandfather’s brother killed a man. He was tied to a chair, beaten so badly you couldn’t tell what color his eyes had been, or if he still had teeth at all.

I pissed myself watching it, and paid for it in the dark room. The worst part wasn’t the punishment. It was when Nunno left me there, alone. I’d take ten beatings over an hour in that place. There was something sinister in that room. Something that watched.

Our older cousins called it La Sala della Morte , The Room of Death. Plenty of men and women had breathed their last within those walls. And some of them never left. They became part of the shadows, tormenting little naughty boys and girls.

I remember how I used to beg, how I cried for Nunno to let me out. Most times, I’d cry myself to sleep, worn out from the panic. I think I passed out from sheer fear.

Between eight and ten, Nunno made sure I watched lives get snuffed out. Some days were easier than others, but if I dared look away, I’d spend the next few days locked in that dark room.

At eleven, Nunno placed the gun in my hand. The gun was heavy and cold in my hand. If not for my fear of the dark room, I would’ve dropped it, and never looked back. But that fear made me pull the trigger. Nunno’s explanation of what the man had done made it easier too. He was a bad man.

But the nightmares haunted me. I struggled hard, and Nunno hated every second of it. He called me weak, pathetic, said I was no grandson of his. Then he threw me into the dark room. I stayed there a long time. When the door finally opened, I was never the same again.

It was like I made the shadows my friends, or maybe I let them in. It’s the only way I can explain the darkness inside me. The thing that craves the kill, that needs to see pain just to feel the calm.

My mother was devastated, and my father lost it, said I was just as fucked up as he was. Said Nunno didn’t raise humans, he raised monsters.

That was the last fallout I remember. Killing became easier after that. From eleven to thirteen I finished a dozen more.

I craved the power that came with Nunno’s approval. He didn’t give it often, but when he did, it felt like you could fly.

Through my darkness I became his favorite grandson.

Back in boarding school, they forced me to see a psychiatrist. Said I was disruptive in class, and whenever there was a fight, you can be sure I started it.

She came to the conclusion whatever happened to me in that dark room had nothing to do with shadows or demons, but with what was done inside it.

Told my mother I invented them to cope, to function, barely, as she put it. I laughed it off, and made it my mission to sleep with her. Pulled it off just before graduation.

She lost her job after that. Word was, that one mistake ruined her reputation for good.

Still, there were moments I wondered if she was right. I don’t remember anything truly horrific, just a beating or two. And if that’s all it was, then maybe I should be thankful my mind found a way to survive.

My biggest takedown was at sixteen. I went with Nunno, my dad, the uncles, and a few of Nunno’s brothers, we wiped out an entire family.

Nunno was strict about the rules: betray us, you die; talk to the authorities, you die. Simple as that. And honestly, how stupid did you have to be? We owned the police.

Nunno gave me a faulty gun on that annihilation expedition. It taught me a brutal lesson, but through it, I learned to kill with just about anything. I cut the one man’s main artery with a piece of glass. Another one died as I stabbed a pencil up his nose and into his brain.

Dad handed me his knife and it became relatively easier taking them down. I slipped into a state of pure rage, something almost supernatural. When I came to, all I could see was the damage I’d left behind and the blood. Some of it was mine.

I’d passed out and then woke up in hospital.

Dad didn’t say much. At this point in my life, he’d just turn around and walk away, while Nunno stood there, praising me for a job well done.

A knock shattered it like a warning shot. I snapped upright just as Father stepped inside, and one look at his face told me: this wasn’t going to be a conversation.

He was pissed off.

His glare was a weapon in itself, sharp and ice-cold. He yanked off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair with all the restraint of a storm about to break.

He closed the distance to the whiskey cart in a few determined strides and poured himself four fingers, neat. He took a sip and sighed audibly.

"Why do you insist on defying me?" His voice was low, lethal. "Do you have any idea what you cost us yesterday? And you married a rust blood ? Are you out of your damn mind?"

“Stop, if Nonno were still alive?—”

“I’m not my father. I’m not that ruthless.”

I stood up, locking my gaze with his, the anger simmering in my chest. "No, you're weak. And it's obvious, especially with our generation. I'm the only one with all the markings and the number one under my eye.”

His eyes narrowed, a sigh escaping his lips. "Alfonso?"

I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping me. "No, Father. It's the truth. We have traditions to uphold, and you—" I stepped closer, letting the weight of my words sink in, "—you loosened the ropes. Nunno warned you. He told you never to let them slip."

“We are not barbarians,” Father roared.

“We live by codes, for generations we’ve lived by them, spoken their oath, and now you want to break it. Nunno warned us that you would become too weak.”

“I’m not weak. I’m just not as ruthless as your grandfather. The man never thought things through. He just pounded and killed.”

“Maybe there was a reason, to keep the other Dons in line. To live by traditions. Honor the code. I did. I did them all, I’ve lived by them all, and I got a whore as my betrothed for my efforts. I deserved a virgin. I obeyed the rules.”

“Alfonso, I didn’t think that she would turn out to be like that.” I could see the truth and regret in my father’s features. But it didn’t matter. His weakness was why the other members of our organization thought they could take these liberties.

“No, you didn’t, but you’d loosened the ropes around her father’s neck.

You know if Nonno was still alive, the DeLucas would’ve been made part of the past as of last night.

They would’ve been annihilated for what that little bitch did.

The new Dons are growing weaker. He thinks it’s okay to break rules and break traditions.

You’re only making more shit for yourself, shit that I’m afraid will fall on me to clean up.

Fall on my children one day to clean up. ”

“You are not serious about this marriage.”

I laughed. “Oh, I am dead serious. It’s done, and can’t be undone. She is everything I ever wanted and deserved.”

“Alfonso. Did you tell her about your darkness? Does she know what she has to do? Look the other way. We groomed Simi to assist you in any way she can. Fuck, this one can’t even speak Italian.”

“I don’t care. She’s worthy of the Ponticello name, and she will carry that name until the day she dies. I will put back the fear of the Dons and the Ponticellos into everyone as long as I live. Now get the fuck out of my penthouse and only speak to me again when you grow a pair of balls.”

Father pushed me against the wall. “I’m still the head of the circle, Alfonso, and you will not speak to me like that.

You might not have respect for the way I reign over the Dons, but you will obey my rules.

The DeLucas stay where they are. I’ll draw up a new deal with Jason, let him know what Simi did was wrong, but you will not harm one hair on their heads. Is that clear?”

I grin at him. “I assume in your dash to repair this stupid fucking merge, you neglected to check your emails.”

His gaze took me in, a frown pulling at his features. “What did you do?”

“The only thing I could, because I knew you were just going to slap them on the wrist and send them their merry way.”

He released me with a glare as he made his way out of my penthouse without saying a word.

I could easily take my father, but what sort of a son would that make me? He was right; he was still the head of the Dons, and there would be consequences if I tried to take his place.

THE LITTLE RUNAWAY

I woke up the next morning with a bigger ache between my legs.

Shit, how long was this going to last? The satin sheets slid over my skin as I stretched, and the coolness of the morning hardened my nipples.

Alfonso wasn’t there. No sign of him, not even a trace of his presence.

I didn’t think he slept in our bed last night.

I got out and walked naked to the bathroom, picked up the robe that I’d worn last night, and went back to the room I had used yesterday.

I dressed quickly and followed the sound of voices echoing from the lounge. The sharp, cheerful tone of a woman’s voice caught my attention. I didn’t understand what they were saying, but it was definitely filled with excitement.

I stepped in and immediately saw Alfonso. He looked happy, elated, even. Beside him at the table sat a woman, absolutely stunning. She looked to be around my age, with jet-black hair that seemed to absorb the light, and those same piercing green eyes.

“Camilla, I want you to meet my cousin, Lorette Ponticello.”

The woman stood up and extended her hand toward me. I took it, noting the firmness of her grip.