Page 136 of Tragic Empire

A loud crack breaks through the argument as Apollo drops the asshole Federico with a single punch to the side of the head.

“Piece of shit,” he spits, adding insult to injury by kicking the man in the stomach.

“Holy shit.” The boy gapes, stepping back, still protecting his sister. “You’re Apollo Moretti.”

Hearing his name, the woman gasps. “What the hell?”

“What’s your name, kid?” Apollo asks, as I join him, giving the teenager an assessing look. “And hers… she’s your sister, yes?”

“Yordan Todorov,” he replies. “Rayna is my sister, and I am not a kid, I’m sixteen.” His chest puffs a bit, adding a firmness to his words.

Todorov is not an Italian name. She was married into the Casa Nostra, then. Poor thing got saddled with a fucking prick, too.

The corner of Apollo’s lip twitches up. “Sixteenisa man in our world,” he concedes. “Would you like to learn what men do to those who hurt their families?”

“W-what?” Rayna stutters from behind us but Apollo doesn’t look at her. He focuses entirely on the task at hand. He’s testing Yordan as much as he’s offering to teach him.

“I know what they do,” Yordan counters.

“Good,” Apollo comments, rolling his shoulders. Turning to me, he gestures to the half-unconscious piece of shit on the ground. “Ocean?”

“Ocean,” I agree.

I hadn’t come to my little sister’s wedding with the intention of getting my suit wet nor my hands bloodied, but when duty calls.

“Follow us,” Apollo instructs the teen. He listens immediately, ignoring his sister’s soft protests. She’s worried for him, and she should be. Not because we’ll hurt him, but because we’ll change him.

What she can’t possibly realize is that he’s already changed. Seeing your sister being slapped around isn’t something a boy—nor a man—in our world stands for. She had to know what this life would turn him into. She should be grateful that he seems to have a decent head on his shoulders. If any of us had caught a man assaulting Jade, Ana, Cleo, or Melani we would have dropped him in a near instant.

Once we’re waist-deep in the cold water, we’re far enough from the Island to be excluded from the no murder rule.

Apollo slaps a Glock into Yordan’s waiting palm. “Your sister, your kill.” The kid doesn’t even look scared as he accepts it.

“What the fuck?” Federico slurs. “You can’t just tell him to kill me! Do you even know who I am?”

“A wife beater?” Apollo drawls.

“A spineless cunt?” I offer.

“She deserves everything she gets,” he snaps. “She doesn’t fucking listen. She’s supposed to serve me!”

Cocking the gun, Yordan presses the end of the barrel against Federico’s forehead. “I told you I would kill you for hitting her. Rayna didn’t want to risk being stuck with someone worse than you, she begged me not to. But I won’t let her be saddled with another son of a bitch like you ever again.”

Anger is replaced by fear in an instant.

“I’m your brother,” the worthless man tries to plead.

A dark look flickers through Yordan’s eyes. “Says who?”

A shot rings out, and something like pride seems to rush through my brother as a triumphant smirk spreads his lips. We release his now dead weight and Yordan blinks, extending his hand to pass Apollo’s gun back to him.

“You keep it,” he tells the teen, starting to guide him out of the water. “Let it serve as a reminder of what made men do to those who hurt their family.”

“Might need it,” Yordanmuses, smiling weekly. “Just killed one of Abramo Guliani’s men with the help of two Morettis. He’ll try to have my head before I can even start to defend myself.”

“You let me handle Abramo,” Apollo says darkly. “You won’t be going back there.”

“We won’t?”