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Chapter 1

Vito

The only sound in the room is my breathing as the crimson pool spreads around the body lying on the floor.

Starting or ending my day with blood isn't anything new. Hell, blood anytime throughout my day or night isn't abnormal.

It doesn't faze me. It doesn't upset me. It often fuels me, motivates me.

As the second-born and protector of the Santoro family—who is part of the 'Ndrangheta organized crime syndicate from Italy—blood is my way of life.

I leave the ruling of the criminal underworld and the boardrooms to my brothers. My place is on the streets, in the field—the dirtiest and darkest parts of our world.

I'm a natural leader and strategic, but my skills are for protecting my family and our empire, not for amassing more power and wealth.

When my father finally succumbs to the disease ravaging his lungs, and Massimo takes the reins as Don, I've stressed to Mass that I don't want the promotion to his second-in-command and all the administrative duties—yes, criminal syndicates run like a Fortune 500 company—that go along with it.

That's a future problem, though.

Right now, I have a very real, very shitty, fuck-of-a-deal problem.

The pool of blood that I'm staring at has almost reached the tread of my boots.

Blood—so normal in my world—but tonight, this blood enrages me.

I sit on my haunches, crouched beside… I don't even know what to call Aiken Fallen.

He isn't a friend, and he isn't an ally. But I like the guy. Respect him.

In San Francisco, Aiken is neutral when it comes to the criminal factions in the city. His establishment, Gilly's, is the only truly neutral place. A conflict-free zone. No one's turf. The Switzerland of the criminal world.

It doesn't matter if you're a soldier or the leader of your criminal band of savage misfits; Gilly's rules apply to everyone .

Gilly's is more than a bar; it's been a neutral, conflict-free zone for forty years. Its purpose is to reduce bloodshed in the city, which helps minimize collateral damage to innocent people. Hence, law enforcement superiors of local, state, and federal bodies order their subordinates to leave Gilly's alone.

Whoever steps foot in Gilly's agrees to respect the neutral territory rule and do no harm—no fighting, stabbing, shooting, and definitely no killing. And those rules definitely apply to Gilly's owner-operator, who is the equivalent of the President of Switzerland.

I cup my jaw, staring down at Aiken. He lies in the middle of the bar in a pool of his blood, his vacant eyes open.

As much as I like and respect—or I guess, liked and respected , because of the need for past tense now—I can't call Aiken a friend.

With him being Gilly's owner-operator, his role and existence revolve around him being neutral. If he befriended someone like me, or even appeared to be too friendly, that indicated he was choosing a side. He could neither be for nor against any criminal in this city. He had to remain impartial, unbiased, and unprejudiced.

But someone has chosen a side against Aiken.

"Security system was taken out." Raf stalks into the barroom area from the back. His dark hair falls over his forehead in loose waves. "None of the cameras recorded anything beyond Aiken closing."

Raf is dressed similarly to me: black jeans, a dark shirt, and boots. His guns are visible in his shoulder holsters and the back of his jeans since he had tossed his jacket on the bar. I know he has knives in each boot, the same as I do. Raffaello Romani—AKA Raf—is my right-hand and best friend since diapers.

"There are slight signs of forced entry at the back door, but it's not clear if that's how they got in and out," Raf adds.

The bar was locked up tight when we arrived. The inside looks like a bar brawl took place—tables and chairs are overturned and busted, smashed bottles, and even a deep dent in the wall. Based on where Aiken is lying and the blood pooling around his head like a gruesome halo, I suspect the dent was caused by someone smashing his head into the wall.

"Any luck getting into Aiken’s office?" I stand, scanning around the bar.

"It's sealed like Fort fucking Knox." Raf scowls and scrapes his nails across the scruff on his cheek. "I'll call Gus."

Gus is Aiken's manager. He, along with all the staff, had gone home prior to the shitfest that went down here. Everyone knew Aiken always sent his staff home when they finished their closing tasks, and he did the final closing up alone.

I scan around the bar again.

I'm missing something.

Raf watches me. "Any idea why Aiken called you as he bled out like someone used him as a pin-cushion?"

I grunt at his analogy, but based on the number of stab wounds, it's a fair one.

Looking at Aiken lying in his blood, I crouch and drag my fingers down to close his eyelids, the litany of scars on my hand catching in the lights. Even though we weren't friends or allies, Aiken had called my cell.

He managed to get out three words while he gurgled and choked on his blood. It sounded like he tried to say more, but couldn't. Raf and I got over here as fast as we could and busted the door in, but he was DOA.

I rise to my feet. "Maybe a mis-dial."

But I know it wasn’t a mis-dial.

I haven't said anything to Raf, who is my most trusted man, but Aiken had said, " Vito… Call Ed. "

Aiken knew he was calling me. He did so purposefully, even though I have no idea who the hell Ed is or why Aiken called me to call him.

Raf knows Aiken told me to call Ed. What I didn't mention was that he specifically said my name—keeping Raf out of the 'splash zone' in case this blows back on me. The fact that Aiken deliberately called me with his dying breath could be misconstrued that we had something more than the approved neutral relationship. It could appear that we were friends or allies when that is a huge motherfucking no-no.

It wouldn't matter that I'm basically mafia royalty. My family wouldn't be able to protect me. If they tried to, all our businesses, operations, and personnel in the city would become fair game in an open-season hunt—alliances dissolved, partnerships disbanded, and open attacks.

The powers in this city took Gilly's intent and purposes very fucking seriously.

Gilly's is sacred ground, and anyone caught trying to gain an advantage here would face deadly consequences.

I need to tread carefully. I want to make sure whoever killed Aiken meets the same fate. However, I need to mind my P's and Q's while I assist in that endeavor.

The trickiest part will be keeping this from the Chamber, which is a collective of San Francisco's five strongest crime organizations working together. It was formed in the early days of my father's reign, and he's one of the founding members. The leaders had come together, deciding that collaborating was more profitable and productive than competing or warring.

The Chamber doesn't control Gilly's; however, it helps ensure that neutrality is respected and followed.

My father, Tommaso Santoro, represents our family. The other four factions that make up the Chamber are the Havoc Guardians motorcycle club, the Saints, the Fire Clan, and the Triads.

With the equivalent of the President of Switzerland being murdered, they're going to ensure the perpetrator is eliminated, as well as support Gus to keep Gilly's functional and open until Aiken's successor is in place.

They will also interview, AKA grill, Raf and me, since we found Aiken.

"Any idea who Ed is?" Raf asks. He grabs his jacket off the bar, broken glass crunching under his boots.

"I've never heard any staff here named that." I pull out my phone to call Massimo.

Raf's large hand rubs his face. "Fuck, Vito. This is going to look bad that Aiken called you."

Even if I don't admit to anyone that Aiken knew he was calling me, there will be questions about why he did. My only saving grace is that I would be in his recent call log, as he called me earlier, confirming the upcoming illegal gambling game that happens in Gilly's secret backroom.

And maybe that's what happened. As Aiken bled out from his many wounds, he fumbled with his phone to call someone for help and just happened to hit my number.

My gut tells me something different, though.

My call to Massimo rings twice before he answers. "Jesus, Vito. It's almost four in the morning. What the hell do you want?" His voice is deep and gruff.

"Always such a grumpy motherfucker," I taunt with a smile.

"He's drunk and needs a ride home, Mass," Raf chimes in like an asshole.

I chuckle, then turn serious and say to Massimo, "Gilly's has been hit. Aiken is dead."

"What the fuck?" he exclaims, fully awake now.

I hear rustling and picture my wide-chested brother sitting up in bed. I'm the tallest brother and most chiseled from the type of work I do for the family, but neither of my brothers is a slouch in the muscle department. Massimo has the widest build—slightly wider than our baby brother Creed—and has shoulders and a chest like a tank.

"How do you know?" he asks.

Glancing at Raf, I bite the bullet. "I'm at Gilly's with Raf."

Massimo hisses out a breath. "Anyone else there?"

"No."

"Fuck. This is going to look bad, brother."

"I know."

"You could clean your presence and get out."

"You know that would be stupid. And I have nothing to hide, Massimo."

"I know that." He sighs and curses under his breath. "You know we have your back in whatever this is."

I didn’t think my brother would doubt me, but hearing the words was still good. "You should wake, Babbo ."

My father used to cringe when my five-year-old sarcastic little ass insisted on calling him that instead of Papà .However, Babbo is what my mother used to call her father, and eventually, my father came to expect me to call him that.

"He should be the one to convene the meeting for the Chamber," I say.

I can hear Massimo move around, probably getting dressed. "What can you tell me?"

I scan the bar again. The broken furniture, broken bottles, blood. Aiken's dead body.

"Security system was taken out. The last thing the cameras recorded was shortly after two, when Aiken was closing up. Staff was all gone. Place was locked up when we got here. Till is empty; not sure if it was robbed or if Aiken had already put it into the safe. His office is sealed. Aiken has multiple stab wounds. Blood pools at the back of his head, and judging by the dent in the wall nearby, I'd say his skull played a part in making it."

"Why did he call you?" Massimo asks.

"That's the million-dollar question." I scrub my face, the two-day-old scruff scratching my palm. "No fucking clue."

"Has Gus been called to initiate protocol for security to secure the scene?"

"Raf is about to call him."

"Okay. I'm on my way to wake Papà . He'll meet you at the Tower."

Being pulled in front of the heads of the Chamber would be no picnic, especially if any of these leaders decided I was guilty or had something to hide.

"Can't wait."