Page 4

Chapter 4

Vito

The woman never answered when we tried to call her back. She never answered any of the other times later that day, either.

I gave Crispin, our family's tech whiz and hacker, the phone number to get a trace on it, but the phone was off or destroyed. The next day, when I tried the number again, I got the recording: "The number you have dialed is no longer in service."

I decided against telling Massimo and our father what Gus and I discovered about Ed because I didn't want to put them in a shitty position. If I told them, they'd either have to withhold the information from the other Chamber heads or tell them. And for some reason, I'm not ready for the others to have this info yet. So, not telling Massimo or my father will protect them if this backfires in my face.

Since that phone call, I can't get the woman's voice out of my head, and my cock stirs every time. It's the strangest thing that's ever happened to me; I've never reacted by only hearing a woman's voice.

And this woman had likely been romantically involved with Aiken at one point. Why else would she be his greatest regret ?

The memory of the sound of her voice isn't the only thing that won't leave me. I consistently feel anger and jealousy whenever I consider that the voice belongs to a woman who was romantically involved with Aiken.

How the hell could I be jealous of a dead man because of a voice over the phone that said exactly nine words to me?

And how the fuck am I jealous?

I've never been jealous over a woman in my entire life. Ever. Not even as a teenager.

Exclusivity isn't a word in my vocabulary. Fucking a woman once is enough to get her out of my system; that's always the case, no matter how hot she is or how much I want her. One-and-done; I never have a desire for a second time, and I certainly don't get fucking jealous when she moves on to another after me.

And here I am, never having been with this woman—never havingmetor seen the goddamn woman—and I'm jealous of a dead man's past love.

Needless to say, my mood has become snarly and caustic the past few days because of my ridiculous response. Add that I have no way of discovering anything further about Ed or tracking her down, and I feel like a volatile volcano ready to erupt.

The upside is that Gus and I had finally gotten into Aiken's office. After Gus tried every numeric code he knew Aiken used, we finally decided to try Ed's phone number, and voilà . Before the Chamber heads could arrive, Gus and I searched Aiken's office but didn't find anything that gave us clues about who killed him and why.

Us searching Aiken's office just adds to the list of what we're keeping from the Chamber. We're withholding everything we know about Ed, including Aiken's instructions to Gus about what to do if anything happened to him. If Aiken hadn't gone to the Chamber with the potential threat against him, that could mean he couldn't discount one of them as the source of the threat.

Or he might have thought he was being paranoid and there wasn't any threat. At this point, it's anyone's guess.

However, if everything we're withholding from the Chamber all comes to light, we'd have targets on our backs, but Gus and I are going with our guts for now.

I push the worrying thoughts away and scan the graveyard where we're having the funeral service. My eyes land on Gus over Aiken's casket, waiting to be lowered into its final resting place. As per Aiken's wishes, we're gathered at the graveside instead of a church for the short service, and Gilly's will host the party portion.

My eyes shift to stare at the closed casket.

Death isn't rare in our way of life. However, each funeral I attend for the men and women who died for my family's empire always leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. While Aiken isn't a member of my family's empire, his tastes the same.

It stopped raining an hour ago, but the skies look like they'll open up again soon. A fat raindrop falls onto my cheek from the saturated tree I stand under. I wipe it off, watching Massimo and our father walk toward me. Gabe, Massimo's head bodyguard, and three other guards accompany them.

Massimo nods in greeting as they stop beside me under the tree.

"Vito, mio figlio ," Babbo rasps. He hugs me, then observes the crowd assembling around the graveside.

He looks paler than usual, which tells me today is a bad day for our father's health. I wonder how long we have until we're at another grave paying our respects.

Massimo's dark brown eyes catch mine. I can tell he has the same thought about our father.

Then he smooths back his dark, wavy hair, assessing my attire for the service—a light gray suit with a black shirt. He nods in approval with a small smirk because he knows I hate wearing a suit. Unlike me, he and Creed wear the tailored three-piece monkey suits daily; I prefer jeans, T-shirts, and my leather jacket. As our father's second-in-command and the soon-to-be Don, Massimo rarely gets his hands bloody—not that he doesn't enjoy it, but his strengths lay elsewhere. And when Massimo does get his hands dirty, it's gruesome, and his fancy, expensive clothes are destroyed.

Guess I'm the fiscally responsible brother.

I almost laugh at that thought, but our father coughs, pulling my attention to the phlegmy, heavy sound.

He has bronchiectasis—where the airways have widened, causing excess mucus build-up and making him more prone to infections. Most people with the disease live a normal life expectancy; however, for some reason, our father isn't responding to treatment. Every time he gets a lung infection, he's one step closer to the grave.

"It's a good turnout." Babbo dabs his mouth with a handkerchief before slipping it into his pocket.

"Is there a required number of mourners to qualify as a good turnout, Papà ?" Massimo asks.

Babbo scoffs, then cuffs Massimo lightly on the back of the head. " Saggio ." Wiseass.

I chuckle but quickly cover it with a cough.

Tommaso Santoro is a man many fear. He's powerful, demands respect, and is ruthless as he protects our family and empire. However, he's a fair man, not necessarily a given trait of a criminal organization leader.

He isn't soft on his sons, though. Massimo and I had to rise through the ranks in our organization, passing many trials to get the positions we hold in the inner circle of leadership. But he never holds back in showing his love and respect for any of his three sons.

He coughs agains, and my chest tightens at the rattling and soft wheeze that follows.

Massimo's face is stoic and hard as he stares ahead. He's been groomed from birth to be the next Don of our family. But he, like Creed and I, will be happy if that doesn't happen anytime soon.

Once Babbo is composed, he says, " Venite, figli ." Come, sons.

"You and Massimo go sit, Babbo ." I indicate the chairs. "I'm going to stand here at the back."

He pats my cheek with a smile. "Always our family's protector." He knows that I'm standing back so I can watch for threats against him and Massimo.

They move toward the seats, but before they sit, they stop at a couple who look to be in their late fifties.

My father speaks to them, then shakes their hands, and I assume they must be Aiken's parents. It doesn't look like any other immediate family members sit with them. Aiken never spoke about his family—talk about family isn't really in the approved 'neutral-relationship' categories of conversation—so I don't know if he has siblings.

In the past few days, I've realized I don't know Aiken as a person and who he really was. I only knew what he was.

And that he had a woman named Ed, who was his biggest regret.

That thought brings the jealousy back. I curse, forcing myself to focus on the service as it starts.

To any observer, I look like I'm paying close attention to the priest's words as he leads the graveside service; however, I keep a vigilant awareness of our surroundings.

Security is set up around the perimeter. This graveyard section has been cordoned off, and everyone has to pass through the guards to gain entry.

I had mused to Massimo and our father that maybe the purpose of Aiken's murder was to bring all the Chamber heads together in one public spot to strike at them in one fell swoop. The five leaders were usually only together at the Tower, which was guarded much like the White House. That musing had gotten some teeth, and today's security presence and protocols were amped up, including weaponized drones circulating above. Security at Gilly's was also increased since the Chamber heads would all be there to reveal who Aiken named as his successor.

According to the security comms I'm looped into, everything looks good, but I scan around again.

On this pass, my body goes taut as I observe a woman crouching at a grave a short way away. She's wearing a long overcoat and places flowers on the grave.

Only the people attending Aiken's service are allowed through security into this graveyard section. I know she would've been cleared by security to enter; however, she isn't participating in Aiken's service.

The back of my neck tingles. I feel the weight of my guns and knives.

My eyes skate over her and the long overcoat that hides her body as she crouches. She isn't participating in Aiken's service and doesn't seem to be paying attention to it or any of the attendees, either. Her hands are in plain view as her head is lowered, almost like she's in deep thought about whoever's grave she's at.

The guards wouldn't let her in even if she had a sob story about visiting her dead loved one's grave during Aiken's service. With the Chamber heads here, the assets they're protecting are treated like heads of state, and not following protocol won't just come with a dressing down; it will come with their blood being spilled.

I narrow my eyes as I watch the woman. Her brunette, shoulder-length hair falls forward to shield her face. She looks non-threatening, but that means nothing. Many assassins are women, innocent and guileless looking. Pix, the Havoc Guardians' enforcer, looks like a tiny pixie, but she's deadly as fuck. With Babbo and Massimo here, I'm not taking any chances.

I ease away from Aiken's service and walk in a wide arc toward the woman. Keeping to her back, I slowly advance until I silently come up behind her. I scan the headstone of the grave where the woman is crouched. I can't make out the name, but I notice from the date of birth and death that the person was twelve when they died.

I'm a hunter, a predator, and I know I made no noise behind the woman. However, she stiffens and slowly stands as if she senses a threat is now at her back.

I anticipate her movement, but not fast enough. I grab for her wrist and the back of her neck but only catch her wrist.

She spins around. Her hazel eyes flare. She has a sharp, angled jawline and full lips. Her brunette hair has the loosest of waves.

"Lost, little girl?" I ask in a low, menacing voice.

Her eyes flare hotter at my tone and words, and that full mouth presses into a hard line. From here, I can hear Aiken's service and it's starting to wrap up.

"This graveyard section is closed for a private funeral; how did you get in?" I demand, speaking in a more regular tone.

Her eyes fly to mine, and she looks startled.

I'm gripping her wrist tightly, my big hand is completely wrapped around it. She steps closer, drives her elbow toward me, and yanks her wrist free from my ironclad grip. I have to admit, I'm taken aback and impressed.

My body is buzzing, and my cock is stirring just looking at her. She's sinfully gorgeous; plus, my kryptonite is a woman knowing how to defend herself instead of being a damsel in distress.

She steps back from me. "I know it's a private service, asshole." Her voice is low and quiet but filled with anger. "The guards let me in."

I narrow my eyes at her.

She swallows, and the movement of her throat's long, graceful column pulls my eyes to it, making me fight the urge to sink my teeth into the delicate, smooth flesh. "I'm here for Aiken's funeral."

I pull my eyes away from her throat and focus on her anger-filled hazel orbs. "Yet you stand at the grave of another."

"If you pulled your head out of your ass," she's still speaking in the hushed voice, "you'd realize that you can hear his service from here. I was paying respects to two people at the same time."

I glance down, now seeing the name on the headstone. "Who is Fenton Fallen?" I frown. Same last name as Aiken… A possible relation? Sister?

"None of your goddamn business," she hisses.

The funeral has ended, and people are starting to disperse.

"Vito," my father calls. "Come pay your respects."

He's standing beside Aiken's parents, who turn toward me.

I notice two things simultaneously. The woman turns so her back is to the crowd, and Aiken's mother gasps.

The woman beside me starts to walk away. I grab her arm, this time with a firmer grip she won't be able to break.

"Eden?" Aiken's mother's voice trembles.

The woman whose arm I hold swears under her breath and glares up at me. Her look is ' you're a fucking cunt, and I'd love to shove a tree branch through your throat ' look. Or maybe it's just me reading into the look, with my everyday violent, bloody thoughts.

Both Aiden's parents rush toward where we stand. I watch as the woman beside me transforms from fiery anger to flat coolness, hiding any emotions.

"Eden? Is that really you?" Mrs. Fallen's voice trembles, and Mr. Fallen looks shocked.

My father and Massimo are trying to discern what's going on and my role.

As the Fallens approach, the woman—Eden—remains emotionless; however, her body turns even more rigid. When they stop a few feet from us, as if not daring to come closer, Aiken's parents clutch each other's hands.

"Eden," Mrs. Fallen sobs in disbelief. "All these years… Where have you been?"

"Not here," Eden says coldly, then jerks her chin at them. "Edna. Peter. Your presence at Aiken's funeral is a bit much, don't you think?"

I'm a cold motherfucker, but that statement—the words and frigidness they're delivered with—is a slap of shock to me.

"Aiken disowned you years ago, no?" Eden raises her chin as the Fallens suck in sharp breaths at her cold detachedness. "You lost all your children back then, but I guess this makes it official."

Then she twists and yanks her arm free from my grip, turns on her heel, and walks away.