“We’ll talk soon, Daphne. And when we do, I’ll bring you a necklace a Madame could only dream of.” I help her put on her leather jacket, knowing everything about this agreement is wrong, but it’s the only choice I have in order to keep my obsession.
And I’ll do anything to keep the one thing I need most in this world.
I open the front door for my fiancée, and she turns around, pressing her hand against my chest. “We’ve known each other for a long time, Dri. Too long, which means I know when you’re hiding something from me. You don’t want this, Adrian. You’re really going to sacrifice your own happiness? Why not go find her? Have the life you want?”
“Because I ruined her life, Daphne. I don’t deserve the life I want. I’ll call you, okay? Thank you for doing this.” I wrap her in a tight hug and then pull away.
“Goodnight, Dri.” She sounds exasperated, but she gives me a pity-filled, tight smile, giving my forearm one last squeeze before she leaves. Her heels click against the stone, and I wish she were the type of woman I could fall in love with, but only one woman like that exists.
I slam the door and lean my forehead against it, roughly jerking the bowtie from around my neck, then undoing the button from my shirt so I can breathe.
“I’m proud of you. Daphne is a great choice.”
“Don’t act like you give a damn about anything other than yourself.” I push off the door and climb up the wide, spiraling marble staircase.
“I do care, Dri. It’s why I’ve been on you about this because this job is dangerous.” He climbs the first two steps, and I glance down, tired and annoyed. “This job takes from you. This job is cruel and dark, and twisted. We like this job. We are good at it, but that doesn’t mean it’s always easy. Being a Benedetti is trying, Dri. You will question yourself, and you will be angry more times than not. That rule to marry is essential for your sanity because there will be times, days, weeks, where you are covered in blood, and you will kill many men—.”
“—I’ve killed plenty of men.” I step down, so we are at eye level. “I have ruined so many lives for this family. I have washed my hands of blood more times than I can count. Do not patronize me. Do not think I do not know what it takes to do this when I’ve been doing this. I have killed, I have fought, I have dealt your drugs and weapons, and I have claimed more territory for us. I have gone to bed alone and started each day alone. You’re acting like I’m my brother, but remember who told you about Porter’s location when they were on the run from the hitman Leonardo hired.”
“I thought we had more time,” my father argues, looking away from me as he swallows.
“We waited too long. And now I have to live with the guilt of our faults.” I climb up the steps again, feeling more stressed out than I have in years.
“We didn’t kill them, Dri. You need to stop blaming me for that. Stop blaming yourself.”
I spin around and climb down the steps to stand in front of his face. “And let’s not forget, none of it would have happened if you didn’t let a good family get pulled in by you.”
“He was the best lawyer! We needed him, Dri. You’re acting like a child.”
“We took someone’s family away. We might not have pulled the trigger, but we were pulling the strings. If he never met us, he never would have gotten Ricki off and Leonardo never would have gone to jail. It’s a circle. She’s alone. We left a young girl alone. How can you sleep at night?”
“Because I have someone to help me carry my responsibilities. That’s why you need to get married more than I did. You’re tougher than I am, but you’re softer when you let your guard down. You are built for this life, but there will be days when you aren’t. Just like that day with Mr. Porter. You won’t thank me now, but you will later.”
My father is a good man, but he and I have always had the kind of relationship that’s tense. I think it’s because I was molded to take over the head of the Benedetti mafia since I was a child. I was raised to be cold, uncaring, and brutal.
And if there’s one thing I won’t do, it’s admit when my father is right. Admitting that means I’m weak. That’s what I was taught.
I’m already tired of the loneliness this job brings. I’m ready to come home at night and lay my head down, pulling my woman close, so she can take all the stress away from me.
Only one woman would ever do.
I stop outside my studio door, and I fight to slide the key in the lock to take one last look at her beautiful face, but I brush my hand down the wood instead, taking a left down the hallway where I have the entire wing to myself.
A light rain begins to fall, and the large, stained-glass windows reflect different shades of shadows from the rain.
“Dri.”
In a blink, I lift my gun from my waistband and point it toward the voice.
“Jesus, you’re wound tight. It’s me, Otello.” My brother steps from the shadows and turns on the light overlooking the bar.
Thunder rolls outside, and I sigh in relief, shoulders sagging as I tuck the gun back inside. “Otello, what the fuck? It’s midnight. Where have you been?”
“Sooo, promise you won’t be mad?” he says, placing a scotch glass against the handmade wooden slate and then pouring himself a bourbon.
An entire glass. Filled to the brim.
I begin to unbutton my shirt, my head throbbing. “When you say that, it means I’m going to be mad. What did you do now? Rob a bank? Steal from a rival? Who?”
“No and no.” He places his elbows on the counter, sipping his drink. “But promise.”
“What are we, twelve? No, I’m not promising. I just had to pick a wife. It’s Daphne, by the way. So, I’m not really in the mood.”
He spews his drink, and it sprays all over my face. “You can’t marry her! She’s awesome, but you can’t marry her.”
“Try telling father that.” I grab a napkin and wipe my face.
“No, you literally can’t marry her, Dri. I have a surprise for you, but remember, you can’t be mad,” he winces when something from my bedroom thumps against the floor.
I straighten, tossing the napkin on the bar top. “What did you do, Otello?” I chastise him as if he were a child or a dog that peed on the floor.
“So hear me out—” he cringes when something shatters next, which sounds expensive.
“I swear, if it’s a fucking cat, you know I don’t like cats, but you would bring one home thinking I’d love it anyway.”
“It’s not a cat.” He stands in front of me and holds his hands up to stop me from entering my bedroom. “I just want you to keep an open mind, okay? I know more about you than you think. You think you’re so closed off, but you’re not. I’ve known the one thing you’ve always wanted, the one thing you’ve always craved and dreamed about. I wanted you to be happy.”
I shove my brother out of my way and prepare myself to see an animal of some sort. It wouldn’t be the first time he brought home a stray animal. He once left a rabid raccoon in my room because he thought it needed a home.
When I open the door, everything around me fades. My brother doesn’t exist. The fifty-thousand-dollar vase lying in pieces on the floor doesn’t matter.
It’s the woman who is bound and gagged, bleeding on the broken glass shards, and she’s crying.
Mable.
