I’m not myself tonight.
The weight in my chest is heavy. The pain inside my head is the kind that has no simple cure.
When I close my eyes, I see flames racing up my mother’s legs as she stands in the kitchen of my childhood home on the outskirts of Casal di Principe. Whenever I smell gasoline, I think of that night.
Whenever I suffer a failure, I remember the screams she made.
“You didn’t need to come in.”
I blink. Ras is sitting on the other side of the desk. We’re in my office, about a hundred meters from the main dancefloor of Revolvr, but the soundproof walls ensure no sound seeps in. How is it that I didn’t hear him come in? Cazzo.
“If I wasn’t here, I’d be climbing the walls back home,” I say to my right-hand man. It’s true. I had no distractions to keep me occupied. Which begs the question—why the fuck did I let that girl walk away earlier when I had every intention of making her into my distraction tonight?
Ale Romero. When I saw her down by the bar, I swear, I felt chills. In ancient times, kings would have waged wars over a woman like her. Exquisite face, shapely tits, tight ass, and shiny black hair that nearly reached her trim waist. I could feel the stirrings of madness inside of me. I had a strong suspicion she regularly drove men insane.
My sour mood had lifted when I saw her moving to the entrance of my balcony. I’d been sure she wanted to fuck me right there. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
Most nights, all I have to do is show up, and the women appear. That’s just how it works when you own half of the world’s most famous island—in my portfolio of clubs, hotels, and restaurants, Revolvr is just the crown jewel.
Instead, she’d asked for a job.
That had taken me aback, which doesn’t happen often. I’m usually good at reading people’s intent, but even that skill of mine appeared to be compromised after my shitshow of a morning. It pissed me off. I’d wanted her, but I could just tell she’d make me work for it. Normally, I’d love the challenge, but tonight, I’m in no fucking mood to play games.
I went off on her despite already being hard for her. When she showed a bit of backbone instead of backing down, I did something I could only attribute to my agitated state of mind.
I gave in.
Ras props his ankle on his knee. “If you’re thinking about what happened, maybe we should talk ab—”
“I’m done talking about it,” I bite out. “Did they clean up the garage?”
“Yes, the body’s gone.”
“Good. There’s nothing more to do until we get more information.” Ras knows it as well as me. Hypotheses and suspicions aren’t enough to make an accusation against our don.
He studies me for a moment and then narrows his eyes. “Then what the fuck is on your mind? You’re fixated on something.”
I glare at him. Sometimes, he’s able to read me too well.
I shouldn’t have let her leave. I should have leaned into the wicked thought I had when she said she’d do anything to get the job. Peel off that dress, climb onto my cock, and bounce.
That visual sends a pulse to my groin. It feels particularly filthy, because that’s not how I hire my employees. My morals might be loose by most standards, but I wouldn’t get to where I am by doing stupid shit like that at my legitimate businesses. Reputation is everything in Ibiza.
“It’s that girl, isn’t it?” Ras asks, studying my sullen expression. “If you wanted her, why did you let her go?
“I didn’t,” I say. “She’ll be here Monday.”
That throws him off. “What do you mean?”
“She’s going to audition for a job. I agreed to a week-long trial.”
Ras touches his fingers to his forehead and looks up at me. “Are you fucking serious?”
“I’m really not in a joking mood.”
This earns me a frustrated groan. “What trial? You know I don’t have time for this with everything going on.”
Ras is the only person who’s allowed to speak to me that way. Without each other, we’d both be dead ten times over. Plus, he’s family. Still, when I give him a dark look, he straightens his back and makes a tiny nod. It’s his way of acknowledging now’s not the time to test my patience.
He’s not wrong though. Why the fuck did I agree to this stupid trial? I can call it off, but I don’t like breaking my word. I might as well have a bit of fun tormenting Romero the way the memory of her is tormenting me now. She won’t last more than a few days. If she’s a hard worker, then I’m a fucking priest.
“I don’t want you to spend time on it. Give her to Inez.”
He arches a brow. “Inez? If the girl’s going to be working here, we might as well make her a dancer. She’ll do well with the VIPs.”
The thought of her dancing in front of groups of drunk men spreads a burning sensation through my chest. No fucking way. “I said give her to Inez. If she lasts a week, I might reconsider, though I don’t expect her to.”
He lets out a long breath through his lips. “Va bene.”
“Did you talk to Napoletano?”
“A few hours ago,” he says. “The construction project was greenlighted by Sal this morning.”
“Merda.” Sal’s going to be pouring concrete for a factory that’s on another clan’s territory. Our don is a fucking idiot. I know it, Ras knows it, everyone fucking knows it. And yet no one speaks up. “We’re going to have a war on our hands.”
Ras shakes his head. “You already made your opinion known last month. Leave it.”
I don’t like his tone. “You think I should have stayed silent at the meeting?”
Ras sighs. “You know Sal will never listen to you, even if you’re one hundred percent right and he’s one hundred percent wrong. Speaking up will only make things worse. You pissed him off by questioning his judgement in front of all the other capos at the meeting, and now we have Nelo and Vito here, sticking their ugly noses into our business. Who knows how far he’s willing to go to bring you in line?”
Our eyes meet. Yes…how far?
I lean back into my chair and look at the picture hanging on my wall. Ras, his parents, Martina, and I. It would have been a different photo if Sal hadn’t killed my father and taken his place as the don of the Casalesi clan, one of the most powerful in the Camorra sistema.
My mother would still be alive.
My family would be intact.
I would be next in line.
“He’s going to turn our clan to dust,” I mutter.
“They’ll turn on him before it comes to that.”
I flex my hand. “They need to turn on him faster.” We might have a way to turn the tide, but only if we get the proof we need.
Ras knows what I’m thinking. “I’m on it.”
“Put extra protection on your parents,” I say as I rise to leave. “Just in case.” If it wasn’t for Ras’s father—Uncle Julio—Sal would have killed me the same day my parents died. I was eleven years old, still a kid whose balls hadn’t dropped, but even back then Sal saw me as a threat. Killing me would put his worries to rest, but it wouldn’t be well received by the capos. Clan children were generally off-limits, something Uncle Julio made sure to remind to everyone in Sal’s vicinity.
I was spared.
But the first chance he got, Sal sent me away. To Ibiza.
It’s always been one of the clan’s foreign strongholds—there is no Ibiza without the drugs we provide. Being capo here sounds fine on paper, until one realizes it’s the equivalent of being in exile. Clan business doesn’t happen over the phone or the Internet. It happens in person, in Casal di Principe.
And Sal really doesn’t like it when I go back home.
I bid goodbye to Ras and make my way to the parking lot.
“Take me to the house,” I tell the driver as I climb into the car. Beyond the window, the sky is still dark but soon it will begin to lighten. We pass by the long line of green taxis outside Revolvr, and I catch myself looking for Romero in the queue. She’s not there.
When we drive past the bus stop, I scoff. No way she’d take one of those to wherever she’s staying. What the fuck is she doing looking for a job in Ibiza? A part of me is curious. I’m ninety-five percent convinced she’s just a hot rich girl who decided to rebel and prove something to her family. Grass is always greener. Once she sees what I have planned for her, she’ll run right back to Daddy with her tail between her legs.
But there’s one thing that makes me pause. Inside her eyes, I thought I saw a glimpse of real desperation. Maybe even fear.
What could she be scared of?
I twist one of my rings. When someone’s never been truly desperate, it doesn’t take much to bring that feeling on. That must be it. She’s probably just scared of getting her ego bruised.
With a sigh, I run my hand over my lips. Why the fuck am I analyzing her? Enough. I can’t remember the last time I spent this much time thinking about a woman my dick hasn’t even met.
The closer we get to home, the darker my thoughts turn. I don’t know for sure who’s behind what happened last night, but it’s got Sal’s paranoia spelled all over it. If we can prove our don is the culprit, he won’t have long to live.
A made man outside of the sitting don’s bloodline can take over the position by strangling the sitting don to death with his bare hands. It’s barbaric, but that’s how it’s always been with the Casalese. It takes intelligence and strategy to get into the same room as the don—there’s no one better protected. I’ll have to turn some of his closest friends to my side first, and if I don’t do it right, they’ll run straight to him. I need to show them definitively that Sal is no longer fit to rule.
I flex my hands. It’s a high bar.
But if I want to protect the person most important to me, it’s what I have to do.
People have always told me my level headedness is my biggest strength. I don’t make rash decisions. I don’t act out without thinking the consequences through.
A weaker man would have gone after Sal by now, but I know better. I’ll wait until the perfect moment.
And then I’ll take back everything he stole.
