Ink (Hounds of Hellfire MC #6)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

INK

“ C he bella bambina! Una principessa !” my mamma exclaimed, placing a hand dramatically on her chest. She gazed adoringly at the picture of the “princess” my aunt Bridget showed her on her phone.

The baby was Bridget’s grandchild, Luna, who had just turned one. Since Bridget was actually my cousin—despite being old enough to be my mother—that made Luna some kind of cousin too, but I had so many of those, I’d stopped keeping track of how we were related.

We were Italian…baby making was in our blood. Or so my mother kept telling me.

My cousin Rafa leaned toward me and murmured, “Wait for it…”

I winced, knowing he was right, and sure enough, right on cue, my mother’s watery eyes slid over to me.

“I would just love a grandbaby,” she sighed. The sound alone sent a full-blown guilt trip square in my direction. A special talent most Italian mothers seemed to possess.

“ Mamma ,” I muttered. “What exactly are Enzo and Valentina’s kids, if not grandbabies?” My older brother and his wife had six kids, for the love of Sant ' Anna. The Patron Saint of Mothers and Fertility was plenty busy with them.

“They live all the way up in New York City, Matteo,” my mom responded with a sniff that was both sad and accusing at the same time.

“I’ll get to it eventually,” I grumbled. Though I seriously doubted it would be anytime soon.

She obviously knew me too well because she narrowed her eyes and snapped, “When?”

My mouth opened and closed a few times, and my eyes darted around, looking for an escape or help. Gavin, my sixteen-year-old brother, was grinning, and I glared, promising him retribution for enjoying my torture. At the head of the table, my stepfather, Alfonso, had his head down, seemingly focused on his food, but I could see the slight shake of his shoulders.

Almost twenty people were crammed into the dining room, and a little over half were men. The single guys were practically shrinking in their seats, trying to avoid being the next victim in the line of fire. And the married guys didn’t even try to disguise how amused they found the whole spectacle.

Even Bridget’s husband, Mac—the gruff president of the Silver Saints Motorcycle Club—who’d been like a second father to me and almost never smiled, had one corner of his mouth kicked up.

Bastards .

Finally, my eyes landed on Rafa, who sat next to me at the dinner table. My gaze slid away from him guiltily when I shrugged and said, “Rafa’s older than me. Why don’t you pester him about why he isn’t married and making babies?”

If we hadn’t been in my mom and stepfather’s house, I probably would have felt the barrel of his gun in my ribs. Luckily for me, he didn’t bring it to Sunday dinner. Well, not inside the house anyway.

“ Traditore ,” he grunted.

Couldn’t argue with that. I was definitely a traitor, but I’d do it again to save my own skin.

Aunt Giulia, Rafa’s mother, snorted and shook her head. “I’ve given up on Raffaele for grandbabies.”

“Perhaps I simply haven’t found the right woman,” Rafa groused.

“And you never will if you don’t stop working all the time and go on a date.”

“I date,” he defended himself half-heartedly.

“Taking your distant cousin to a charity ball last month hardly qualifies as a date, Rafa,” Gabbi, his younger sister, chimed in with a delighted expression.

“How would you know?” he rebutted with a scowl. “You don’t date.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glowered, “I could if you didn’t scare away every man who even looks in my direction! And that’s only if they aren’t terrified by the last name DeLuca first.”

“ Per amore di tutto ciò che è sacro ,” Rafa sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

For the love of all that is holy is right, cuz . Where was a miracle when you needed one?

The doorbell interrupted the awkward moment.

Apparently, miracles still happened.

“I’ll get it!” I practically shouted as I jumped out of my seat, shoving Rafa down as he attempted to stand as well.

I raced to the door, yanked it open, and was relieved as fuck when I saw my brother and best friend, Onyx, standing on the porch. He wasn’t my brother by blood, we belonged to the same motorcycle club, the Hounds of Hellfire.

Although it wasn’t until we were adults, we’d met through Bridget since his dad was the much younger brother of her father, Pierce. Making my “family” tree even more convoluted, Pierce had once been the president of my MC and married to my dad’s sister, Laina…which was how I was related to Bridget.

It was confusing as fuck to anyone who wasn’t Italian. Or in the family. Even I struggled to keep it all straight sometimes.

Bridget encouraged me to focus on art in college and then suggested that I think about tattooing. I’d worked at a small shop in Atlanta for a while, then landed an apprenticeship with a highly prestigious tattoo studio in Atlanta.

Onyx worked at Silver Ink, the tattoo shop owned by the Silver Saints, when Mac and Bridget introduced us. The manager, Patriot, offered me a job, but I hesitated to take it. I’d grown up around the Saints. Hell, Mac had been the one to teach me to ride. I didn’t want anything I hadn’t earned, but when Patriot, the manager of the studio, saw my work, he talked me into it. Onyx and I grew as close as brothers, so when he decided to prospect with the Hounds of Hellfire, I was happy for him. Even though it meant they stole him away to work at their studio out in Riverstone.

Eventually, though, Onyx convinced me to do the same. It turned out to be one of the best decisions I’d ever made.

“Yo,” he greeted. “Bridget mentioned Mamma Emilia was cookin’.”

Sunday dinners at any DeLuca house were a “more the merrier” situation, so after experiencing some of my mamma’s —or Aunt Giulia’s—cooking, some of my MC brothers were known to drop by from time to time. The few who knew who I really was.

“Fair warning, the mammas are on about marriage and babies again.”

Onyx blanched and stepped backward, but I grabbed his cut and dragged him into the house. “Didn’t mean you could leave, fratello ,” I grunted. Then I raised my voice as I shoved him into the dining room. “Heyyy, look who we have here!”

“Reeve!” my mother exclaimed, jumping to her feet and running over to hug him. She was one of the only people who ever got away with calling him by his real name.

“What about you, cucciolo ?” she asked when she let him go. “Have you found a girl to give me more grandbabies?”

“Ahhh, no,” Onyx replied uneasily.

She reached up and whacked him on the back of the head, the same as she would any boy she considered to be like a son. “What is it with you boys? Too busy with work or running around like fools to find a good woman and make babies.”

“Now, now, Emilia,” Fonso piped up, his face serious, but his eyes dancing with laughter. “I’m sure they get plenty of practice.”

My mamma gasped and made the sign of the cross.

I nearly rolled my eyes. It had been a long time since I’d been interested in a relationship, and I’d never been a fling kind of guy.

Besides, if any of my single brothers or I tried to bring a one-night stand or “club bunny” to the clubhouse, King—our prez—would have our asses. He’d never liked it, but he’d made it an iron-clad rule once he got married and had a kid.

“Blaze and Courtney will be having their baby in three months,” Onyx offered, referring to our VP and his old lady.

“Hmm,” Mamma sniffed. “Well, at least some of those Hounds are doing right by their mothers.”

“Don’t worry, Mamma ,” my sister said sweetly. “I’ll give you a whole houseful of grandbabies.”

I frowned at sixteen-year-old Elena, matching the expression of her twin, Gavin. Her father didn’t look any happier.

“Just how are you gonna do that?” I growled.

Her eyes narrowed, and she shot a withering stare at each of us before she snapped, “You can’t keep all the boys away from me forever, Matteo.”

I snorted. “Bullshit.”

“Watch me,” growled Gavin.

Fonso just nodded his head in solidarity. That was the most we were gonna get from him. He let her brothers do the dirty work so he wouldn’t have to be the bag guy with his princess. We’d all been wrapped around Elena’s finger since the day she was born, so I didn’t hold a grudge against him for wanting to stay on the pedestal she’d put him on.

“Language!” Aunt Giulia scolded, slapping me upside the back of the head since she’d been walking past me when I cursed.

“Ouch, Zia !” I grunted, rubbing the sore spot.

She glared at me, then smiled warmly at Onyx. “Let me get you a plate.”

He smiled gratefully and followed her over to the spread of food on the massive kitchen island.

When my mother didn’t start in on me again, I warily returned to my seat at the table to finish my meal.

“Ink.”

I turned my head to look at Domenico De Angelis, a member of the family who worked for Rafa here in Georgia.

“We could use your help with a”—he paused and glanced around for a second—“situation this week. There might be a connection to the Hounds.”

I shook my head. “Gotta talk to King.” Anything involving the MC needed to be discussed with my prez before anyone else.

“It’s family business,” Domenico said with a frown.

“Not if it involves the Hounds of Hellfire,” Rafa chimed in, backing me up. “Besides, King isn’t likely to let us borrow Ink anytime soon anyway.”

“Why not?” asked Marco, one of Rafa’s brothers.

“Don’t know,” I drawled sarcastically, leaning back in my chair. “Maybe ’cause last time you got me shot?”