Kanyan (Gatti Enforcers #1)

1. Kanyan

1

KANYAN

M y mama used to say, “Boy, you have lousy timing, don’t you ?”

Usually when I walked in on her tangled up with some lowlife she mistook for love.

She was always handing herself over to men who saw her softness as a weakness, a target to exploit. I’d watch, fists tight, chest burning, as one after another treated her like a punching bag instead of a person. First, there was my father—towering, cruel, the first monster I knew. Then came the parade of bottom-feeders who followed, each worse than the last.

My old man was the kind of man you put down like a rabid dog. Violent as hell, he spent years beating my mother into submission while I stood by, too young, too small, too fucking helpless to stop it. But when I turned seventeen, something in me snapped. I sent him packing the hard way—busted his face until my knuckles bled, shoved him into his car, and drove the whole damn thing off the riverbank. Official story? He up and left. Packed his bags, kissed his shitty life goodbye. The truth? Those bags are still in the trunk of that rusting corpse at the bottom of the river.

The ones who came after him weren’t any better. My mama had a talent for attracting men who led with their fists and thought with their dicks. Even when she didn’t have to stay, when I was earning enough to get us out, she kept going back for more. It wasn’t love—it was a sickness, a compulsion to chase what would break her.

She didn’t stand a chance. Some people are wired for destruction, and she was one of them. Her bad choices shaped me into what I am now. I don’t hurt women—not ever—but trust them? That’s another story. Women don’t know what they want half the time, and I’ve got no interest in playing guessing games. Being alone has always made more sense. No risks. No disappointments.

Until the Gatti brothers came along.

I met them on a job—messy, bloody, exactly my kind of work. But it wasn’t the violence that hooked me. It was them . The way they moved like parts of a whole, seamless and sure, each one knowing the other’s thoughts before a word was spoken. Watching them was like looking at something I didn’t know I’d been missing my whole life. Brotherhood. Family. Kinship.

The kind of loyalty and respect I’d never seen in my own home.

And now here I am, standing in Victor Moreno’s old office, staring at my reflection in the polished walnut desk. Head of the Moreno family. Not by choice—Dante Accardi, head of the Seattle family, saw to that. Victor, the former head of the Moreno family, made a play for power, turned on the Gattis, and got what was coming to him. One bullet to the head, delivered while I stood there, expressionless. I didn’t blink then, and I don’t now. Victor’s empire is mine to clean up, whether I want it or not.

My underboss Mason Ironside walks in, his expression serious as usual. “The Albanians are circling,” he says, his voice clipped. “Testing us, seeing how much ground they can take now that Victor’s out of the picture.”

My jaw tightens. The Albanians are vultures, and they’re about to learn I’m no carrion. “Set up a meeting with their leader,” I say, my tone cold, controlled. “Make it clear we’re not Victor. They’ll either fall in line or they won’t live to regret it.”

Mason smirks. “You’re starting to sound like a proper family head.”

I lean back in the chair, a sardonic smile tugging at my lips.

The truth is, I’d never wanted this. But when Dante and the Gattis trust you, you don’t question it. Watching them over the years has shown me what family could look like. Not the fractured, toxic thing I grew up with, but something forged in loyalty and respect. The way they move as a unit, the way they protect each other without hesitation—it’s something I’d never known I wanted.

And now, I have a chance to build something like that. To prove to myself and to them that I can lead, that I can protect those under my care. No one will suffer on my watch. Not like my mother did. Not like I did.

Mason leaves, and I pour myself a drink. The whiskey catches the light, fiery and unforgiving, just like the path I’ve chosen. I raise it to my lips, letting the burn settle in my chest.

Weakness is a currency I’ll never deal in. Ever. Regardless of the circumstances.

“Here’s to lousy timing,” I mutter, a grim smile playing on my face. “Guess it worked out for me after all.”

The stench of stale cigars and sweat clogs the air in the dimly lit warehouse. A handful of men stand scattered around the room, shifty-eyed and nervous, as though they already know they’ve fucked up. They should be nervous. They should be terrified.

I step into the room, my boots echoing against the concrete floor. The men freeze like I’m death incarnate. Maybe I am. For them, at least. But I am still the devil they know.

“Gentlemen,” I say, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade. I let it linger, heavy and sharp. “It’s time we had a little chat.”

Victor Moreno’s mess lies in front of me, in the form of three men who thought they could skim money off the top of the family’s operations and sell guns to the Albanians on the side. It’s not just a betrayal—it’s a slap in the face to the empire I’ve been tasked to rebuild. And I’m about to show them how badly they miscalculated.

“It’s not what it looks like,” stammers a man named Rico, his voice trembling as his eyes dart toward the others.

I tilt my head, feigning curiosity. “No? What does it looks like, then?” I take a measured step forward. My voice is calm, too calm. It’s the calm before a storm that none of them will walk away from unscathed.

The ringleader, a wiry bastard named Carlo, stands stiffly, trying to look defiant. “We didn’t mean no disrespect. It was just business.”

“Just business.” I let the words roll over my tongue as I close the distance between us, standing toe-to-toe with him. “Your business is my business, Carlo. And when you steal from this family, when you betray this family, you make things personal.”

I grab him by the collar, dragging him forward so he can’t escape the steel in my eyes. “I don’t know what sort of shit you were getting away with under Victor Moreno.”

I know exactly the sort of shit they were getting away with.

The Moreno family had been bleeding money and resources for months before a bullet made its home in Victor Moreno’s skull. While the man was lining his pockets with family funds, he was too busy to notice or do anything about the corruption that trickled down through the ranks like a bad poison.

“You want to tell me how betraying the family is a smart move?”

Carlo’s lips part, but no sound comes out. Coward.

“Thought so.” I shove him backward, and he stumbles into a stack of crates, barely keeping his balance.

The room is silent, save for the ragged breaths of the men who know their time is running out.

I turn my attention to the other two. “You had a choice. You could’ve walked away. Instead, you chose this.”

Tony starts to stammer. “Kanyan, we didn’t mean?—”

“Shut the fuck up.” My voice snaps through the air like a whip, and he clamps his mouth shut.

I step toward the center of the room, looking at each man in turn. “Victor Moreno might’ve let you get away with this shit. Hell, he probably encouraged it. But I’m not Victor.” My voice drops, low and cold. “I’m the man who cleans up the filth that men like Moreno leave behind. And make no mistake, when I clean, I remember to take out the trash.”

In a fluid motion, I pull out my gun and press it to the center of Tony’s forehead. I pull the trigger, and his brains spill out onto his friends. Rico’s head shakes frantically, sweat dripping down his face.

I nod to Mason, who’s standing by the door with a gun tucked into his waistband. He doesn’t need me to say anything more. With a step forward, he pulls the gun and fires a single shot. Rico drops, a crimson pool spreading beneath him.

The sound ricochets through the warehouse, and the remaining man flinches, his faces draining of color.

I move to stand beside Carlo, who’s frozen in shock, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “You still think this was just business?” I ask, my tone eerily calm.

“N-no,” he stammers.

“That’s what I thought.” I brush imaginary dust off my hands, before I press the gun to his chest and put a bullet in his heart. Because he doesn’t need it anymore.

“Get some of the men to get them out of my sight.

Mason nods, already moving.

I stand there for a moment, letting the weight of what just happened settle over the room. This is what it means to lead a family like the Morenos. To make hard choices, to send a message that weakness will not be tolerated.

Mason returns, wiping his hands on a rag. “That was… effective.”

I smirk, my eyes hard. “It was necessary.”

Mason nods, and I know he understands.

This is the world we live in—a world where loyalty is bought with blood and power is maintained with fear. And as long as I’m in charge, no one will dare question who runs the Moreno family.

I lean back in the leather chair, running a hand over my jaw. Mason’s pacing the room like a caged animal, his hands clasped behind his back, his brows furrowed deep enough to leave a permanent crease.

“You think Seattle knew what they were doing when they handed us this family?”

I snort. “I have no doubt they understood the magnitude of the problems besieging the ungrateful traitor.”

“It’s a damn mess!” Mason growls.

“This is our test, Mason,” I mutter, as I skim through more documents. “If they didn’t think we could handle it, they wouldn’t have handed the reins over.”

Mason’s voice is a low rumble that matches the storm brewing outside as he lists all the ways that the Moreno family sullied their hands against the family. They had been running their own protection rackets, navigating illegal shipping routes, and even went so far as to sell arms to our rivals. “They’ve let the Albanians put their filthy hands in everything.”

“Good thing Victor’s dead,” I mutter, my tone cold enough to chill the room. “Otherwise, I’d kill him again.” My fingers tighten around the edge of the desk as I process the scope of his failures. He’d made deals he had no way of fulfilling, and now it was our problem to fix.

The Albanian mafia aren’t just thieves—they’re parasites. They latch on, suck the lifeblood from their host, and leave nothing but a hollow corpse behind. If they think I’m Victor, they’re in for a rude awakening.

“We need Scar,” Mason says, stopping his pacing to face me. “This isn’t just some petty territorial dispute, Kanyan. This is a damn infestation.”