Chapter One
LUCA
Present day
The continuous stream of smoke coming from my Toscano floats out of the car window and disappears into the early morning air.
I take another puff, the savory, bitter scent fills my nostrils, and my back relaxes against the car seat.
My eyes burn from the lack of sleep. I squeeze them closed, then open a couple of times.
Flecks of dried blood remain on my knuckles; I didn’t have time to wash up properly.
It’s the only sign that I pounded the face of the fucker who’s been gambling the money he owes the family into the concrete. Stupid dickhead.
I used to be a bruiser, a debt collector in the Leone’s loan shark business, but I seldom do it these days.
I needed some venting tonight, though, because of the persistent restlessness I’ve been feeling lately.
The reason behind it is about to appear in a few minutes around the corner of the white cast-iron building I’m keeping watch on.
Arturo Enzino. The black sheep. The puppet. His mere name makes my teeth grind and my muscles bulge with anticipation. Over the last thirty years, my grief has turned into a hardened, itching scar, tormenting me every fucking day.
I made a promise to Don Massimo and held my damn side of the deal for too fucking long, following every piece of advice he gave me.
Unfortunately, he suddenly died of a heart attack last year, and I stayed near Seb and helped him keep the family together.
But now it’s finally time for me to get my revenge.
That’s why when Seb ordered me to tail the brother of the man I want to disembowel, part of the family I want to erase, I agreed without thinking. But now two weeks have passed, and I’m so fucking tired of this shit.
This Enzino is a creature of habit—bad fucking habit. Shadowing him is not a hard job; it’s a frustrating one. All he does is eat and go to clubs—a quick-fuck-in-the-back-alley kind of guy. Spoiled, weak, careless, trashy brat.
My phone vibrates. It’s another message from Vince, one of the men in my crew. I put him on the brat while I went and beat the crap out of the debtor. He just texted me that Enzino is walking my way.
Fucking finally. It’s five in the morning. How many twirls does his ass need to perform before he feels satisfied? I groan, remembering it’s been two weeks since my dick got some action. It’s turning impatient.
I wiggle on the leather seat and throw the end of my small cigar out of the window before closing it.
The sun has just started peeking from behind the buildings across the street when I hear the clicking of high heels on the cement.
Tight, black boots reaching up a pair of long, well-shaped thighs.
I can see a dark green skirt and a short, open-knit sweater under the cropped coat.
Blond, messy, wavy hair, blue eyes, a button nose, and lush lips wrapped around the long, thick straw in a large plastic cup.
His almost elvish features are extremely misleading because he is an Enzino, and Enzinos are highly volatile powder kegs waiting to explode.
He lifts his hand to bite into the red apple he’s holding. I can clearly see the juice dripping down his chin as it turns shiny under the new sunlight. He doesn’t attempt to wipe it off as usual, while it keeps rolling down his throat and then further.
Fuck! I’m too close if I can see that. The windows of my Alfa Romeo are tinted, but he could still recognize the car model since I’ve been watching him for days.
He stops a few feet from his building to hand the small brown paper bag under his arm and the half-full to-go cup to a man sitting on the ground.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen him doing it.
A drop-off? Dirty money, drugs? It can’t be a simple, caring gesture.
That family is not capable of acts of kindness.
I shoot a text to Vince with a picture of the man sitting on the sidewalk.
I want to know everything about this alleged beggar.
He could be a dealer in disguise, or a pig.
Snitching to the police—that could turn to my advantage.
What would this Enzino give me in exchange for keeping my mouth shut with his family?
They chat for a short time before he resumes his walk toward his apartment.
He halts his steps again in front of the main door to tilt his head up toward the sky.
Eyes closed, serious expression as if he’s telepathically communicating with someone.
The sun is illuminating the different shades of blond in his hair and the ivory fairness of his skin, turning him into an ethereal being for just a few fleeting seconds.
Arrogant fucking prick. It’s not the first time he has put himself in such a vulnerable position.
Doesn’t he know that Jack Enzino is the most hated man in the whole state?
He has a lot of enemies—me being one of them—ready to do unspeakable things to the people close to him, like his younger son.
I’ve had plenty of opportunities to waste him—the thought makes me hard as fuck.
Not yet. I need him to lure his fucking brother in.
The brat disappears inside the white building as I grab my binoculars from the passenger seat.
My eyes quickly find the third floor, and after a few seconds, the light comes on.
All the windows have thick curtains blocking the view but one.
My gaze zeroes in on it just as I see Enzino moving barefoot toward the fridge while pulling off his sweater and tossing it on the floor.
He takes a bottle of water and turns toward the window.
His torso is covered in one of those body chains he seems to like wearing.
This has red little stones dangling down his pecs and belly button, swinging with every movement he makes.
His fashion taste makes me grunt. Bizarre and fucking skanky are words that come to mind as I continue watching him move around.
He turns on the TV before heading into the bedroom. I can’t see what he’s doing in there, probably showering the cum off his body. In the last two weeks, I’ve learned that Arturo Enzino fucks like a rabbit. I have a robust sex drive, but he’s a damn nympho.
My phone makes a beeping sound. Enzino received a text. I cloned his cell a week ago and connected it to mine. I look at the screen. The message is from an unknown number.
Unknown:
Why did you leave? I wanted another taste of that ass.
There’s a dick picture attached. This is not the first one he’s received. He never answers back, though. One-time fucks with flashy and sleazy men seem to be all Enzino likes. I’m not the judgmental type, but for him, I’ll make an exception.
I sigh impatiently. I still have no eyes on him.
The fact that I wasn’t able to sneak mics and cameras into the apartment due to the unsurprisingly top-quality security alarm pisses me off to no end.
A lock escapes my ponytail and grazes my scarred cheek.
I try tucking it behind my ear, but it falls right back, making me even more annoyed. I cut it too short.
My phone starts ringing. Without putting down the binoculars, I push the speaker button.
“Where the fuck are you?” Marco’s gruff voice resounds inside my car.
“Guess, dickhead,” I tease him.
“Peeping while jerking off?” He grunt-snorts.
It makes me lower the binoculars with irritation. I thought falling in love would mellow Marco’s abrasive personality. It did, but only toward his fiancé.
I let out a guttural, “Fottiti!”
“Why would I when I have my Butterfly waiting at home?” he retorts.
I’m about to tell him to shove his dick in a spiked beehive when Seb’s stern voice comes on the line.
“Tell Vince or Jeff to replace you. I need you to come to Bronx Park right now. Marco will text you the address.”
I’m already turning on the car engine. “Care to tell me what’s going on?”
“Not over the phone.”
Seb hangs up as soon as I reply, “Got it, Boss.”
Fuck, it must be bad if Seb couldn’t talk over the line.
Our cells are secure, but being cautious has always been our philosophy.
I call Jeff to tell him about the change of plans, then I give the apartment a last look.
Enzino is sitting on the sofa, wearing a large t-shirt.
The TV is on, but he’s looking down at his phone.
I check mine to see what he’s up to. A grunt slips from my lips as I drive away. He blocked the dick-picture guy.
Twenty minutes later, I’m getting out of my car in the empty parking lot at Bronx Park.
I hear voices near the entrance, so I make my way there.
Seb’s crimson suit and salt-and-pepper locks catch my eye first. His men are nearby, alert.
He’s on the phone, and his grim tone makes the hair on my nape stand.
Marco is giving orders to his crew, Carlo and Jo, who leave, greeting me in passing when I reach him.
“What’s going on?” I ask, noticing the severe expressions.
“A fucking mess.” Marco signals me to follow him.
We walk inside the park. It rained yesterday so there are puddles all over the path.
“Couldn’t you tell Filippo to shave your face fuzz, too?” Marco sniffs, pointing at my dark stubble.
“Look who’s talking.” I glance at his full, black beard.
“Fly likes it.” He shrugs.
Damn, his fiancé’s got him good.
“Now I know who wears the pants in the relationship,” I mutter.
Marco flips me off before pointing at an uneven patch of soil under a group of trees where Carlo and Jo are standing. My boots sink a little into the mucky ground as I make my way to the “fucking mess” he was talking about.
It’s a corpse, kind of fresh by the look of it. A couple of days tops. The upper part of the torso is peeking out of the soil. The rain must have exposed it from its half-assed burial.
“Lieutenant Casper called an hour ago,” Marco tells me. Casper is one of the many guys in law enforcement that we have deep in our pockets. “A jogger found the body and called 911.”