Chapter 6
JONATHAN
The shit was preparing to hit the fan, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.
The Butera family headquarters, essentially my dad’s evil villain lair, was the definition of opulence twisted with a sinister edge.
Dark marble floors gleamed under the warm glow of antique chandeliers, casting long, sharp shadows across the room.
The air smelled like expensive cigars and something darker, a memory of blood that had been spilled and cleaned up never quite forgotten.
The walls were lined with expensive art, each piece chosen to show wealth and power.
My father’s wealth and power, which he wielded like a sword against everyone around him at all times.
I had my own blade raised, readying for a fight.
I adjusted my cuffs, glancing over at Alexei, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his usual unreadable stony expression on his face. He was always inhumanly calm before a fight.
Devin, on the other hand, was pacing back and forth, a storm brewing inside the hard set of his broad shoulders.
Of the three of us, he was always the one most willing to voice his concerns.
"What the hell could his motive have possibly been to give us Frankie?” Devin muttered, not even bothering to hide the tension in his voice.
I shook my head, fingers gripping the back of the leather chair I was standing beside. “I don’t know. But we have to play this carefully. My father doesn’t like being questioned, as you well know.”
Devin scoffed. “Yeah, understatement of the fucking century. But we deserve to ask questions with the shit he’s throwing at us.
All of it. That auction. The girl. I’m so sure this is part of the game he’s playing with Ferrara, I just don’t know how Frankie connects.
” He stopped pacing, turning to face me. “Do you know anything?”
I clenched my jaw. “You’d know if I did.” That’s how things worked in our world—loyalty, family, power. We all answered to my father, but we worked together for a shared goal. Even if the cost was our own souls.
Hell, as the only blood Butera of the three of us, I might not have been born with a soul in the first place. If I had one, it was already irreparably tarnished after I’d taken so much pleasure from Frankie’s body last night.
I sensed my father’s presence before he even stepped into the room, and we were all standing up straighter, turning toward him as he made his grand entrance.
Anthony Butera strode in like a man who owned the world. And, for all intents and purposes, he did.
The tailored suit, the perfectly combed silver hair, the rough-edged charisma that demanded respect—he was everything a mafia don should be.
There was no warmth in his eyes, no kindness in his smile. Just cold, calculating power. The same dear old Dad I’d grown up fearing.
“Gentlemen,” he greeted us, the word smooth as honey, but the undercurrent of command was unmistakable. “I trust you’re all well?”
No one answered immediately, and he didn’t seem to care.
“Let’s get down to it,” he continued, plopping himself down in his chair at the head of the long, polished conference table.
He motioned for us to sit, and I could already feel my blood starting to boil.
I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to face him, not now, not with everything that had gone down the night before.
“I heard you won the bidding, as I instructed,” my father said, settling back into his chair as if this were all just business as usual. He looked at each of us, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer. “So, all three of you took the girl’s virginity, I trust?”
My throat tightened. Fuck. Part of me hoped that hadn’t been part of his plan. It wouldn’t make last night any less, well, anything, but maybe it’d be easier to stomach.
Devin and Alexei exchanged a look. I could feel rather than see the guilt in their eyes. We all nodded, even though I could feel the shame crawling up the back of my neck.
“Yes,” Alexei said, his voice quiet but firm, “We did.”
Bastard that he was, my father laughed. A low, rich chuckle that seemed to echo off the walls. “I have to admit,” he said, leaning forward, his eyes gleaming with something dark, “I’m proud of you boys. You’re all learning how to play the game.”
As if we hadn’t been playing it flawlessly for years—decades, in my case. I wasn’t sure whether to feel disgusted or enraged. I couldn’t decide which part of it bothered me more—the fact that he was proud of us for exploiting a woman, or that he thought of it as some kind of game.
“What the hell was the goal here?” Devin’s voice was sharp, like a knife, and for a second, I thought he might lash out. “And what was the point in leaving us in the dark?”
Anthony waved a hand dismissively. Swatting Devin down like a bug, which was more like poking a bear.
“It’s not your place to question me, and you know that.
But as I’m sure you’ve already figured out, every move we’re making right now, as a family, is about counteracting that son-of-a-bitch Ferrara’s scheming.
He thinks he can encroach on my territory? This is the message we send.”
I frowned, trying to connect the dots. Frankie was so innocent—before all the deflowering, of course, but even now. After. She was sweet and pure enough that even our bloodied hands couldn’t sully her.
No way in hell she was connected, at least intentionally, to the man who aspired to usurp my father.
Ferrara had a reputation for having fewer scruples and far more mercurial moods.
“The girl, Francesca,” my father started to explain, smirking. “She’s Robert Ferrara’s only daughter.”
In an instant, all the air went out of the room. A cold reality took its place as earlier suspicions were confirmed.
“His—wait,” Devin’s voice dropped, his confusion evident. “You’re saying—”
“I doubt he’s been the most present parent to the girl, but from the way he’s tried to keep her existence under wraps, clearly he values her on some level.
Word on the street is he was hoping, planning, that Ernie would win her.
” Anthony’s smile widened, more wicked than ever under his sleekly-groomed mustache.
Meanwhile, I was seeing red at the idea of a scumbag like Ernie Simmons laying a single, vile finger on Frankie.
Dad went on, unaware of my building rage.
“My sources even tell me he had marriage in mind. But we got to her first. She was supposed to be his perfect political pawn, but now, she’s in my hands. ”
My fist flexed involuntarily. As if to say, Not your hands. Mine.
A heavy silence followed as all three of us processed the revelation.
The full weight of what he’d just said sank in, and for a moment I felt sick to my stomach.
Still pissed as hell, but utterly horrified at the way these powerful men used the women in their lives. The more vulnerable, the better.
“Ferrara put his own daughter on the auction block to be sold off like a piece of property?” I didn’t mean to speak the words, much less let them sound so…strained.
Any sign of emotion was seen as weakness to my father. But maybe he had some sort of conscience, because he didn’t shame me for the display. He didn’t even blink.
“That’s the business, son. You know how it works. And now, we’re keeping her for as long as it takes to really let the message sink in that this is Butera territory. Robert certainly won’t like that.”
She’s just a fucking bargaining chip to them, I thought bitterly, even as the thought of keeping her a while heated my blood in a more pleasant way.
Devin slammed his fist against the table only a foot from my father’s face. All of us knew better than to jump, even at the startling volume of the sound. Don’t do this.
“This is fucked up,” he spat. “I’m not playing along with this.”
For the first time, I saw my father’s smile falter. His eyes narrowed on Devin with a laser focus. “You really think you want to challenge me, Lay? Think it over carefully. Use that brain you were so famous for on the streets.”
Devin didn’t back down, his posture defiant, his jaw rigid. “Intimidation won’t work on me. I’ve proven my worth to you a hundred times over, and we all know how key I am to this whole operation staying afloat.”
He wasn’t exaggerating.
Though my father liked to play mind games, to try and get people like Devin and Alex who weren’t blood-tied to feel the weight of their inferiority as non-Buteras, all of our crew knew that Devin was the mastermind behind most of our biggest successes.
Anthony owed a good chunk of his millions to Devin’s planning, and an even more sizable portion of his intimidation factor to the man’s infamous fists. “You might be the boss, but I’m no one’s puppet. I’m not in the business of taking young women hostage, either.”
The tension in the room was suffocating. I stood, ready to step in, but before I could say anything, Alexei finally spoke up, his voice calm and devoid of emotion.
“There’s no use abandoning the girl now,” he said, his tone as cool as ever. “It’s not a perfect situation, but it’s the hand we’ve been dealt. Besides…” He smirked without an ounce of genuine humor in it. “Fucking the girl again seems a small price to pay to keep our hold over the city.”
It wasn’t the most moral argument to be made, but it was effective.
All three of us had been bewitched by Frankie last night—the responsive sweetness of her body, the surprising boldness of her spirit, the feel and taste of her velvet skin.
As if these erotic memories were playing out in his head, too, Devin seemed to relent.
He let out a long breath, the fight going out of him.
“Fine,” he muttered. “But there’s a line, Anthony. And you’re getting closer and closer to crossing it every day in your old age. Someday, we won’t follow you across it.”
My father had no concerns about his fitness to lead or his hold over us, so he didn’t rise to this bait.
Instead, choosing his battles, he gave a satisfied nod.
“Atta boy, Dev. One of these days, you’ll learn to play your part without arguing.
And more importantly, when Ferrara comes sniffing around looking for a real war, we’ll all be ready. ”
Sure, we would be ready. But Frankie would have no idea what was coming.
The longer the knowledge turned around in my head, the darker, more nauseating it felt.
The girl had no idea what kind of man her father was, even if she knew a particular facet of his amorality none of the rest of us could. And worse, she had no idea the kind of men she’d given her body to so sweetly the night before, either.
I stood there, feeling a surge of protectiveness over Frankie, even though I hadn’t known her for more than a day. My mind raced, wondering what kind of woman she truly was.
And how the hell we were going to get out of this mess without her hating us—or worse, hating me.
I was already planning, already thinking of how to make this all less terrifying for her.
Something in me wanted to protect her from this world. If there was any hope that I could undo some of the damage both our fathers had done, the damage I’d already done by laying a hand on her, I had to make her want to stay with us.
And somehow, I was going to do it.