Chapter 6
Hunger
THE MAESTRO | Past
The champagne tastes like fucking vinegar in my mouth as I swirl the flute, watching the bubbles rise and die against the glass, much like the pathetic aspirations of the men currently filling the ballroom.
On paper, tonight is a charity gala, a flawless, tax-deductible facade to fund a new wing for a downtown orphanage.
George Visconti financed the entire circus, ensuring the high-society papers had enough photographs to keep the feds looking the other way.
In reality, it is a trade market.
“The eastern routes are compromised,” Vane Davenport grunts. He doesn’t bother looking at me. “If the Vitale name can’t secure the docks in the north, we start losing millions before the winter cargo even ships. Your Father understood that, Zagreus. I hope to God you do too.”
“My Father is currently not here, Vane,” I say with the same coldness. “And the northern docks are exactly where I want them to be. Secure your own perimeter before you start auditing mine.”
Vane’s jaw tightens. He hates me. He hates the fact that despite his decades of bloodshed, the crown of the Cosa Nostra is sliding toward a twenty-three-year-old who refuses to kiss his ring. He wants the title of Capo dei Capi to belong to his son.
“Careful, boy,” Vane hisses, leaning in, the stench of his cologne thick enough to choke a horse. “The position of Supreme Head requires votes. It requires trust. You haven’t earned the right to look down your nose at the men who built the very table you’re trying to sit at.”
“The table is rotten,” I murmur, taking a slow sip of the sour wine. “Perhaps it’s time to burn it.”
Beside him, Ronan Novak chuckles, though his dark eyes remain cold.
Ronan is a strategist, a man who keeps his hands clean while his soldiers do the butchering.
To his left sits old Ricci, looking like a corpse that has been dressed in a bespoke tuxedo.
Beside Ricci stands his wife, Isadora Ricci, the black sheep of her family, the woman who married Ricci because she fell in love with him and her Father disowned her.
She’s also a valuable asset. A victim of abuse who has hired two men to kill her husband.
Which means Ricci is not going to survive for long.
Now, I’ve only two men to deal with.
The title of Capo dei Capi is within my reach.
The position gives a man power that dictates who lives and who bleeds across three continents.
What man doesn’t want that? I love the weight of it as much as I loathe the theater required to get it.
It binds me to duty. It demands honor and loyalty, two things I have absolutely no intention of offering any of the bastards standing in this room.
My plan was simple: get the votes, secure the seat, and then kill them all.
They are monsters born from monster Fathers. They will not understand that whatever I am doing is for the greater good.
The political chessboard is already set for the summer.
Vane Davenport will officially retire, stepping down to let Adrian take his place as head of the Davenport clan.
Ricci is old; the cancer in his lungs will ensure he’s buried before the autumn leaves fall—or his wife will see to it.
By the laws of the old Cosa Nostra, Ricci’s daughter will marry Adrian to consolidate the southern territory.
And Ronan Novak’s daughter, Crystella, is supposed to be my bride.
At least, that is the arrangement they have all agreed upon. I need their trust tonight. I cannot risk the title going to Adrian. If that arrogant, short-sighted prick takes the seat, the entire Cosa Nostra will go south within six months.
A familiar laugh echoes from the terrace doors.
My gaze drifts, tracking the sound until it settles on the one variable I haven’t calculated into my ledger.
Selene Visconti.
She looks beautifully mine. She is wearing a soft, emerald silk gown that drapes over her curves in contrast to the dark, tailored suits surrounding her.
Detached from the violence that finances the air she breathes.
I don’t blame my little troublemaker for being here.
She is kind, fragile, and possesses the tragic flaw of trusting everyone too easily.
She doesn’t see the wolves because she has never been taught that the forest is dangerous.
Who I don’t trust is the man currently leaning into her space. Adrian Davenport stands a mere inch away from her, a smug, punchable smirk across his face as he swirls a glass of bourbon. He is flirting with her, making the skin across my knuckles stretch tight.
She’s on the radar. Her Father is making the situation terrible for everyone. The man is desperate. He’s trying to buy a seat at the table he doesn’t belong to. He needs power, and he’s willing to use his daughter as currency if it gets him a vote.
Before I can move, Crystella steps into my peripheral vision and leans against my arm.
“You’re ignoring your future bride, Zagreus,” she purrs, her eyes shifting toward Selene before returning to mine. “Adrian seems to be having a much better time on the terrace than you are. Perhaps you should learn how to smile from him.”
“Adrian is an idiot who doesn’t realize he’s playing in a yard full of landmines,” I say.
My eyes remain fixed on the terrace as Adrian reaches out, his fingers briefly brushing the edge of Selene’s bare shoulder. She offers him a small, polite smile, unaware that her Father’s ambitions have already placed a target on her back.
Adrian Davenport thinks he is the future of this empire. He thinks he can take the crown, take the territory, and take the girl. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve already placed my pawns, and he’s going to be the bait.
The fool doesn’t realize he’s already lost all three.
I tip back the rest of my champagne, welcoming the burn as it slides down my throat.
Selene doesn’t know.
She doesn’t know about the agreements forged long before she was born. Doesn’t know her Father has spent the last year trying to claw his way into a world that would happily devour him.
And I don’t want her to know.
Because the moment she learns what I’ve done, she’ll look at me differently.
Like everyone else does. Like a monster.
The thought settles in my chest.
I can handle hatred from the rest of the world, but not from her. She’s the only thing in this godforsaken universe that still feels untouched.
My wildness. My peace.
The last good thing I’ve never managed to ruin.
I set my glass down and start walking across the ballroom, straight toward the terrace.
Selene sees me and brightens. The sight nearly stops me in my tracks. Just as Adrian reaches for her again, my hand closes around his wrist before his fingers can touch her shoulder.
The smile never leaves my face. “Careful, Adrian.”
His head snaps toward me as I squeeze slightly. “You should be cautious about touching things that don’t belong to you.”
A dangerous glint enters his eyes. “There it is. The famous Zagreus Vitale temper.”
His grin widens as I let go of his hand, because I want to break it, cut his fingers into tiny, tiny little pieces, and shove them down his throat. It’s completely normal to butcher him too, because fuck, he makes me see all red.
“I was beginning to think the stories were exaggerated.” I can practically hear him hoping I’ll make a scene. One wrong move and half the room would be talking before sunrise.
On second thought, why not? I don’t fucking care who sees. I’ll have another excuse to see my Dolcezza in a black dress. She looks magnificent in black.
Red is overrated.
But like a shadow constantly hovering over me, my light brushes her hand against mine, her fingers sliding around it beneath the railing to give a small squeeze.
It silences every violent thought in my head. I look down to where our hands touch.
My anger becomes white. For her. She hates violence. She makes me sane. Enough for her.
Because Selene has this impossible ability to make me want to be better than I am, kinder than I deserve to be. Calmer than my nature allows.
The world gets the monster. She gets the man desperately trying not to become one.
I lace my fingers through hers and I force myself to look back at Adrian’s shady face.
“Run along, Davenport.” My thumb brushes over Selene’s knuckles. “You’ve mistaken politeness for permission.”
For a moment, neither of us moves before Adrian lifts both hands in surrender. “Message received.”
He glances between Selene and me. “Enjoy the evening, beautiful.”
I wait until he’s gone before releasing a slow breath. How the fuck dare he call her beautiful? She is, though, but no man can tell her that except me. I am tempted to go after him when soft fingers curl around my jaw.
My attention snaps back to Selene.
She turns my face toward her. Those brown eyes study me for a second as she rises onto her toes and presses a soft kiss against my lips.
I taste sugar and jasmine as I lean in. She immediately pulls away. A triumphant smile spreads across her face.
“No.”
I raise a brow, licking my lips, wanting nothing more than to grab her by the neck. “No?”
“No.” Her eyes sparkle with amusement. “You were being a bad boy.”
I stare at her as she folds her arms, her soft breasts bouncing up, and I can’t take my eyes off.
“You don’t get rewarded for threatening people.”
“I wasn’t threatening him.” My mouth goes dry.
“Zagreus.” She whispers and I have to force myself to look at her eyes instead. There’s a pout on her lips; I want to kiss it so bad. “He still has both kneecaps.”
I raise my brow. “And?”
“Be good to people.”
“Define good.”
“Less murder.”
“That’s a very broad request, Dolcezza.”
She rolls her eyes and takes a step backward, trying to create distance between us. Before she can escape, I catch her hand. With a tug, I twirl her around, trapping her body forward against the railing.
I step in, crowding her from behind until there isn’t a single inch of air left between us. I press my erection hard against her ass, letting her feel the exact effect she has on me.
“Am I good enough now?” I growl against her ear, my hands wrapping around her hips to anchor her right against the heat of my pants.
She looks at me over her shoulder, all flushed and red. I guess I don’t dislike the red after all.