Chapter 15
15
ACE
Why Are You Full of Rage?
Why do I like it? The one with no answers.
S omeone must have talked because by the time we made it to Dante’s house the bosses were already waiting in the basement.
I had the lovely job of walking next to Raven into the kitchen, while every mom, aunt, cousin—you name it—gave me a look of trepidation, sorrow, judgment, and at least half of them smiled like this was a joyous occasion.
They knew what would happen.
I was physically giving my body to her—it meant my soul would follow.
Words, after all, were so easy to toss out.
I like you.
I love you.
My heart is yours.
Words were bullshit, though, especially when it came to the time of proof.
Could you actually really own a person’s heart if they weren’t willing to physically cut it out of their chest?
Gory as it was, I wondered about things like that.
After all, didn’t Saint Valentine oppose the emperor when he married couples in secret?
"What?” Raven said under her breath. “Is this really a time to tell stories?”
I frowned. “I said that out loud?”
Dante and Ivan were a few steps behind us while we made our way past the kitchen.
“Yeah.” She shivered.
I shrugged. “I like history and weird facts. Valentine defied the emperor himself for love, figuratively giving his heart, his very life in order to prove that love conquered all.”
She snorted out a laugh as we made it down the hall. “You don’t love me, Ace.”
I hated that she said that.
Maybe at one point in my life, I could have been that person, the one to give his whole heart. Maybe it really was easier then, for me to give my body? Did that make me a hypocrite?
"Is my blood not enough to prove my loyalty at least?
” I whispered. “You know, in Aztec tradition, they would offer their still beating hearts to the god, it was the ultimate sacrifice the most powerful way to honor was to give over the one thing keeping you alive.” I took a deep breath as we made another turn.
The black basement door stared back at us.
“Should I then? Hand you the only thing keeping me alive? Would you believe me then? That my life is yours? That despite all the sadness in your soul and all the damage in mine—I’ll live for you. Bleed for you. Die for you…”
Raven reached for my hand.
One of the guards opened the ironclad door.
The stairwell lights snapped on—Dante’s flair for the dramatic meant fire-lit sconces lined both sides.
Bastard thought it was hilarious bringing guys down here for training.
At least he squelched the idea of putting bloody hand prints down it as if to show that some escaped, some didn’t and got terrified enough of the souls of the dead that they decided to leave a mark for good.
“This is crazy.” Raven muttered under her breath.
“Maybe if I talk to him?—”
“Don’t insult me by speaking to your dad and allowing me a free pass. I agreed to a pound. I’m honor bound by it and I’d never forgive you for using your tongue to speak against my honor.”
"My tongue?”
“Use it for other things.”
“Like what?”
"Praying,” I deadpanned.
“Just like the Rabbi who was martyred for teaching under Roman rule. As he died he recited the Shama by saying all my life I longed to love God with all my soul—now I finally can.”
“That’s beautiful,” Raven murmured.
“Devotion,” I said as I squeezed her hand, “is easy when painted with pretty words—devotion is hard, when it’s proven with pain.”
Her eyes met mine.
I couldn’t read her and for once she didn’t respond.
Her face was pale, her lips parted like she wanted to find words but was at a loss.
I inclined my head toward her right before we reached the end of the hall.
The door was older than the others, wood instead of iron.
After all, it wasn’t meant for torture.
It was meant for sacrifice.
And in the mafia, sacrifice must be heard by all, no matter how painful the cries might be.
The other doors were designed to keep the screams inside the room.
The one I was standing in front of was created to let the screams out like sacred bloody worship.
We stopped in front of the door.
The made man guarding it changed depending on the family, but they always wore a white blindfold, from here on out.
I would come back a new man; he would only see me as the new me.
Tradition.
He was at least six foot two and appeared young from what I could see.
“Name?”
“Ace De Lange.”
"Patron Saint?”
I swallowed the tightness in my throat. “The Penitent Thief, Saint Dismas.”
He went very still—too still.
The basement was quiet except for the hum of the air conditioning and the refrigeration units they kept for—things.
"The saint crucified next to Jesus.
A saint who begged to be saved, who defended Jesus, who used his last few breaths as a sinner—to beg on behalf of another, and hope for forgiveness.
”
"Correct.”
He held out his hand.
Slowly, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Patron Saint Card. It wasn’t stained with blood—typically it would only be stained once I was killed or left the mafia which meant I would be killed and the card would be burned again.
The first time you burned your patron saint, you entered in.
The last time it burned, you left with it.
Dead.
"For safekeeping.
”
He nodded. “Proceed.”
"Thank you.”
The door creaked when I opened it wide. The walls were covered with pictures from generation after generation of the Alfero family. Several sculptures of patron saints were scattered around the room on different tables with candles lit.
And in the very front, a row of candles and a cross.
Dante, in my opinion, had been the most religious of all of the bosses. I never asked him why, figuring even if I did he wouldn’t offer me the truth.
I just knew that there wasn’t a day when a candle was not lit in this room—I would know, because for two years it was my job to make sure of it.
I took a shift a day.
I was very good at lighting a match.
The room carried a slight chill and was too quiet for comfort. Raven stood next to me as Ivan and Dante filtered in.
Behind them, Phoenix, Junior, and Serena.
Oh, shit.
I heard the footsteps.
Braced myself as King made his entrance.
The Cappo del Cappi.
The boss of bosses.
King Campisi.
He was young, like so young it was crazy—around the same age as Junior, mid-to-late twenties, and these guys were ruling the non-free world as the new bosses of the Five Families and doing a damn good job at it.
He’d been part of my training when I was in college.
He had a sense of humor that could shift into rage in any given moment. My jaw was proof of that.
"Ace.
” King uttered my name like a curse.
“It’s been a few months and already you’re back in the fold cutting off your skin, seducing the daughter of the guy who raised you after swearing to protect her and—my favorite—not to touch her and here we are in Dante’s creepy sacrificial room, all waiting for your blood to spill. I’d ask how it feels, but I’m pretty sure you’d say fine like the honorable guy you are when we all know this is shitty. All of it.”
"You’re wrong.” I smirked at him. “Is every boss cursed with a mouth like that or just you?”
His lips twitched. “I miss our fights.”
“My body doesn’t.”
“Don’t be a stranger in the ring. You’re the only one who holds in his tears, it’s such a challenge trying to set them free.”
"How romantic.
” I actually smiled.
I respected him. Liked him.
Would die for him too.
His blue eyes locked on Raven.
“You can leave.”
"I stay.” She gripped my hand harder. “If I can carry his name, I can carry the sound of his screams too, right King?”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Well said.”
A line of weapons rested on a white table cloth behind him. A giant black candle had been lit in the middle next to the ancient silver scale.
Dante stepped forward. “One pound of flesh, nothing more, nothing less.”
With my free hand I touched my Saint Dismas necklace and kissed it. Warmth from it sent what comfort it could.
Dante’s eyes asked if I was sure, if I was really going to do this.
I hoped mine screamed yes right back.
I released Raven’s hand and peeled off my shirt, tossing it onto the table with all the sharp objects.
I turned and braced my hands on the metal table noticing the scratch marks etched in it from people who’d needed to be tied down. Not me.
Raven touched my warm back with her hand. “You don’t?—”
“Your life is mine. Your air is mine. Your body is mine,” I snapped. “My flesh is yours, my blood is yours. If I had a soul to take, I’d hand it over too.” I nodded to Dante. “Begin.”
He reached for a sharp blade and thumbed it, nodded to King. Immediately he was at my side holding my right arm while Ivan held my left.
Dante pointed the knife at my chest. “Here, I take your scars and create new ones, new memories, replacements for what was done to you, now given by what is being taken.” He dove the knife across my chest and cut. The pain was unbearable, stinging, tearing, the sound of flesh getting sliced like scissors across my chest was worse than the pain. My teeth clenched as he took some of the flesh and tossed it onto the scale then wiped the knife on the white table cloth and held it over the flame. “Weight.”
Ivan answered. “Thirteen ounces.”
Shit, that was it? It felt like they filleted my entire chest and left nothing but ribbons of skin and muscle. My legs shook beneath the weight and pain of my own body.
“Legs.” I blurted. “Take some flesh from my leg to finish it off, so that every time I walk I remember her, I think of her, of the pain, of the fact that it burns for her.” Dante didn’t hesitate, he nodded to Ivan who lifted my pant leg and quickly this time, Dante sliced.
Ivan let go of me and said a number.
I was already headed toward the ground in a heap when King grabbed the bowl beneath the scale filled with drops of blood and lifted it toward Dante. “The sacrifice is received by the five families, his pound of flesh if finished, he’s yours and she is his. What was owed has been paid in full.”
He set it down and tore a piece of the table cloth and dipped it in my blood then held it out to Raven.
Did she know the tradition?
My eyes blurred.
I bled for her.
So to honor my sacrifice she would touch it to her skin to accept it as well since it was done on her behalf.
“Don’t.” I shook my head. “Have to.”
Black spots appeared in my line of vision as a bottle of red wine was handed to me and basically poured down my throat.
"I know.
” She took the cloth and brushed it across her lips.
“A kiss to the man who bled for me. A kiss,” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth.
“To the man who gave his blood—not his empty words. Your life is mine, Ace De Lange.”
"Always,” I whispered and collapsed against her as blessed darkness took over.