Chapter 19
Loud voices fill the foyer as I step inside my father’s mansion.
Vincent Marino is the head of our Mafia family and an uncle of the Varro’s family Don, Lorenzo Varros, with whom we have an excellent relationship despite his ruthless reputation.
I disregard the raised eyebrow of my father’s right-hand man, Massio, and swing open the dining room door.
My father’s dark gaze slices toward me, but I ignore him and take my place beside him. He’s as commanding as ever. He was young when he had me and Tommy, and he continues to remind us we should be surrounded by a brood of heirs, much like he was at our age. He styles his silver hair to perfection, leaving his white shirt open at the top to expose his muscular form. His distinctive trademark is the way he rolls up his shirt sleeves, exposing his tanned skin and tattoos.
Women fall to their feet to please him, literally.
Our father has a taste for submissives, and while I’ve never delved into that world myself, I can appreciate the power you wield over someone with an act of praise or degradation. I shift in my chair, knowing I’m probably more like my father than I care to admit.
He glances at his watch.
“I text,” I grunt out.
“Papa doesn’t like technology. He’s getting old.” Rocco chides, with a smug grin across his face, then sits forward in his chair and raises his voice several octaves as if our father is hard of hearing. “Isn’t that right, Papa? You. Don’t. Like. Technology.”
Our father gifts Rocco with a sharp smack to the back of the head. “Shut the fuck up, you cocky little bastard.”
“You’re right. I am a bastard.” Rocco slumps back in his chair, and I wait for him to continue with his childish behavior. “A poor little bastard child.”
I dig into the lasagna, ignoring my little brother’s jest while my father’s eyes bore into me.
“No explanation?”
“No,” I respond.
“He was probably balls deep in some slut, Papa.” My gaze snaps up to Rocco’s, who rests back in his chair lazily, watching me with fixation, goading. He wears his signature leather jacket, much to our father’s detest, and with one arm draped over our brother Tommy’s vacant seat, a knowing grin fills his face that tells me he knows more than I’d have liked him to know. The smug little bastard knows about Ellie, there’s no doubt about that.
Trying to rein in my temper at him referring to my little doll as a slut, I take a deep breath and slowly wipe the corners of my mouth with my napkin, my deadly glare not leaving his, promising him retribution for his remark.
As if sensing the demise of his youngest son, my father chimes in. “I heard you let all of Oliver’s staff go. Even Doctor Philips.”
Slowly, I turn to face my father, and he sits back in his chair. It should piss me off that my father and brother know my personal business, but in the Mafia, there’s a need to know every-fucking-thing about everyone, including your own family.
Like I know my younger brother’s obsession with the enemy’s wife, despite him being promised to a Mafia princess.
“I did,” I reply, unwilling to discuss Oliver further.
My father drags a calculating finger over his bottom lip, watching, waiting for an explanation.
He’ll be waiting a long fucking time. I’ve always followed my father’s instructions with Oliver, and none have worked despite him constantly informing me the experience he has in raising children. “I raised my family alone,” he adds, as if reading my thoughts.
Rocco scoffs, pulling the attention away from me.
“I’d hardly call it alone. You’ve had a bunch of wives, whores, and nannies to help you.” He shrugs.
My father lifts his shoulder, then waves his hand at Rocco as if batting away his comment. “The whores didn’t come near you boys.”
This pulls my attention and pisses me off. “Apart from when you had us fuck them,” I grit out.
I lost my virginity at thirteen years old to one of my father’s whores. It was in his bid to forge me into a made man, and the same day, he had me put a bullet in her pretty little head for not forcing me to come.
He sees women as disposable and has always encouraged us to feel the same way.
“And kill them.” Rocco smiles manically as he draws his signature knife from his belt. The same knife that killed our father’s last wife for attempting to seduce him.
Our father locks eyes with the blade. “Mmm, you can’t trust any of them.”
Rocco rolls his eyes at his words. “What about Nancy? You liked her.”
Our father shuffles from side to side. As always, he squirms when he discusses Nancy. Out of all the women to enter his bed, Nancy was the only one he felt anything for, even if he refuses to admit it. His actions tell us everything. He still provides for her son, Robert, even though the scrounging little bastard never visits. He’s a couple of months younger than me, yet worlds away from Mafia life. The little prick lives off the money from our family’s legacy, though, while becoming a raging alcoholic insurance broker. The last I heard, he was married with a young daughter.
My father’s gaze lands back on me, and I grit my teeth, waiting for his next words. “This girl you’re shacked up with, does she know the score?”
“No.” I turn my attention back to my plate.
“Mmm.” His low hum and question irritate me, and my skin prickles with a need to destroy something. Instead, I simply clench my teeth to refrain from causing irreversible damage.
“She’s clearly important to you. Do you think you should explain—”
I cut him off with a menacing look. “No.”
He nods. “Very well. But when she finds out—”
“She’s mine,” I bite out, pissed I’m showing my hand much sooner than I anticipated.
Rocco throws his head back on an obnoxious chuckle, and I seethe with anger. “I don’t know what the fuck you find so funny, little brother.” I raise an eyebrow, daring him to continue. He swallows thickly and shakes his head, as if banishing his amusement.
He knows I’m well aware of his activities and the lengths he’s going in order to ensnare and manipulate the girl in question. The one he’s so obsessed with, he would create a war over. He knows I could end it all before he even dips his dick in her cunt again.
“Knock her up, then.” My father grins back at me.
“I intend on it.” I smile back, just as menacing. My brother’s lip twitches, telling me he’s planning on doing the same damn thing with his girl, and I exhale, knowing the shitstorm that’s going to bring with it.
“I want you both at the Halloween party this year, no excuses.” My father points at me, knowing how much I detest these public events, but when visions of Ellie dressed as a schoolgirl flood my mind, for the first time ever, I’m actually on board with the idea, so I give him a firm nod, and he eases back into his chair.
“Now, about this fucking warehouse!” he bellows, slamming his fist on the table, his erratic behavior not surprising to me or Rocco, who sits toying with the tip of his knife. “I want the informants found and their skin hanging on the warehouse gates.”
“That might raise eyebrows.” Rocco sits forward.
“I don’t give a fuck,” our father snipes out, then pushes back in his chair to stand and throws his napkin onto the table like a spoiled child. “Deal with it. I have somewhere to be.”
He slams the door shut behind him, and I relax back into my chair.
“Kai’s confident we have a target,” I inform Rocco.
He sits forward, excitement rolling off him in waves. “Yeah?”
I dab my napkin to the side of my lips, and he watches on with humor in his eyes. Being so much younger than me, the kid was brought up different. He lacks table manners, for a start. Our father would have never let me wear a leather jacket, let alone at the dinner table.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
I narrow my eyes. “What thing?”
“Where you’re deep in thought.” I shrug off the accusation. “So, when do I get to play?” Rocco licks his lips, and if I was a better man, a better brother, I’d be concerned about his passion for torture, but something tells me it will come in handy for him.
“Kai will give us a heads-up. In the meantime, Darryl Davis.” Rocco’s eyebrows rise at the name. “I want his school changed. I don’t want him anywhere near Ellie.”
“I heard he broke his nose.” He chuckles.
“He’s lucky I didn’t break his fucking neck.”
Rocco stares at his knife. “You want him roughed up a little more?”
“No. I don’t want any more attention coming from that family. Nor should you.” I stare at him pointedly.
“Hmm, you’re probably right.”
I place my knife and fork on my plate. “I mean it, Rocco. You need to ensure you have this shit under control.” Anger builds inside me. Of all the fucking women he could fall for, it had to be her.
“I’m not giving her up,” he spits out with confidence in his tone.
I swallow thickly. Our younger brother asks for nothing. Whereas Tommy barely has any input in our family and Ricardo fucked off to join a MC we’re not meant to know about, Rocco has stood by my side. He’s stepped up from the moment he became a teenager, taking on extra responsibilities and duties his brothers so easily shirked, and I couldn’t be prouder.
“Very well. Then do what you have to do.” I give him a firm nod, determined to stand by my little brother. We’ll battle the war coming our way because he deserves it.
He deserves our loyalty.
Rocco’s shoulders relax at my support, and I choose that moment to divert the conversation back to me and Ellie. “Rosalita said she needs softness.” I exhale heavily. “I’m not soft.” Irritation bubbles inside me, knowing I’m not everything she desires. I want nothing more than to be the man she not only deserves, but the man she cannot be without. I want to be her everything, like she’s quickly becoming mine.
“No shit.” Rocco laughs, and I glare at him, my fingers itching to pull my weapon and have him pay for his insult, no matter how useful he is. Then his face falls serious. “You need to take her on a date.” He points toward me and smiles while I narrow my eyes. A date?
I don’t fucking date. I simply take what I want, when I want it.
“Yeah, with that empty expression, I’m guessing you never went on a date, am I right?”
“There’s no reason for that shit.” I wave my hand at him nonchalantly.
Then he sits forward and his serious gaze drills into mine. “Trust me. Take her out, it’ll have her feeling all special. Then boom, she falls madly in love with you and accepts all your shit.”
It all sounds too easy, that’s too easy. My little doll has a lot to overcome, so maybe a date would help her become more accepting of the situation. I muse over his words while my mind whirls a mile a minute, coming up with ideas.
Then without giving Rocco another word, I push back in my chair and stride toward the door, eager to get back to my little doll, but a foreign feeling of guilt churns away inside me, clawing to get out.
If she finds out the truth, it will hurt her, and I’m not sure how I will make it right. Sucking on my cock will not cut it.
A date might help soften the blow.
For now, I banish the notion and stride through the foyer with determination.
I need her full with my baby, then I’ll get to keep her.
Our own little family.
My perfect little possessions.