Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Apollo
“Why do you know her?”
Elio chuckles, leaning back against the passenger seat. “You couldn’t make it even a second longer without asking, could you?”
He’s mocking me, amused that I started questioning him as soon as we left Rayna and Yordan. He can laugh all he likes, I don’t care to pretend around Elio. He’s my little brother, and if he borders the line of disrespecting me, he knows I’ll correct him.
“Why, Elio?”
I don’t put the vehicle in drive or make any move to indicate that I’m leaving this parking lot without answers.
Sighing, he almost rolls his eyes. Like I’m irritating him.
I hope I am, because he’s been irritating me since he sat next to Rayna on the plane.
Hours now I’ve been waiting to chew him out and get some information, but I can’t simply hit my brother for keeping whatever secrets he seems to have.
There’s a complicated line between being his superior and being his older brother.
I’d die for him, but I’d also punch him in the face for fucking with me.
“We have a mutual friend,” he eventually replies.
Cryptic asshole.
My fists flex around the steering wheel. “Who?”
Eyes narrowing just slightly, he shakes his head with a slow tick. “That’s absolutely none of your business, brother.”
“Everything is my business.”
“Not this.”
His voice is so sure, so final.
Unless I force this further, he won’t be answering me.
Maybe even if I force it, he would keep his lips sealed.
Whoever this mutual friend is, Elio considers them important.
At least important enough to keep them hidden from me.
Part of me respects how firm he is in his stance, the other part of me wants to throw him into the sparring ring and pull the information straight out of him.
I need to know things to operate The Outfit, and to keep our family in order. He knows this, and he’s still not spilling. I can only think of a few reasons why he might refuse to tell me, and none of them are especially good.
“Did you father a bastard?”
Elio flinches, face contorting in utter disbelief. “Where the fuck did that come from?”
“If you did, Father will be more upset that you kept the child from us than the fact that you aren’t married,” I say sternly, ignoring his shock.
“You saw how he was with Jade, you know he isn’t entirely traditional.
If you have a bastard running around in Chicago that Rayna happened to meet, you need to tell me. ”
Elio’s face shifts from surprise to anger. “If I had a secret child, I would have punched you the moment you called them a bastard—twice.”
I have to resist a smirk. I used the word intentionally, of course.
I know my brothers better than they know themselves.
I know what makes them tick, and the things that make them quick to anger.
Any of my siblings would hate any sort of negativity directed toward their children—fictional or otherwise.
“Is this connection a threat to The Outfit?”
Elio huffs. “Not even close.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Yeah? No shit.” He tosses his hands up in exacerbation. “I can’t tell if you want to know because you’re a nosy, controlling prick or because you’re pissy that I know her better than you do.”
Goddamnit.
I could push and push, and maybe I would pull the information out of him, but he’s clearly not keen to share.
And if I continue to pry, he’ll read far too much into my interest. The last thing I need is my brother and my father assuming there’s something between me and Rayna.
Elio is smart, if his secrets were going to put our family at risk, he wouldn’t keep them.
“I’m going to find out,” I say instead of relenting.
“I’m sure you are,” he mutters. “But not yet, and not from me.”
Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.
Shifting my gaze away from Elio, I put the car into gear and press down on the gas pedal. I need to get away from this building before I make an excuse to go back up to the apartment. I told Rayna that I wouldn’t bulldoze my way into her life, so I need to give her space. For now.
Our drive begins with tense silence, for about two minutes.
“How many guards do you have surrounding their building?”
I shoot Elio a look, my cutting gaze meeting his dark brown eyes.
Both Elio and Emilio didn’t inherit dad’s infamous blue eyes.
They’ve always shared the same face, and the same deep chocolate-colored eyes.
Though, where Elio has always remained sharper, and more intense, Emilio has allowed his appearance to become softer, and more welcoming.
They’re identical twins and couldn’t be more different, at least from where I’m standing.
“Enough,” I reply shortly.
“Let’s see…” he trails off, humming. “We’re a ten minute drive from their place, five if you speed like a lunatic. So, I’m guessing. Five in the building, ten surrounding? How does Dad feel about you using Outfit men to keep her safe?”
“Keep them safe,” I correct, trying not to snap. Every little reaction I give him will add up. “Yordan is there too, and he’s the one that The Casa Nostra could try and retaliate against. Dad trusts my decisions.”
And it’s twenty, not fifteen.
“But you handled The Casa Nostra,” Elio argues, arching a brow. “Abramo agreed to give the siblings to The Outfit.”
“You and I both know that that doesn’t mean they’re safe from anyone who’s dumb enough to defy him for revenge. And we have no idea if there are other forces at play, especially because of their family.”
“Ahh,” Elio muses, nodding. “That’s right. Damyan Todorov, the traitor who pissed off what…three different syndicates at once?”
“Three?”
“His own little group of Bulgarians, The Casa Nostra, and The Irish.”
“The Irish? The Kelly Family?”
“Yep,” Elio confirms. “Damyan hired them with some of his stolen money, to put a few hits out. They caught a lot of shit from the Bulgarians because of it. They wanted to kill him themselves, but Abramo and his father got to him first.”
Why the fuck didn’t I know this?
We don’t do business with The Irish, mostly because we have no need for hitmen in our line of work. If we want someone dead, we handle it ourselves. There’s no reason to outsource for murder when all of your family is competent in the art of ending lives.
But I know Conner Kelly, the head of that family. I know him quite well, in fact. Some might even call us friends.
So why has he never mentioned this?
Ignoring the million questions jumping around in my mind, I settle on muttering a rhetorical question. “Jesus, who didn’t this man piss off?”
I’m irrationally angry that Elio knows something that I don’t, but I’m also content that he’s telling me without making me work for it.
“I’m sure there’s plenty of people who wanted him gone.” Elio shrugs. “Rats have this uncanny ability to spread their disease everywhere they go. And they sure do like to scurry around, don’t they?”
I grunt in agreement.
Damyan was the definition of a rat. A treacherous conceiver. He didn’t simply steal from those around him for monetary compensation. He didn’t just trade secrets for power. He betrayed his family for his own benefit.
He betrayed his family name, too.
Because while the Bulgarians are a small group, The Todorov name was once a respected part of our world.
Damyan’s own father was known for his cunning yet fair character, and all of that history was tarnished in the blink of an eye.
It only takes the actions of one man, one cowardly, thoughtless man to ruin the good memory of his familial history.
Elio checks his phone and smiles softly.
“What?”
“Yordan made us a group chat,” he says, beginning to type. “That kid loves us already, man. He’s such a little brother, don’t you think? He reminds me of a less cracked out Matteo. I give it a month before Dad considers adopting him.”
I ignore the comparison to Matteo, because I don’t see it at all. He’s excitable, and jovial, but he’s only sixteen. Many of my brothers were similar to Yordan at that young of an age.
“Dad has enough children, don’t you think?”
Elio shrugs. “He could handle a few more.”
Maybe he could. Dante Moretti is the kind of man that defies logic at every turn.
Most people think that having more than a handful of kids is irresponsible, that you can’t possibly give them all equal love when you’re so outnumbered.
But Dad has always been able to juggle each and every one of us, even without the help of a wife.
Yes, myself and the older siblings stepped up to help out, but he never forced us to do anything.
Anytime Leon, Cassio, and I acted in more of a parental role toward our younger siblings, it was unprompted.
And if our mother wasn’t so absent, I doubt we’d have felt the need to help out as much as we did.
We had rotating nannies, Uncle Cesar, Dad, and Martha.
We had good childhoods, far better than most men who grow up in our world, that’s for sure. So yes, Dad could handle taking in another son, especially since we’re all grown now.
But Yordan isn’t his responsibility, he’s mine.
“What did he say?”
“Just that we can come get him at any time tomorrow, he’s excited.”
“He should be,” I reply mildly. “You’re making time in your busy, mysterious schedule to join us. He must know how rare that is.”
I feel his eyes on the side of my face, gaze questioning. “I thought you were pissy about me being close to Rayna because you like her, but now I’m wondering if you’re just jealous. Do you miss me, brother dearest? Are you upset that I made time for the Todorovs and not enough for you?”
“Why on earth would you think I like Rayna? All she has done is yell at me and spit in the face of my generosity. Her bitter attitude is not exactly an alluring quality,” I bite out, the words tasting sour on my tongue.
“And I’m not pissy, I don’t miss you, I see you plenty.
This is my default mood, and you’ve lived with me long enough to know that. ”
Elio huffs.
It makes me want to choke him.
“Whatever you say, Apollo.”
“Exactly,” I agree, ignoring his sarcasm. “Whatever I say. You’d do well to remember that.”
“You know, Jade finds your grumpy asshole routine endearing but frankly, it’s getting old,” Elio says darkly. “You don’t have to be so closed off and cold all the time. I’m your brother, not some other mafia heir you need to keep at arm’s length all the time.”
I ignore the stab of discomfort in my stomach at his words.
I’m your brother.
He says it like I don’t know. Like I wouldn’t kill, die, and live for him.
Shaking off the discomfort, I pull into our driveway, face set into a determined frown.
“Says the one keeping secrets.”
I don’t allow him to get another word in before cutting the engine and snuffing out the suffocating proximity between us.
My door swings closed loudly behind me, and I leave Elio behind, heading straight inside without looking back.
I have too many things to do to continue having such a pointless conversation with him.
There is a difficult dynamic to maintain between siblings who also share a fixed hierarchy.
I’m not just the oldest brother, in a couple of years, I’m going to be their Capo.
My word will be law, and that leaves little room for complicated relationships.
I don’t do mushy feelings or emotional connections for a reason.
The closest I allow is my sisters and my nieces and nephews.
Sisters need more of a soft approach to feel safe, and my sibling’s children are babies.
I treat them just as I did my brothers before they came of age.
Children never choose to be born into this life, so they can’t be subjected to the harshness that comes along with it. At least, not until they grow up.
And we all grow up.