Chapter 2
Chapter Two
PRIEST
S ecrets had a tendency to fester inside your body and soul. It was inevitable that sometimes those secrets destroyed the people around you too.
I’d seen the impact on my brother, Dante. I’d felt an impact firsthand. Over a decade of abuse was hard to forgive and forget. Unlike me, Dante wasn’t a bastard son, so he was spared some of it. We shared a father, and although we grew up believing we shared a mother, we’ve since learned that wasn’t true. My blond hair and blue eyes were finally explained. My biological mother was Aisling Brennan Flemming, who recently became DiLustro. Wynter, my newfound half sister had a better life than Dante and me, but there were invisible scars etched in her soul too. Courtesy of the secrets Aisling kept buried. My cousins Basilio and Emory suffered too, and it all boiled down to the things our parents kept from us and the cruelty we endured either by their hands or as a result of their fuckups.
But it was the deeds that were best left unspoken that had the power to ruin everything. They were like nuclear weapons we kept close to our chest while everyone else stood at arm’s length.
Until her.
The redheaded angel that made me too fucking weak. Some days I thought she was it, the only one who would ever penetrate my pathetic excuse for a heart. I’d had one taste over a year ago now, and it was enough to consume me. I often thought about her when I lay in bed at night, her face as she came pinned to the backs of my eyelids.
And then there were the days I truly believed she was my trigger, the pulled pin to my grenade, and if I didn’t stay away from her, everyone I cared about would perish. Not that it was a particularly long list, but I’d miss my brother and my cousin.
After my sister-in-law’s involvement in Ivy’s athair’s death, I decided it was best to distance myself from the entire Murphy clan. Her brothers, the infamous Irish pricks, had a tendency to kill first and ask questions later.
I wasn’t a good man, not by a long shot. I’d learned from a young age to be jaded, that some people were just plain bad. And while I believed in delivering justice to those who existed in the dark shades of gray, I didn’t want the innocents to pay just because I couldn’t have the Irish mafia princess with a soft tongue and even softer touch.
Ivy Murphy had buried herself in a far-reaching corner in my mind. Even now, in the middle of an important meeting, I couldn’t shake her.
As I sat back in my chair in my club’s conference room, restlessness ghosted under my skin. I was surrounded by five men from the Corsican mafia who wouldn’t hesitate to kill me if I made a singular wrong move. Especially after they’d been forced to turn over their half of the city and go back to France with their tails tucked between their legs. That shit show was courtesy of Dante’s negotiation with Alessio Russo—he’d needed to get his woman out of Afghanistan, and Russo just so happened to owe him a favor.
Needless to say, they weren’t exactly our friends, and in recent months, the Corsican mafia had been trying to make a move back on my territory, making plays for the ground they’d lost. Nightclubs. Development sites. Docks overlooking the river.
But money talks, and I was able to make a deal with them to keep them appeased. Let them do their shit in France, not here. Things got a bit tense when we’d first sat down, the greedy fuckers wanting more than they could chew, but we came to an agreement that benefited all parties.
The only downfall? My brother, cousins, and my papà were here too. And they were far too opinionated. I preferred to run my city alone—the way I’d always done it—so having them descend on me like some overbearing nonnas and zias had my eye twitching.
“I don’t see this as a token of goodwill,” said Jean-Baptiste, the head of the Corsican mafia, his voice penetrating my thoughts.
“You’re getting a ten percent stake of our drug trade in Europe. It is more than you have now,” I pointed out.
“Here’s an idea, why don’t we—” I wasn’t surprised he tried to push for more.
“Why don’t you spare me your ideas and fuck off,” I cut him off, my voice remaining impassive. “Take it or leave it.”
A tension crept through the room, but I refused to sit here for another round of dick measuring. Jean-Baptiste was reckless and arrogant. How he’d survived this long was beyond me. If the Corsicans valued their standing in this world, they’d have to look to his brother for a better leader.
“I was only trying to help us both,” he seethed, standing.
“If I wanted help, I would have asked for it. But rest assured, it wouldn’t be from you. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to make your decision. You can see yourselves out.”
Jean-Baptiste and his men stomped through the room like bratty children and slammed the door on their way out. Good fucking riddance.
Silence followed, and I narrowed my eyes on my family. “Are we done here?”
With some shifting gazes, my cousin Emory spoke from where she sat next to me. “Someone needs to get laid, and it isn’t me.” She cocked a loaded brow and added, “And I’m guessing all the young, married couples”—my papà cleared his throat and she quickly corrected herself—“and not so young, are getting plenty, so it isn’t them either.”
An understatement if I’d ever heard one. But there was one thing nobody knew. Sex wasn’t my first or last choice when I needed some relief. It was dishing out revenge on those who wronged me. Even though I knew I became a jackass when I abstained from getting my hands dirty— okay , maybe the correct term was torture.
Except, it had been close to six months now since my last encounter with the redheaded angel at her father’s funeral and not even that seemed to give me any respite. Maybe I needed to see her more frequently, touch her… I didn’t know, but the urge was beginning to burn, to bubble over until it became an absolute necessity.
“Not good business, son, pissing off our business associates,” my papà said, lighting a cigar and leaning back in his chair. He shook his head, disappointment etched between his wrinkles.
“I would hardly call them our business associates,” I pointed out.
I glanced down the table to see three pairs of eyes on me. Dante tapped his Italian leather–clad loafers, looking at me like he knew exactly what soured my mood, while Emory and her brother, Basilio, sat beside him, their keen attention on me as well.
At that moment, Aisling breezed into the conference room. My already foul mood dampened, and it didn’t take a genius to work out why. Even now, a year and some months after learning she was my biological mother, I still felt betrayed by her.
She’d left me in hell.
Fucking. Left. Me.
Every fucked-up thing that happened from that day forward was because of her, and if I could do to her what had been done to the woman I believed to be my mother and get away with it, I fucking would.
I narrowed my eyes on her in distaste, the itch to snatch her by that slim neck and drag her into one of my dungeons and out of sight clawing at me.
The moment Aisling’s eyes fell on me, they softened. I fucking hated that they were the same shade as mine. I resented any similarities, and at this moment, I envied Wynter’s eye color. Unlike my blue, my sister’s were green, different from Aisling’s.
“Christian,” she greeted me, but when I remained quiet, she turned to the others. “Hello, everyone.”
Her face shone with affection and love as she looked at Papà. It would seem Aisling and Frank DiLustro would be a forever thing. Fuck. How could he forgive her? Her love for my papà was tangible, and yet she’d left him too. Handed him their newborn son before leaving us all behind.
I should give her a taste of the medicine we all endured under the late Mrs. DiLustro and see how she liked it.
“Don’t think about it, brother,” Dante hissed under his breath, sticking to Italian, probably because he read my murderous thoughts.
My eyes narrowed on him and my jaw tightened. “What’s the occasion for your visit during our business meeting, Aisling?” I asked, ignoring Dante and instead addressing the woman who was desperately trying to be my mother, two decades too late.
She stopped next to my father, her shoulders tensing.
“Son, that’s not how you talk to your mother,” he warned.
“Giving birth to me doesn’t make her my mother,” I deadpanned, a clear warning lacing my voice. They both fucked up, but it was my brother and me who’d paid the price. While he was out there running his empire and Aisling was off coaching Wynter, Dante and I were left to be tortured by a madwoman.
A frustrated noise escaped Aisling and she turned on her heel, marching out of the room.
She’d barely stepped out of the room when my papà jumped on my ass. “You will apologize.”
“I will not.”
My brother and cousins groaned audibly, knowing full well when I decided on something, there was no changing my mind. And Aisling was one of those decisions. I’d rather let myself be dragged through gravel than talk to the woman who gave birth to me.
“Can I talk to my son in private?” Papà demanded, shooting the others a look that brooked no argument.
Basilio was first to stand up, probably eager to get back to his wife—my half sister. Wynter was raised by Aisling, but from what I gathered she was more interested in securing Olympic gold than loving her daughter. Emory followed, shooting me a worried look, and I gave her a terse nod, letting her know all was good.
My brother was the last to stand up but not before stopping by our papà. “Aisling needs to work out her problems with Priest on her own. You can’t keep playing mediator.”
“She’s fragile.” Dante and I scoffed. It was the way he chose to see her, but there was nothing fragile about Aisling Brennan—or was it Flemming? Whatever the fuck she wanted to call herself was not my problem, but I sure as shit wouldn’t think of her as a DiLustro. I didn’t need yet another thing binding us together. “I won’t tolerate you two ganging up on her.”
I shrugged. “I’d prefer it if we never saw her again.”
“We don’t gang up on her, Papà,” Dante chimed in. “We barely ever see her.”
Thank fuck.
Dante was a replica of our father. In a way, so was I, except for the blond hair and blue eyes. The three of us shared the proud DiLustro nose and we were all about the same height. Papà’s face had gained a lethal edge over the years, giving him a harsh look, and the same could be said about Dante.
“Give us a moment, Dante, will you? Let Papà berate me in peace.”
My brother exhaled but left without another word. If I asked him to stay, he would, but I knew with his recent reconciliation with Juliette, he hated being away from her. Besides, I didn’t need a sidekick.
I held my papà’s gaze as my brother excused himself, never faltering or flinching. After all, I was a pro at keeping my demons under lock. So was my brother, although there was one thing he was spared. I wasn’t so lucky.
“You need to work out your problems with your mother.” He jumped straight to the point. “It’s not just about you anymore; you need to think about your sister and what’s best for the future of this family. It breaks Aisling’s heart every time you push her away.”
My expression remained the same. “That’s easily remedied. Tell her to stay away.”
“How about you stop beating around the bush and tell me what your problem with her is, son.”
“I don’t have a problem?” That wasn’t supposed to come out as a question.
“No objections about your mother, then?”
Aisling’s presence triggered something I didn’t like to think about. The period when Dante and I were left to our own devices—when there was no safety.
“None whatsoever,” I answered. As long as she stays the fuck away from me , were the words I chose to keep to myself. For now.
“Good, good.” Papà rubbed his hands, taking my words at face value. His mistake, not mine. “Now, I want to talk to you about something else.” I raised a brow, waiting for him to continue. “I know you’re young and marriage is the furthest thing from your mind”—Jesus fucking Christ, could this day get any worse?—“but with the Corsicans constantly testing the strength of the Syndicate in Philly, it’s important we forge an alliance.”
Despite my desire to never settle down and be forced to endure the bullshit that came with marriage, I knew that I’d eventually have to. I just thought I’d have another decade… or three. As the men of the DiLustro family, the goal was always to rule New York, Chicago, and Philadelphia.
Basilio’s marriage to Wynter had been a surprise, but it wasn’t until Dante married Juliette that whispers of arranged marriages for Emory and me started. Killian already had his sights on Emory, or maybe it was the other way around—I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t care enough to ask.
As for my future wife… I wouldn’t be going there.
I gritted my teeth as I tried to picture a woman on my arm, but only red hair and full lips flashed through my mind. There was just one problem… If I married her, she was bound to learn my darkest secrets. And when she did, she’d look at me and see the truth. She’d be disgusted.
It was something I couldn’t allow.
“I’ll handle my own marriage,” I snapped, then pushed away from the table and left without another word.