Chapter 7 Ryder
Ryder
Sightlessly, I stared at the coffin as it was lowered into the ground, not feeling the icy chill of the wind that blew around me.
Aurelio was being laid to rest between his mother and his late wife.
Generations of the Bianchis, all in their own tombs, were lined up all the way back to the first of their patriarchs to make America their home.
There was plenty of room for Amadea and her sister, plots reserved for them and what Aurelio thought would one day be Kane and me beside his daughters.
Our supposed future children and grandchildren.
How hard would Aurelio roll over in his grave when he realized that his daughters would be the last of his line to fill the cemetery?
There would be no Bianchi heir coming from either Amadea or her older sister, at least none that Kane or I fathered.
Aurelio’s passing from a massive heart attack in his sleep—or so the coroner’s report proclaimed—didn’t come as a surprise to anyone, least of all his daughters.
He’d been in bad health for years, something I was well aware of, because I was the one who had slowly poisoned him.
With each family dinner I was forced to attend with Amadea and her parents, I slipped a little something into the old bastard’s whiskey glass.
Powerful men in tailored suits stood with their wives, all dressed in black, their jewelry understated but still broadcasting status, there to pay their last respects.
More likely to confirm for themselves that the rat bastard was truly dead.
Dark glasses hid their eyes as they bowed their heads while the priest gave the final rites.
Kane stood on my right, his shoulder grazing mine, grounding me.
It took true willpower not to spit on the casket in front of everyone.
On either side of us stood our wives, dressed in designer black dresses, each of them dabbing at their dry eyes, as if they even had hearts that could mourn.
For dramatics, they released the occasional little hiccups that sounded like weak sobs thrown in for added effect.
Christ, I wanted to puke every time I looked at either of them.
Behind Raffaella was Kane’s mother, who was dutifully consoling her daughter-in-law.
His father kept a half foot of distance between himself and his wife, his coat, like that of every other man in attendance, doing a good job of concealing the gun beneath.
Cullum stood behind me with Amadea, but not at my back.
Even as out of it as I’d been the last few months, I wouldn’t ever let that motherfucker directly behind me.
With Bianchi’s death, we were one step closer to this years-long game finally being over.
Kane and I had already been running his territory and business, but with his passing, not a single person could question our authority over his assets.
His wealth, status, power were now ours.
And soon, we would burn it all to the ground.
Not soon enough.
Even one day had been too long. I never should have married Amadea. It might not have been the quickest path, but back then, it had appeared to be the easiest. I should have remembered that easy didn’t mean better, and in this case, it had come with a steep penalty.
It had cost me Vega.
Ten weeks. That was how long it had been since I’d last held my star. Ten excruciating weeks since I’d heard her laugh, nuzzled against her, smelled her. I wouldn’t last another one. If I didn’t touch her soon, I was—
Kane bumped his shoulder into mine, jarring me out of my inner misery and the plan I was already mapping out to end the crushing agony of being without my goddamn soul.
Blinking the world into focus, I realized that people were starting to leave, and that meant shaking hands, accepting condolences, pretending I wasn’t an empty, rotting shell.
Amadea and Raffaella played the part of perfect, grieving daughters as a procession of guests shook our hands, offering their fake condolences before returning to their cars.
The women sniffled, heads kept bowed to hide the fact that their eyes were bone-dry.
Their “Thank you for coming. Papa would have been honored by your presence” was repeated, and even I was mildly convinced by the amount of wobble they forced into their voices.
For the most part, I tuned them out, shaking hands, grunting in answer to the random questions thrown around. Disrespectful? Probably. Did I fucking care? Not even a little. If someone wanted to pop me in the head with a bullet, I’d probably kneel and let them do it.
I didn’t need this shit—the power, the money, the so-called freaking honor. It was all a damn joke anyway. Together, Kane and I were now the second strongest family in the country, and I didn’t want it.
At one point, I thought I had. Somewhere along the way, while I was telling myself I was doing it for Vega and our future, I got it twisted in my head.
No matter how often I told myself everything I did was to keep Vega safe, a sick part of me had been more focused on one-upping the sadistic bastard who was my father.
He’d known I was his son for years, and he’d still left me to rot in that state-funded group home. His spies knew the abuse I’d gone through, the nightmare that was my life before Vega became my guiding star in the darkest nights. And he’d done nothing.
Cullum had called it a trial, a test to prove my worth. As if I’d needed to prove my worth before he could accept me into his family.
As I’d moved up in the ranks, became friends with Kane, wined and dined Amadea and her father, I’d seen the look in Cullum’s eyes. Reluctant respect mixed in with greed for more power. That ruthless need to control everything bled over into me.
I wanted the control more than the money or the status. That ability to make every person around me bend to my every command.
And now that I looked back, I could see that I’d been controlling Vega. Her job, her time, each and every aspect of her life, was at my discretion. I was her best friend, knew all of her weaknesses and used them to my advantage.
Even her relationship with Kane. I’d introduced them, knowing he would be just as enthralled by her as I was. Her guilt in falling for him, I used to my advantage as well.
She was a puppet, and I was her master. Manipulating her and calling it love. Confining her on the edges of a world I kept telling myself I would make her queen of, while planning a wedding to another woman. Holding her heart hostage, knowing I’d never let her go.
Vega finally saw it, the real me that I’d been hiding. That was why she’d left. Me. I was the problem. I was the source of her pain. She left us because I was a monster who hurt her, degraded her, made her feel like nothing.
All along, I’d been becoming Cullum. I’d just refused to acknowledge it.
One minute, I was standing by the gravesite, and the next, we were back at the Bianchi mansion.
I didn’t remember a single moment. Cars lined the driveway, reminding me that the repast was already underway.
I squeezed the bridge of my nose, breathing in slowly.
My head was pounding, and I just wanted to lock myself in my room with a bottle of whatever liquor I could get my hands on.
Once the women were out of the back of the limo, Kane motioned for the driver to shut the door. Hitting the locks, my best friend grabbed my shoulder, his brown eyes intense as they studied me. “I need you to trust me.”
I cocked a brow at him. “You think I don’t trust you?”
Fuck, he was all I had left. Kane was the only person I trusted, not just with my life, but with Vega’s, not that either of us had done a stellar job of taking care of her.
“What I think is that you’ve been checked out since we realized Vega left us. And today, I need you to be present. To keep your goddamn eyes open and, above everything else, trust me.” He tapped his hands to both my cheeks. “Say you trust me, Ryder.”
“I fucking trust you, Kane.”