Chapter 8 #2
He’d come to Saint Vale convinced he’d easily become a Night Son and that his bloodline would secure his place, but he was severely mistaken.
Reginald tried to pull every string he could reach, but that wasn’t enough. Becoming a Night Son required unanimous approval from all Current Sons, ones who still attended the university.
You had to pass the tests and prove your loyalty.
And none of us trusted Jett, so we all voted no.
Unfortunately, though, we couldn’t kill him for shits and giggles, so we were forced to tolerate his existence and the way he seemed to always appear everywhere and annoy the shit out of us.
Finally, we had gotten permission to get rid of him. It’d felt like Christmas fucking morning.
Cassian returned from the bar with a bottle of vodka dangling from his bruised hand. He fell onto the couch beside Nico and dragged a hand through his dark hair before lifting the bottle to his mouth.
“And how’s your new Fawn?” Brooks asked, licking the edge of the rolling paper as he finished the joint.
“Boring,” Cassian said, taking a swig from the bottle. “She didn’t shed a single tear tonight.” He drank for a solid ten seconds and didn’t lower the bottle until it was almost empty.
“Your last one was boring too,” Brooks replied, fishing a lighter from his pocket.
“She had the personality of a fucking squid. I’d jump out of a window if I were her too.
” He sparked the flame and lit the joint.
The tip burned red as smoke curled in the air along with his words.
“I was disappointed when you chose her.”
“Money always talks,” Nico muttered from behind his screen.
“You do know that’s against the rules?” Brooks added, taking a long drag of the joint before passing it to me.
I leaned back and inhaled slowly.
“I piss on rules,” I said as smoke slipped from my mouth, “and wipe my ass with their consequences.”
After realizing Jett would never be a Son, Reginald had approached me last year with a request. He wanted me to choose Clarissa as my Fawn. He refused to let his bloodline be shut out completely.
At first, I’d laughed in his face at the nerve of asking me for a favor. I didn’t take requests from politicians who smiled for the cameras and then fucked over their constituents.
I fucking hated politicians.
With two exceptions: Brooks and his father, the sitting president of the United States.
President Byron had done my family more favors than any senator or governor in the country. He’d helped my father bury his crimes, erase evidence, and quietly remove his name from half a dozen FBI watch lists.
Of course, the feds always added him back eventually.
It was a tedious little game we played with them.
Reginald, on the other hand, was a different breed. A wolf wrapped in wool. The kind of man who shook your hand while plotting against you.
I preferred working with men who were openly ruthless and conniving.
Still, I’d changed my mind when Reginald placed a million dollars on the table in exchange for my choosing Clarissa. He also threw in a Hamptons beach house and the keys to a shiny, brand-new red Porsche.
I didn’t want the Porsche. I only liked red when it was blood, and I didn’t trust gifts that could be tracked.
But I accepted the deal because taking things from people I disliked was deeply satisfying. And every government official under our thumb made my family stronger.
I gave the Porsche to a random homeless guy outside a gas station, signed the Hamptons property over to our housekeeper, and kept the cash for myself. It wasn’t that I needed the money. I just liked taking it from people.
The problem was that the Night Sons’ rules strictly prohibited payment for selecting a Fawn. I’d broken that rule, but I wasn’t the one punished for it.
Reginald was now missing a middle finger for it. The Elders knew better than to touch me.
“Circling back to Jett,” Cassian said, dragging me out of my thoughts. “We need to get rid of his body.”
I cut a look at Nico. “That’s on you.”
Nico’s fingers stilled over his keyboard. “Damn it, Enzo.” He shoved his glasses higher on his nose and glared at me. “I just finished dealing with Marv’s hand. Give me a break.”
“Breaks are for the weak.” I returned the joint to the ashtray before resting my elbows on my knees and leveling my stare at him. “Are you weak and need a break, Nico?”
Cassian snorted, finishing off the vodka in his bottle. “Yeah, what are you? A fucking Kit Kat?”
“Nico,” I said, my tone carrying a clear warning, “dealing with bodies that aren’t completely mutilated is child’s play compared to what you’ll be handling later.”
On paper, in the Marchetti bloodline, Nico technically outranked me.
Benny—his father and my brother—stood next in line.
Then Benny’s first son and Nico’s brother, Cedric.
Then Nico.
Being the youngest son of the boss was a raw deal because every time my brother knocked his wife up and produced another heir, my place in the family hierarchy shifted down another notch.
It was like watching your inheritance get chipped away piece by piece.
But that hierarchy existed outside Saint Vale.
Here? I had more power and a higher rank, and Nico knew that.
But if we were being honest, my word was stronger than Nico’s in the family. Nico still had growing up to do. He couldn’t be a pussy-ass bitch and lead a Mafia family. In fact, last week, I’d told Benny that he was being too easy on him.
“Listen to your uncle, Nico,” Brooks said with a chuckle, wiping sweat from his brow while grabbing the blunt. Ashes drifted from the burning tip and scattered across his lap.
Nico’s jaw tightened, but he stayed quiet.
Brooks flicked the joint on the table and looked over at me. “Enzo, that makes you sound ancient, man.”
I shrugged, hating that joke, indifferent to my father’s choices. “That’s what happens when your dad marries a woman half his age.”
Twenty-three years ago, he’d married my mother, who also happened to be my older sister’s best friend. Their marriage started a war between the Marchettis and Lombardis. A messy and bloody one.
But, as with all wars between powerful families, it eventually ended in negotiations and alliances.
Then my parents had me.
Despite the age difference, their marriage wasn’t some fucked-up dynamic. They loved each other. My father killed for her, and he’d do it every day without blinking if he had to.
Had my father not done that, I wouldn’t be here to make the world hell.
How tragic would that be?
Brooks stroked his chin, as if thinking of his next scheme, then snapped his attention to the girls on the couch across the room. “You planning to do anything about Daphne?” he asked. “You know she’s whispering Sons stories to her new little roommate.”
I cracked my neck slowly. “Daphne’s harmless.”
Brooks scoffed.
“I don’t care if Daphne rambles bullshit to her.
” I stretched out and draped my arms along the back of the couch.
“She’s probably told Blair as much as Jett did.
Daphne is scared of me, as she should be.
I also have the problem of my sister. She’d complain to my parents if I tossed one of her best friends out a window.
” I pointed toward Brooks. “Same goes for your sister.”
At the mention of my younger sister, Seraphina, I peered over my shoulder at her.
She was wedged onto the couch with Daphne, Gemma, and Adelina—Brooks’s sister. All of them held glasses filled with different shades of alcohol and were deep in conversation.
They weren’t supposed to be here tonight, but I guessed they’d had a change of plans.
I’d only agreed to let Daphne into Devil’s Lair because Seraphina begged me to. Adelina had done the same thing to Brooks.
Daphne already knew about us, thanks to her family’s connections.
Seraphina had also run to our parents, crying about how heartbroken she was that I was excluding her best friend.
Boo-fucking-hoo.
Seraphina had our father wrapped around her finger. He naively believed she was innocent.
When I clicked my tongue, Seraphina’s brown eyes met mine. And since it was our dominant language around here, she raised her middle finger in my direction and kissed it.
“Admit it,” Cassian, whose face was now flushed from most likely having alcohol poisoning, said to Brooks. “You’re looking for any excuse to get rid of Daphne. She gets under your skin because you want to fuck her but can’t.”
Nico nodded absentmindedly, still typing away. “Pick her as your Fawn and move on.”
“I’m not that fucking desperate,” Brooks snapped, already rolling another joint. It was his stress response. Dude was higher than Willie Nelson most days but hid it well.
Like me—until yesterday, that was—every Son but Nico still hadn’t chosen our Fawns.
We were being selective this year. Options were limited, and we didn’t like making mistakes.
A Night Son didn’t get his first Fawn until sophomore year. My first two had been careless choices. The first time, I thought with my dick. The second time, with money. Both had been equally stupid.
“My father would shit a brick if I selected Daphne,” Brooks said. “Her dad tried to plot his fucking assassination. She shouldn’t even be at Saint Vale. Who gives a shit who her mother is?”
“You could choose her, and no one would know,” Cassian argued. “Nice try, though.”
Brooks scoffed in irritation. “Every move I make is watched, in both public and private. If I want the presidency one day, I don’t get the luxury you Mafia spawns do.” His sluggish gaze bounced between Cassian and me. “We can’t erase bodies and mistakes the way your families can.”
“That’s the plus of having us,” I said. “We’re excellent at cleaning up messes.”
Brooks raised his joint in a silent salute.
We’d all killed. It was mandatory to be a Son.
The difference was why.
Brooks killed because he had to.
Those who came from Mafia families, like me, killed when we were bored or someone pissed us off.