CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER THREE
DAMIEN
Adrenaline’s addictive. But it fades too fast, especially when you’re looking for something permanent.
The man in front of me is good. Fast on his feet, solid form. One of my best. But it doesn’t matter. I watch him, cold and detached as he circles, looking for an opening that doesn’t exist. His fists twitch, weight shifting from one foot to the other, trying to feint me into making the first move.
I don’t.
I wait. When he finally lunges, I sidestep with ease and catch his arm mid-strike, twisting sharply. He lets out a grunt of pain as I wrench it behind his back and shove him to his knees in one fluid motion.
“Again,” I say, releasing him.
He scrambles up, breathing hard but determined.
He throws a punch, fast and desperate. I duck, drive my shoulder into his ribs, and send him sprawling across the mat with a brutal thud.
Murmurs ripple through the room. All my other men know better than to step in, to challenge but they still watch.
They enjoy the fights, the bloodlust plain on their faces.
They’re all fucking savages. And I am the leader of savages.
I roll my shoulders, barely winded. My capo staggers upright, stubborn bastard that he is.
He hasn’t worked for me long. Killan’s his name.
He’s a kid in his twenties, big fucker with a nasty temper that isn’t currently doing him any favors.
But he’s also a fighter, has had to be all his life because he grew up as an orphan.
Most of my men have a sob story like that.
Something that’s hardened them. Made them warriors.
Killan charges once again. This time I don’t move. I let him come. He swings, a wild right hook which I catch easily, twisting his wrist until he drops with a pained gasp. In the same motion, I sweep his legs out from under him and slam him onto his back, knocking the air from his lungs.
There’s a couple of cheers from outside the ring as I stand over him, heart pounding slow and steady in my chest. I feel the urge to stretch out this feeling of vicious satisfaction and control. To hold it tight, but I know it won’t last.
I extend a hand towards Killan and he grabs it, letting me haul him upright. There’s no shame in his eyes, only grim acceptance. He tried and he failed.
No one beats Damien Luciano.
“You did good, kid,” I tell him, slapping his shoulder lightly.
I yank the gloves off my hands, tossing them aside without ceremony, and wipe the sweat from my forehead with a towel Luca hands me.
I step out of the ring, walking towards the showers in the locker room.
I built this gym a couple of years ago on the compound.
It has state of the art facilities, anything my men need to train. The ring is for letting off steam.
Luca waits for me outside, while I shower and get dressed. We’re headed for the double doors leading in the room when they creak open.
“Sofia,” I mutter as she strolls inside, bright and sweet, like a fucking daisy growing out of concrete.
My little sister surveys the scene, the tense air and the new fight that currently ongoing behind me. She smiles but there’s no missing the uneasiness in her eyes. I sigh softly before stepping towards her.
“ Mia cara,” I call. “What are you doing here?”
She moves to link her arms around mine with a grin “Looking for you, of course, fratello,” she replies. “Did you fight someone?”
I nod, my gaze soft as I look at her. Sofia’s the most innocent thing that exists in my world.
She’s much younger than me at twenty-three years old.
She’s always been in this world but grew up sheltered and protected, like a princess.
That’s made her a terrible fit for it. I wish our father would have raised her differently, to be stronger.
But he’s left me with the responsibility to protect her in his death and I plan to do just that.
“Who did you fight?” she questions curiously, then her gaze drifts backward towards the men that are currently pretending not to notice her presence. They all make sure to avert their eyes. Lest I rip them off for daring to look at my little sister.
“Killan,” I answer, taking care to observe her reaction. “He put up a good fight.”
Her lips press down together and there’s no mistaking the concern in her eyes.
“I don’t understand why you have to beatdown your men, Damien.”
“It’s called training, cara ,” I correct dryly.
“Mm-hmm. You should consider less violent hobbies,” she says. “Have you ever thought about pottery? Or painting little ceramic ducks.”
I scoff, “I don’t have the patience for arts and crafts.”
She wrinkles her nose, snuggling closer to me, “Seriously though, fratello . Why does it feel like you’re always trying to fight the whole world?”
“Because I am,” I say simply.
Her smile falters for a beat, “You don’t have to, you know. You deserve peace.”
I don’t have an answer to that. What I deserve or not doesn’t matter anymore. It hasn’t for a long time.
She huffs and bumps her shoulder against me.
“Fine. Continue to be stubborn. But you’re coming with me to lunch. I made lasagna.”
My eyebrow arches in disbelief, “ You made lasagna?”
“Renata made lasagna,” she corrects with a bashful smile. “But I helped. And we’re going to have a nice meal. Dante will be there too.”
That gives me pause, “What tricks did you play to get our darling brother to sit at the same table as me, Sofia?”
She laughs, “No tricks. I think Dan is ready for reconciliation.”
That is very doubtful but I’m not too keen on smothering the hope in her eyes so I don’t say anything.
“We’ll see,” I mutter, letting her lead me towards the exit.
The smell of garlic and fresh bread hits me first. Sofia chatters beside me, a nervous hum under her words.
I’m pretty sure she knows this is a terrible idea.
But she’s also too optimistic for her own good.
We step into the huge dining room. There’s only one person there, seated at the head of the table.
Dante arches an eyebrow as we walk in. My little brother.
He and I are eerily similar, a fact that made us inseparable when we were younger, but we’ve drifted apart more as we’ve grown older.
He has a glass of whiskey in one hand, his boot kicked lazily up on a chair like he owns the place.
His dark hair falls across his forehead in an obnoxious way.
“Damien,” he says, voice light, but his eyes razor sharp.
“Dante,” I say calmly with a nod, not a hint of animosity to be found.
Sofia flutters between us, grabbing plates and fussing with the silverware like it’ll somehow fix us.
“Sit, sit, fratello ,” she urges brightly.
I pull out a chair at the opposite end of the table and sink into it without a word, stretching my legs out under the polished wood.
I meet Dante’s glare with an easy bored expression.
Soon enough the help comes in to serve our meal.
Renata has always had a knack for cooking like a Michelin chef. It’s all delicious.
It would be even better if tension wasn’t crackling across the table like live wire.
Sofia talks. About meaningless things. About the weather, fashion shows she’s recently attended, a dress she bought.
She’s trying so hard to keep things light, meanwhile Dante and I are completely silent except for the occasional hums and one word answers to prove we’re listening to her.
“Dante, you promised to take me to that concert next week, remember?”
He offers our sister a small smirk, “Oh, I don’t know, tesoro , perhaps Damien would like to take you instead. He sure does like to take a lot of things that belong to me.”
Sofia stiffens, her hand frozen halfway to her wine glass. I slam my glass down on the table, the sound echoing in the room.
“First off, you just couldn’t wait to bring it up, could you? Secondly, nothing that ever belonged to you was taken, Dante. She never belonged to you.”
His glare intensifies, “The fuck she didn’t,” he spits, shoving back from the table so hard his chair screeches across the floor. “She was mine.”
I lift my gaze to meet his, steady and unbothered despite the coil of anger within me at his words.
“She was never yours, little brother. And throwing a tantrum over something like this for so long is beneath you. Immature.”
He points a finger at me, his voice raw, “You’re supposed to be the Don and you broke your word.”
“It’s because I am the Don that I can do what I like and take whomever I’d like. If that doesn’t satisfy you, then feel free to challenge me for the position,” I tell him.
His face flushes red. His fists clenched at the sides.
Despite how angry my little brother is, he would never dare to rise up against me.
Not if he values his life. A fact that he’s very aware of.
Plus, he may be angry right now, but my little brother has always looked up to me. That’s never going to change.
“Now, if you’re done. Sit down, Dante.”
“Screw that. I’m leaving,” he announces, grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair.
Sofia rises, her expression pleading, “Dante, please.”
“I’ll come back next week and keep my promise,” he says to our little sister, his voice much softer as he kisses her cheek.
“You haven’t provided a report on the situation in Chicago,” I remind him.
“I already spoke to Luca,” he mutters. “You’re a selfish bastard, Damien.”
He walks away, the door slamming behind him hard enough to rattle the walls. Once he’s gone silence folds around the table like a heavy blanket. Sofia slowly sinks into her chair, her eyes teary. She covers her fac with her hands and groans softly.
“Well… that went great.”
I reach for another glass of wine, pouring it like nothing happened.
“Don’t take it personally, cara . Dante and I will sort out our issues.”
“When?” she bursts out. “Today was the first time you’ve both been in the same room in almost a year and it ended in a fight. The two of you shouldn’t be fighting. And especially not over some woman!”
I don’t have anything to say to that.
Sofia’s blue eyes narrow, “What’s so special about her? That you would sacrifice your relationship with your brother for her?”
“You’ll meet her soon enough, cara ,” I mutter.
She stands up abruptly, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I don’t want to meet her. I’d rather she never comes into our lives at all,” she snaps, before she storms out of the room as well.
I sigh once she’s gone, unmoving and determined to finish my glass of wine before leaving the room. Luca steps in soon after, his face carves from stone but his eyes flicker with hesitation.
“What is it?” I ask, placing the glass on the table to look up at him.
He clears his throat, “Gabriel Solis has been declared dead.”
I lean back into the chair casually.
“I see. When was his body discovered?”
“Last night. But the news was only released this morning. His official cause of death seems to be a heart attack.”
“And Cassandra?” I question, focusing on what matters to me the most.
“She’s already on her way back from Ibiza. She received the news early this morning.”
I get to my feet at that, buttoning up my suit jacket.
“Start making preparations,” I tell Luca. “We have a funeral to crash. And then, I’m going to bring her home.”
Now that there are no more obstacles in my path, nothing will stop me from having her. Unfortunately, there’s no way to prepare her for what she’s about to get herself into.
And while a part of me wishes it could go a different way. This is the only way I know how to get exactly what I want. I just take it. She doesn’t know it yet, but every step she takes away from me only tightens the chains I’ve wrapped around her.