Chapter 3
Alessio
Lack of sleep and the dry desert air have my eyes burning when I emerge from the cell past noon.
The abandoned copper mine was converted for this sort of work many years ago, when my great-grandfather became Capo after he skinned his predecessor and claimed the West for our family.
He was a demented son of a bitch from all I’ve heard of him.
No surprise there. He was a De Luca. Ruthlessness is in our blood.
Far from the touristy side of Las Vegas, the local cops know better than to come here, and while the FBI can be a problem now and then, they don’t know of this place.
The guard on duty is an initiate. He’s only a few years younger than me, but I had more hatred in my heart at nine than this boy ever will.
He had stared at the three-headed wolf tattoo across my throat with covetous eyes when I had arrived.
He won’t be worthy of that until he takes the oath… if he proves himself worthy at all.
The shock on his face seeing me covered from head to toe in blood is comical.
The traitor got what he deserved in my opinion, but perhaps I’ve been a bit more bloodthirsty of late.
All my rage toward Morelli is forcibly channeled into my work instead of revenge.
“Left a mess with that one,” I tell him, knowing he’s been listening to the screams for the past six hours.
“Clean it up and dispose of his car.” I walk on without waiting for his response.
He’ll learn his place in the Trio or die, same as the rest of us.
Armando is waiting by his car to drive me home, unimpressed by my bloodbath. “I just had the fucking interior cleaned. I should’ve brought towels.”
“It’s mostly dry now,” I reply with a shrug. “You’ve seen me looking worse.”
“Fine, get in. Wouldn’t want you to be late for the ball, Cinderella,” my best friend jokes.
“Fuck the betrothal dinner and Nico Morelli’s little brat of a sister. I need some sleep,” I say, slipping down into the soft leather seat and grateful for the blast of cool air as he revs the Charger’s engine.
“You do, but you’ll still go.”
“You talk too much, Armando.”
He laughs, unafraid because he knows I have no wish to harm him, no more than I’d harm my little brother or my sisters.
I may be a demon, but I’m loyal to my family.
Even if I never liked my older brother Sil, that fucking psycho, blood still cries out for blood.
It makes us look weak, having to swallow his death and shake hands with our enemies.
“Your father said to bring you home, and I am nothing if not a dutiful soldier.” Yes, he is and, when I’m Capo, I’ll reward Armando and his father for their loyalty. But, that won’t be for many years since my father will probably live a long while. Unfortunately.
It’s still strange to think about my change in status with Sil, Jr. gone. Las Vegas would’ve been weaker with him at its head. He got off on tormenting women instead of making our real enemies tremble with fear.
It’s better that he’s no more than the dust that irritates my eyes today.
It would be better still if I could put his killer in the ground next to him.
Instead, I get his sister in my bed.
“Nico loves his little sister. If you’ve ever seen either of those Morelli sons around her, it’s obvious. Never shy away from a weakness to exploit,” my father had told me when he’d shared my wedding plans with me. “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”
“Two fucking years? I prefer things hotter than that. Gia and Sofia are my sisters, but I will never bow to their future husbands. Me fucking his sister won’t stop Morelli from being a cold, murdering bastard as needed, a thorn in our side when it suits him, and it won’t avenge my brother.”
“I crave vengeance, too, but I believe Nico’s love for his sister runs a little deeper than your polite tolerance of your half-sisters.”
I know what he wants from me. Make her suffer and Nico will suffer; that’s my father’s idea of revenge. I’d rather just skin the bastard responsible and show the Trio that no one kills a De Luca and lives to smile in our faces over it.
An hour later, Armando drops me off. “Don’t you want to come in and watch my torment?” I ask.
“A good soldier knows his place, and it's not at his Capo's table every night,” he replies, an edge to his tone I wouldn’t expect. “Besides, I’ve got a girl waiting at Torque who wants to congratulate me on my last race.” He pairs that with his familiar smirk.
Smug fucker. He’ll find his entertainment with women who can handle what he’s giving, not some little virgin schoolgirl I’m not permitted to touch for two years.
I’ve barely set foot inside the mansion when my stepmother intercepts me. “The Morellis arrived two hours ago, Alessio. Your future wife and her mother have been shown to one of the guest rooms to refresh themselves while your father and hers speak in his office.”
“Fantastic.”
“Your father was growing impatient.”
“I’ve been doing my father’s bidding, Bibi.
Shall I describe that to you?” I drawl, giving her a chilling smile to send her running.
When I was a little boy and she was my father's new bride, I thought she was there to replace my mother.
Bibi quickly cured me of that delusion when my father wasn't around and once her own children started arriving.
I resume my journey to my section of the house, hoping no one will disturb me there. Naturally, Uncle Enzo and my cousin Rocco happen upon me to ruin that hope. They give me a wary look but don’t cower like my stepmother.
My uncle, the fat fuck with his bushy mustache, is the Underboss of Reno.
He lacks my father’s boldness, but he more than makes up for it in his ability to schmooze politicians and their set.
His son, Rocco is a slimy little shit, half his father’s size and with none of his cunning.
He was closer in age to Sil, Jr. and they shared similar tastes when it came to women and torture.
“You’re finally home, Alessio. I met your bride-to-be an hour ago,” Enzo informs me. “I should think you’d be eager to see her.”
“Later,” I tell him as I keep walking.
“She’s quite a tasty little morsel if you can get past the hair,” Rocco adds.
Like lightning streaking through my veins, my fury wakes with Rocco’s tone, and my steps come to a halt. “What does she look like?” He’s too stupid to hear the warning in my voice.
“Nice, tight dress. A doll’s face with small tits but a sweet, full ass. Scared shitless being here though. She’ll be fun to break. If you don’t mind sharing in the revenge, I wouldn’t mind. She’s got three holes to fill and-”
I’m on him before he can finish the sentence, my knife to his throat and my bloodlust screaming for his tongue and eyes to be removed.
“Easy, Alessio. We’re family,” Enzo pants behind me, his hand resting on the butt of his piece.
I could probably cut his son’s throat and his before he even worked it free of his waistband.
Definitely the first part. “Rocco forgets himself. What with her brother’s actions, we all have reason to loathe the Morelli Family, but she’s to be your bride, and we don’t want any blood spilled on such a momentous day. Apologize to your cousin, Rocco.”
My cousin’s eyes look ready to pop, and he’s afraid to swallow with the way my knife is pressed against his jugular.
He squeaks out an apology, the cowardly pussy.
“My bride,” I say in warning as I lower the knife, “is mine to do with as I please. If taking revenge on her for my brother pleases me, that will be mine alone to enjoy. Remember that.”
He exhales and nods before they both walk away backwards, afraid to turn their backs on me. As they should be.
Opening my bedroom door at last, I slam it shut behind me and strip out of my blood-stained clothes, leaving only the holster with my spare piece strapped to my calf as I start toward the shower when a quiet, in-drawn breath from across the room has me spinning and pulling the gun.
This time there’s a squeak coming from my closet door, the closet door that’s not properly closed.
Stark naked but always ready for blood, I rasp, “Step out of there slowly right now or I start firing.”
Another squeak but the door opens and out steps a girl with the biggest brown eyes, longest, lushest black hair and the most hideous bangs I’ve ever seen. Slack-jawed, she stares at my nakedness, and I stare right back at her in that tight dress.
I know that face. I’ve seen her picture, and I’ve daydreamed about carving a smile into the throat of her brother more than once - Caterina Morelli, my little bride-to-be.
I should hate her simply because Nico loves her.
Instead, a thundering possessiveness fills me. Rocco wasn’t lying about her looking like a tasty morsel. It makes me furious that he laid eyes on her before I did. My bride. Mine.
Her mouth opens and closes as she searches for words, and I’m reminded of that brother of hers again.
What the hell is she doing in my room? What’s she doing up here at all?
This is nowhere near our guest quarters.
Little sneak is probably as treacherous as Nico.
I’ll wind up poisoned on our wedding day if I give her half a chance.
But, that’s two years away. Two years and then my father expects to have our revenge through her.
I lower my gun and stalk closer, enjoying her virginal distress as I do. I’d bet every dollar in Vegas she’s never seen a cock until now. And, mine is the only cock she’ll ever know. “Did you wish to get a head start on the wedding night, darling?”