Prologue VII Constantine
Prologue VII
Constantine
I was incapacitated for two weeks.
In my villa, day after day, sleeping on the couch because that somehow felt more comforting than the seclusion of my bedroom. I didn’t tell my mother or my sister what had happened. If my mother couldn’t get ahold of Edric, she would call me and ask what my brother was up to.
So I still had some time before she knew.
Tommaso didn’t ask me to show up for work. Didn’t text or call. None of the guys did. I was either shunned from Cosa Nostra for putting them at risk, or he was giving me space to process . . . process the fucking horror.
I couldn’t sleep because I dreamed about his snapping bones and his agonizing screams. It played over and over in my head, jerking me awake and reminding me it wasn’t a dream . . . but a memory.
Someone knocked on the door, and I didn’t flinch from where I sat on the couch. Just stared at the wall like I hadn’t heard it. I hadn’t ordered anything.
The knock sounded again. “Con, open up.”
It was Tommaso. “It’s open . . . I think.”
He let himself inside the apartment, moved past the entryway, and joined me in the living room. He stood there and stared at me.
I showered sporadically, changed my clothes every few days, but I was cloaked in a depression so thick it felt like I was being choked every single day.
He examined me for a while before he took a seat in the armchair. “I won’t bother asking how you’re doing. It’s pretty fucking clear.”
My chest hurt with every breath I took.
“Have you told your family?”
All I could muster was a shake of my head.
He nodded in understanding. “You knew what Edric did. You lied to me.”
“Yeah.” I didn’t care if he shot me in the head. Death would be a blessing. Living with this memory would be the curse.
“We all could have died.”
“Yeah.”
“You aren’t even going to apologize?”
“No. At the time, all I cared about was saving my brother. So, no, I’m not fucking sorry. If you’re going to kill me, just fucking kill me already.”
He propped his arm on the armrest, his closed knuckles against his cheek.
We sat there in silence for a while.
“Look, I’m sorry this happened, but it’s not your fault, Constantine.”
My eyes shifted to the floor, the joints in my shoulders creaking from the weight of my guilt.
“I know you’re used to cleaning up his messes, but you need to learn his messes are not your responsibility.
He made the decision to join the Skull Kings when I advised him not to, and then he made the idiotic decision to fuck Darius’s wife when there are plenty of brothels he could have visited instead. ”
“You’re saying he deserved that?” I asked incredulously. “Who the fuck deserves that, Tommaso?”
“If someone fucked my wife, I’d do the same.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” I snapped. “Maybe you’d shoot them—”
“That motherfucker would be dead, Constantine. And you’re blinded by your familial love from seeing what’s right in front of you.
There are men in this world who make it no matter what’s thrown their way—people like you.
And there are people who are born a fuckup and will die a fuckup—and that’s your brother. ”
“Fuck you.”
“You know it’s true. Even if the Skull King let him go, he’d get into some new trouble six months later.
Always something. One idiotic decision after another—in perpetuity.
And you need to understand that it’s not your responsibility to fix that—to fix him.
You were nice enough to forgive him for what he did to your fiancée. I certainly wouldn’t have done that.”
It didn’t matter if everything Tommaso said was true. Edric was still my brother. The only person in the world who was more like me than anyone else. Losing a twin was more than losing a brother. It was losing yourself.
“I’m sorry to watch you go through this. You know I love you like a son, Constantine.”
My eyes stayed on the floor, too numb to accept any kind of love right now.
“You always covered for him, always stuck out your neck for him, and he just held you back.”
My eyes started to smart with tears. “That’s not true.”
“He was a fucking burden that you carried your whole life. You told me, when you were growing up, whenever he had a presentation in school, you pretended to be each other so you could do his presentation as well as yours. When he got into trouble too many times with your parents, you took the fall to lighten the load. You were a good brother to him, Con. You tried to save him, but there was nothing you could do. Forgive yourself. Relieve yourself of this burden.”
I blinked, and two tears ran down my cheeks. I didn’t care if he saw. “I have to get his body back.”
“Con . . .”
“I can’t leave him there. I need to bury him.”
He gave an irritated sigh. “As shitty as Edric was, he wouldn’t have wanted you to risk your neck a second time for him. He’s done. He’s dead. Let it lie.”
“What am I supposed to tell my mom?” I straightened and looked him dead in the eye. “I need to bring him home.”
“You’re going to get shot in the fucking head, Con.”
“So fucking be it.” Angry tears burned the corners of my eyes.
He released a sigh as he dragged his hands down his face. “It doesn’t change anything—”
“What if this were your brother? Your sister? Anyone you love?”
“You’ve seen what he’s like, Con. You show up there, he’ll literally rip your head off.”
“Not if you come with me.”
He released a loud scoff. “Oh sweet Virgin Mary, are you out of your mind?”
“Come. Don’t come. I’m going either way.”
He dropped his face into his hands and released a frustrated sigh. “Sleep on it—”
“No. Give me his number.”
“You don’t want to be on his radar. We were lucky enough to get the fuck out of there.”
“I’m doing this, Tommaso—whether you help me or not.”
“What about your mother, Constantine? She’s gonna be devastated when she learns her son is dead. But how much worse would it be if she found out both of her sons were dead?”
Guilt flushed through me when I pictured her in my mind. “I still have to do this, Tommaso.”
He released another irritated sigh. “Fine.”
His eyes flicked back to mine. “If you go alone, you’re dead. So we have to come along.”
“You don’t have to. This is my choice.”
“And my choice is for you not to end up in an oil drum yourself, so . . .”
We arrived in Florence the next day.
Tommaso secured a meeting with Darius, and my hand should have been trembling with nerves, but I was fucking still.
Grief made me invincible because I feared nothing.
Edric’s stupid decisions got him killed, but I could have done more to stop him.
Could have called and checked in. Could have made sure that he broke things off before Darius found out. But I was too busy with my own shit.
We arrived at their villa, a sprawling estate not far from the Duomo. We were frisked before we checked in and then led to a different room from before. This one had a throne made of stone—with human skulls carved into the rock.
And he sat upon it, dressed in jeans, boots, and a T-shirt, slouched sideways like a king bored with his own responsibilities.
The large room looked like it used to be a ballroom because of the size. Now there were tables placed everywhere, with men occupying the chairs. Sort of reminded me of the gambling room at the Villa de la Sirenuse in Palermo.
The numbness from the grief faded when I looked at him.
Replaced by rage.
Bloodthirsty rage that would never be satisfied—even with his death.
Darius stared at me from his throne, eyes locked on mine with the same intensity as last time.
Hostility simmered under the surface and slowly boiled to the top.
He clearly hated me for a crime I didn’t commit.
“You came all this fucking way, and now you have nothing to say?” His voice boomed as he straightened in the chair, going from a state of calm to madness in a split second.
He made a fist and slammed it down on the stone armrest—hit it hard enough to make a thump so distinct it sounded like wood.
“Speak.” Then he was on his feet, a behemoth in size and power, the statue of Apollo that had come to life.
“Or should I just rip your tongue out now?”
“I want my brother’s body back—and I’m happy to pay you for it.
” I kept it brief and straight to the point because his presence was so intolerable.
I had no weapon on me, so if I wanted him dead, I’d have to do with my bare hands.
We were the same height, but my size was no match for his. He was like a fucking gorilla.
He turned to one of his men and gave a nod that was as good as a verbal order. Then he returned to his throne, sat down with his knees wide apart, back to looking bored.
A moment later, the oil drum was brought out on a dolly and placed next to his chair.
“Was thinking about making it my nightstand. Put my lamp on there, some other shit. A fucking piece of furniture.”
I couldn’t control my expression. Couldn’t control my breaths. All I could do was stand there and be stabbed by his words.
“And that’s what he’ll remain. Forever my prisoner, floating in chemicals to preserve his flesh and bone, his tomb holding my gun while I fuck my favorite whore on the bed.
” He smiled at me, like the horror on my face was the finest hit of cocaine.
“Should have told Tommaso that over the phone.” He gave a shrug.
“But I thought this would be more fun—and it was.” Sick pleasure radiated from his eyes, and then he gave a quiet chuckle like this was all fun and games.
“Name your price,” I repeated. “I’ll pay whatever you want—”
“You think I need money?” He was on his feet again and then striding toward me, his behavior unpredictable, volatile.
He came right up to me. “Do I look like I need money to you?” He yelled right in my face.
“Your piece-of-shit brother came in my wife’s mouth, and he will spend the next sixty fucking years as my nightstand.
When I’m old and shit with a maid wiping my ass, he’ll still be my nightstand.
When I’m buried, he’ll be buried with me—because that motherfucker is mine. ”
“We understand,” Tommaso said. “We’ll be on our way—”
“I’m not leaving without him.” I held the Skull King’s stare, his face just inches from mine, and saw a beast instead of a man.
“Constantine.”
Darius suddenly shoved me hard in the chest.
I stumbled back only slightly, prepared for him to hit me.
“I don’t fucking like you, you pompous little cunt.
” He came for me again. “I don’t like your face.
Maybe I should shove your body in with his so I can have the set.
Because your fucking face . . . I hate looking at it.
” He seethed as he stared me down, a gorilla about to beat his chest and rip my face off.
Tommaso moved to me and grabbed me by the arm. “Let’s go. Now.”
“I can’t—”
He grabbed me by the neck and shoved me back.
“Are you really going to make me die for you? After everything I’ve done for you?
” He tried to speak in a whisper, but the room was silent, so every word was heard.
Accusation and resentment burned like the waves of heat across the desert. “We tried, Constantine. It’s done.”
I didn’t want to give up the fight, but I knew there was nothing I could do—at least at this moment. I gave a nod in agreement.
“Good.” He grabbed my arm and escorted me out—like I might change my mind.
I lied to my mother, told her he’d been killed in a car accident, arranged the funeral, and made sure it was a closed casket so she would never know what really happened. That was the least I could do for her.
My sister was a mess. Everyone was devastated.
I’d had more time than anyone else to process his death, but because I’d witnessed the way his body was broken, I seemed to be doing the worst. I couldn’t comfort my mother because I felt unworthy to even touch her. I didn’t save my brother—and I didn’t even bring his body back.
We had everyone at the house afterward. It was the first time my mom had hired a caterer instead of cooking herself.
I couldn’t stand the voices of everyone there, didn’t want the company of a single person, so I made my way outside, sat on the ground with my back against the wall, looking at the lights of the city my brother would never see again.
Isabella must have come looking for me, because when she found me on the ground, she took a seat beside me, in a black dress with sleeves, her heels left in the house somewhere.
I held an empty beer bottle in my hand, finishing it a long time ago but unable to remember to throw it away.
She glanced at the side of my face for a while. “It wasn’t a car accident, was it?”
I continued to stare at the lights, my eyes filling with tears. I took a painful breath, then shook my head.
Her hand reached for mine, and she squeezed it, releasing a sniff.
I blinked, and the tears streaked down my cheeks.
I cried in front of her without restraint.
I couldn’t cry in front of my mother, had to be the man of the family since I was the last one left.
My father had clutched his chest and gone down in the kitchen, dead before he hit the floor.
And now my brother floated in an oil drum.
I was all that was left.
“Con . . .”
“I—I tried to save him. But—but I couldn’t.”
She squeezed my hand harder. “It’s okay, it’s okay . . .”
“I watched him die.” I started to cry harder. “I watched him die . . . and I couldn’t stop it.”
A week after the funeral, I went back to work.
“You ready, Con?” Tommaso asked when he sat on the couch across from me in his study. “It’s okay to take more time.”
I shook my head. “Thank you . . . for everything you did for me. And for coming to the funeral.”
He gave a nod. “When I said I loved you like a son, I meant it.”
“I know.” He’d shown me more affection than my own father ever had. Stuck out his neck for me in a way my father never would have. We were only about fifteen years apart in age, but we were in very different seasons of life.
“I hope you find peace, Con.”
I shook my head. “No. I’ll never let this go.”
He continued to watch me.
“There’s nothing I can do about this now. But someday . . . I’ll come for him.”
He rested his arms on his knees, his palms slowly sliding back and forth across each other.
“Someday I’ll be the most powerful man in Italy—and I will fucking come for him.”