Twisted Pawn (Society of Villains #2)
Afterword
Death.
Don Vello knew it intimately. Personally. Fondly.
It was his trade. His passion. His destiny.
He wasn’t scared to die. He and Death were too familiar for that. Old friends of sorts.
Besides, one cannot fear something so natural and inevitable, like the bloom of a flower midspring.
He had a few months to live if he was lucky. He needed to choose a successor. Now.
He thought he knew who it would be up until two days ago.
His second son by marriage, Achilles.
Achilles, the ruthless. The courageous. The untouchable. The psychopath.
The cruel offspring who exceeded his expectations.
Achilles had been different from the start.
Like his brothers, he had been baptized in Vello’s enemy’s blood when he was a newborn.
Unlike his brothers, he’d seemed to enjoy every second of the ceremony.
A small, stoic thing, he didn’t thrash or whine as Vello lowered him to the baptismal font at Chiesa di San Pietro Martire. He slept soundly, cocooned in the place he considered home—another man’s demise.
Vello had held him by his foot, watching as the child turned crimson.
The only part of his body the blood did not touch was his pink, smooth heel. Vello’s wife, Chiara, placed her hand on his shoulder before the baby was dunked all the way. “No,” her voice trembled. “Please. He needs a shred of humanity.”
Vello disagreed but complied. The doctors had said his wife had something called postpartum depression. That he had to be careful with her womanly notions.
Women really were silly little things, weren’t they?
No matter. He was pleased enough to accommodate her request.
He had planned to call the boy Achille. A good, strong Italian name.
It was his exposed heel that made the don add the extra s.
Achilles.
For not all of him was dipped in blood. He had one vulnerability. Now, he had to find out what it was.
Growing up, Achilles lived up to his name and showed unstoppable strength.
He was a fearless soldier and a fierce warrior.
He demonstrated such malice, even his own family feared him. He killed and mutilated. Never blinking, pausing, or hesitating to execute an order.
His mother avoided him at all costs, his siblings tolerated him out of necessity, and his father brimmed with pride, for his wife had been mistaken: Achilles did not seem to have one soft spot in his entire depraved existence after all.
Don Vello thought Achilles would do well as the don of the Ferrante clan.
But that was before.
Before he found out about his son’s mortal weakness.
It came in the form of a copper-haired girl.
The daughter of a mediocre Irish mobster.
A thoughtless, reckless, pointless thing.
Tierney Callaghan.
The twisted little pawn was his Achilles’ heel.
A seasoned chess player, Vello had once upon a time thought he could get rid of the little whore. Make her an isolated pawn. Remove her from other key players who could help her survive.
But he’d been too late. The girl was ingrained too deep inside his son’s system.
Vello heard footsteps approaching his office. Achilles, probably. He’d have to kill him after his last stunt. A sad state of affairs, but Achilles chose this path for himself.
Nobody betrayed the Camorra.
Not even the Don’s son.
Vello sighed, pulling his drawer open and cocking his gun.
At least he’d still have Luca.
At least he’d still have Enzo.
At lease he’d still have his secret favorite son.
A second set of footsteps sounded from the hallway. Whoever was coming brought reinforcements.
He smiled to himself bitterly. Perhaps he wasn’t the one to do the killing, after all.
Reaching a frail hand to his Battle of Waterloo chess set, he picked up a pawn, using it to knock down a king. His wife would know what it meant. She’d appoint the son most fitting to be the king of the underworld.
During his last moments on this earth, he marveled at God’s cruel humor. How He’d molded man in his own image but gave him a vulnerability that never failed to seal his fate—a heart.
For even the greatest of warriors…
Surrendered to love.
Luca
Achilles
Enzo
Tiernan
il prediletto