29. Saverio
29
SAVERIO
A n email from Mick pings in my inbox on an idle Tuesday morning, and I know before I even open it that I won’t like what I see. Mick doesn’t waste my time with pleasantries; he’s not that kind of guy. The subject line is terse: Kristopher Tate—Full Report , as is the empty message containing only a PDF attachment. I click it open, eyes narrowing as I begin to read.
Kristopher Tate, aka Kris Castiglione
The name glares back at me like a neon warning sign, bright and impossible to ignore.
According to the meticulously documented transactions, shady deals made in smoke-filled backrooms, and an alarming number of weapons shipments moving across state lines, Kris Castiglione has been more than just a bad boy—he’s been a one-man crime wave. He brazenly used our father’s name, my family name, to carve out his own bloody niche with the Destroyers. I’ve always despised the motorcycle gang for their reputation of senseless violence and mayhem, but discovering they took my brother under their wing without so much as a whisper in my direction? That twists the knife even deeper, making the betrayal cut twice as sharp.
When Kristopher reappears in Manhattan, it’s with a flurry of suspicious bank transactions totaling well over a quarter of a million dollars. These hefty sums materialize seemingly out of thin air, originating from an undisclosed location with an untraceable bank number that sets off every alarm bell in my head. Mick has exhausted his extensive network of contacts and called in a dozen favors. Yet even he, with all his connections and savvy, can’t unravel the enigma of where these transactions originated from. The paper trail goes cold, leaving us with more questions than answers.
The money explains why he could buy the bar, but seeing the financial information on paper, I know with absolute certainty that the money’s dirty. The sudden influx of cash, the untraceable origins, and the suspicious timing all point to one inescapable conclusion: he did something illegal for that money. My gut churns with a sickening dread as I contemplate the possibilities, and I’m afraid it has something to do with Lucia. His emergence in Topeka for a few months, a seemingly innocuous detail at first glance, now takes on a sinister hue. It coincides too perfectly with the time Raffaele says she was being stalked.
The thought of Kristopher being the one who terrorized Lucia sends a wave of cold fury through me. It takes every ounce of self-control to remain composed as I casually text my brother and ask if he’ll be at the bar this evening. His affirmative response sets the stage for what feels like an interminable wait, transforming the remainder of my day into an excruciating exercise in restraint.
To occupy myself, I dedicate some time to Konza Elite, meticulously reviewing operations and addressing pressing matters. Later, I find myself mediating a territorial dispute with the Castellis. As the day wanes, I make a point to share a meal with my sister, Daniela, who recently celebrated her twenty-first birthday. Her vibrant presence is a welcome distraction, her youthful energy a brief respite from the weight of my suspicions. However, when she innocently brings up Lucrezia in conversation, my stomach twists into knots, and the dread I’ve been suppressing all day threatens to resurface.
“She’s learned her lesson,” Daniela says sweetly. She is a honeysuckle blossom wrapped in pure sugar, a stark contrast to the thorny roses that often bloom in our family. Daniela is the sweetest of all the Castigliones, possessing a gentleness that sets her apart from Lucrezia—a fact that both comforts and pains me. “Bring her home, Sav. I miss having her around, and I’m sure she misses us too.”
I feel like the world’s biggest asshole when I have to tell her no. “Lucrezia has to stay where she is,” I say. “It’s for the best, trust me.” Daniela’s eyes cloud with disappointment, and I have to look away. She doesn’t know the truth: that Lucrezia wanted me dead, that our sister plotted my demise. It’s a bitter secret that burns in my chest, and it’s half the reason I arranged for her to marry Dante Terlizzi. The other half? That was a tangle of family politics and survival instincts.
When I leave dinner, I head straight to Tate’s, unable to wait any longer to confront Kristopher. The bar is quiet when I walk in, the early evening hanging stagnant in the air like a thick, invisible fog. The usual chatter and clinking of glasses are absent, leaving an eerie stillness in their wake. Kristopher is behind the bar with a laptop, and papers spread around him, clearly caught up in some administrative task. When he looks up as the door swings shut behind me with a soft thud, his smile falters slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. He must sense the tension radiating off me.
“Saverio,” he greets with a frown. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”
I don’t return the pleasantries. “We need to talk.”
The coldness in my voice wipes away any pretense of brotherly warmth. Kristopher’s eyes narrow slightly, but he nods, gesturing to the empty barstools. “Sure. Let’s talk.”
As I take a seat, he gathers his papers and closes his laptop. “Let’s cut to the chase. Who the fuck is Kris Castiglione?”
His reaction is subtle—a slight tightening of his jaw, a crumple of the papers he holds in his hands. But I see it, the momentary flash of panic in his eyes that he can’t entirely hide. He tries to play it off, forcing a chuckle that sounds hollow. “Very funny, Saverio,” he says, his voice a touch too casual. “You know none of us were allowed to take the Castiglione name. Father made that abundantly clear.” He shifts from one foot to the other, his body language betraying his discomfort despite his attempt at nonchalance.
“Don’t lie to me.” My voice drops, the warning in it clear. “I’ve got a report sitting in my inbox right now with all of Kris Castiglione’s crimes wrapped up in a bow, and it’s a pretty damning package. Not only did you run guns for the Destroyers, you were knee-deep in their drug trade. Should I go on? Because believe me, I can. There’s enough dirt here to bury you ten times over, and I’m just getting started.”
Kristopher’s eyes flash with something—fear, maybe, or anger. “I don’t know where you’re getting this bullshit, but it’s not true. I’ve never been involved with the Destroyers, and I’ve never used that name.”
My patience snaps like a frayed rope. I stand up abruptly, my chair screeching against the floor, and lean across the sticky bar surface. Without hesitation, I grab Kristopher by the front of his wrinkled shirt, bunching the fabric in my fist. “I said don’t lie to me, goddammit,” I snarl, my face inches from his. “I know everything, Kristopher. Every dirty little secret you’ve tried to bury. I know about the shipments from overseas, the guns hidden in crates marked as farm equipment. I know how you were tasked with taking those weapons across the border, playing courier for the cartels. I know about the time you spent in Topeka, slumming it as a fucking cashier at some no-name convenience store. I even know about that gap in your history where you fell off the face of the fucking world. What I don’t know, what I can’t figure out, is why a quarter of a million dollars suddenly showed up in your bank account out of thin air. And then you waltz back into town as Kristopher Tate, all clean-cut and respectable, pretending like none of it ever happened. Like you could just wash away the blood on your hands with a new name and a fresh haircut.”
Kristopher meets my gaze unflinchingly, his eyes hardening into chips of ice. To his credit, he doesn’t so much as blink or twitch a muscle. His jaw clenches almost imperceptibly as he speaks, voice low and steady. “Maybe because none of that happened, Saverio. You’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m not the enemy here; I’m not the boogeyman you’re making me out to be. You’ve got it all wrong.”
I shove him away violently, my hands slamming down on the polished wood of the counter with a resounding crack. My face contorts with unbridled fury as I roar at him, spittle flying from my lips. “You fucking liar! How dare you stand there and deny everything to my face!”
For a moment, the two of us just stare at each other. The tension in the room thickens before I see a flicker of something in his eyes—hesitation, doubt—but he covers it up quickly, his face set into a mask of defiance. “You think you know everything, Saverio, but you don’t. I’m your brother.”
“Half brother,” I correct.
He continues as if I didn’t interrupt him. “We’re supposed to be on the same side.”
I step away from the polished mahogany bar, my fingers trailing along its smooth surface as I retreat. The bitter taste of defeat lingers on my tongue, and I know he’s bested me this time. My brother’s stubborn resolve is etched into every line of his face. It’s painfully clear he isn’t going to come clean without a little push. “You want to keep playing games, fine. But I’m done asking nicely. Maybe I’ll pay the Destroyers a visit and see if they’re more willing to talk.”
Kristopher’s eyes widen slightly at that, but I don’t wait for a response. I turn on my heel and walk out of the bar, my mind set on one thing: getting to the bottom of this, no matter what it takes.
The drive back home is a blur, my thoughts racing as I piece together everything I know—or think I know—about Kristopher Tate. There’s no doubt in my mind now. He’s hiding something, and what it is, it’s big. It affects Lucia, and it changes everything between us.
I pull out my phone and dial Raffaele’s number. He picks up on the first ring. “Raff, I need you to set up a meeting with the Destroyers. And I need it as soon as possible. This isn’t a casual visit—it’s urgent.”
Raffaele doesn’t ask questions. “Consider it done.”
I pause, wondering if I should ask about Lucia. But I’m afraid if I say her name, all the rage inside me will come bubbling out, and I’ll explode. She is innocent, and I hate that Kristopher might have used her for some underhanded purpose. “Make sure it’s when she’s teaching so you can go with me.”
I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Lucia safe, but I won’t go into a meeting with the Destroyers without my most trusted bodyguard. Raffaele and I may not like each other some days, but there’s no one more equipped to handle a gang of bikers than him.