Chapter 11
Aron
Not quite a week after my presumed death, I turn on the news to the second most horrific sight I’ve ever seen.
Dad’s penthouse building is all but burned to the ground. Rescue crews swarm the rubble, searching for survivors, but if I know Matt, there won’t be many. Maybe Emily, if he’s feeling generous. I hope and pray that someone got Maria out before the fire got out of control.
I sit there, glued to the TV screen, unable to move as the news station rolls out mugshots of the dead.
Most of Dad’s top officers died in the fire, as well as several underlings and henchmen, for lack of a better word.
No women yet, though, and no infants. No children of any age.
Maybe Emily and Maria got out. Maybe Dad got out …
That last hope is dashed as Dad’s one mugshot—from an early barfight when he was a teenager, before he got smart enough to avoid getting caught—flashes on the screen. I turn up the volume to hear the reporter’s words.
“It has indeed been confirmed that Empire mafioso Javier Martinez is among the dead in this latest in a series of tragic mob battles that have plagued our town. I’m getting word that a small contingent may have escaped through some hidden tunnels leading from the building, but that information is not yet verified. ”
Dead. My father is dead. I’d stop to mourn him, but—
Crap! Who’s going to take over the Empire?
Dad may have done a shoddy job of setting up the infrastructure, but there should be enough survivors that a power vacuum is going to form.
Almost anyone in the Empire can take over.
Jules, if he’s still alive, or Sergio, or hell, even Emily could take over if she made it out.
Dad certainly gave her enough control and power during the brief time I was with them.
I can’t let Emily take over the Empire. She’ll never give Maria up if she takes control of Dad’s men.
I run through a mental roster of potential survivors and candidates to take Dad’s place, and the sad truth of the matter is that Emily, twisted though she is, might be the best option for the Empire, at least as far as ruthlessness and ambition goes.
If only there was someone else, someone with experience in the underworld life, someone who knows how things should be run …
Then an even more sickening thought occurs to me:
I might be the only valid competition in a power grab of this magnitude.
I grew up in the life. I know the ins and outs, know how to operate the business side as well as the more unsavory side. I know the best methods for organizing security, for planning hits, for just about anything the Empire could need.
What about Matt, though? If I leave him to take over for Dad, he’ll never understand.
He’ll think I’m betraying him; he won’t get that I have no choice.
My daughter’s life is at stake! It was risky enough leaving her with Emily for this long, but now?
God, I can’t imagine what Emily might do, what sick values she’ll try to teach her.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I have a bag packed and ready. I start up the old Chevy I stole to get here and peel away from the manor, heading directly for Dad’s secondary Empire headquarters.
Matt doesn’t know about this place. I spilled a lot of the Empire’s secrets during our calls and texts, but this one for some reason slipped my mind. Why would I give Matt a secondary location when the primary location is a better target?
Hopefully Matt realizes this for the honest mistake it was.
I can’t explain away my omission without sounding like the traitor that the Syndicate thinks I am.
And what right do I have to even pray for Matt’s understanding and forgiveness?
I’m leaving the safety of his protection and heading straight for certain danger, maybe even death.
If Emily’s already taken charge, I could be shot on sight.
Maybe I can play up my faked death as a ruse to get close to Matt again … It would be the worst kind of betrayal to Matt, but it would get me back in the Empire’s good graces quickly. Quickly enough to be accepted as the new leader, though? I won’t know until I get there.
Dad, being the jealous bastard he was, insisted on having everything Tito and the Syndicate had.
That includes a sprawling estate as a backup base of operations, though Matt owns the only true mansion for a hundred miles.
Instead, Dad used his stolen Syndicate funds to purchase a compound on the other side of the city that, rumor has it, used to be a secret military installation, built to look like a small commune.
Time is not on my side. Since I had to wait for the news to come to light, Emily and the others could already be gathering and voting on the new Empire leader. I could already be too late.
As I expected, a handful of armed guards stop me at the gate, shouting orders to halt or they’ll gun me down.
I cut the engine and coast to a standstill, hands in the air and clearly visible to anyone outside the truck.
The men swarm my vehicle and pull me out, but as soon as I groan from being manhandled with a healing gunshot wound, realization dawns on their faces almost in perfect sync.
They apologize profusely and escort me inside, where, predictably, a council meeting of sorts is already taking place.
With Emily at the head.
This could go one of two ways: Emily could denounce my claim to the so-called throne of the Empire, or she could accept my resurrection as proof of my ability to endure and adapt. I stand there, surrounded by the guards, and wait for her reaction.
“Aron! Baby, you’re alive!”
Ah. Door Number Two, then.
Her five-foot frame nearly knocks me over as she runs across the room and tackles me with Maria in her arms. I quickly wrap a protective arm around our daughter, taking care to keep her from getting squashed in the exchange.
“I thought you were dead,” she sobs into my chest, clutching the fabric of my shirt like it’s a lifeline.
I gently pry her off of me, offering the most authentic smile I can muster. “Emily, hon, you’re crushing a man who was just shot last week.”
“Oh!” She steps back, and I rush to take hold of Maria.
Jesus Christ, she could have dropped her!
Cradling Maria’s head with care, I kiss her forehead.
She whimpers, but she seems safe. Healthy.
I make a show of tickling her tummy and playing with her feet, but I’m really checking her over.
I don’t see any indication that Emily has hurt her—on purpose or accidentally—but this is just a cursory glance.
I’ll have to offer to change her or bathe her later to be certain.
“Where have you been, Don Aron?”
The title seems strange. It doesn’t fit me. It's a title for Tito or Matt, not for me. Not for Dad, even, because he stole the title from Tito. What should I have them call me?
“Don Aron?”
I shake my head to clear it. I suppose it doesn’t matter what they call me, so long as they obey. Smiling at Sergio, I give Maria another kiss.
“It doesn’t matter where I was. Suffice it to say I went somewhere the Syndicate couldn’t find me.” Which is more or less true. The Syndicate at large didn’t know I was there, but Matt will always know how to find me.
But wait … Matt’s men hit the penthouse. They’re the ones who started the fire.
They risked Maria’s life.
Fury surges within me. They could have killed my daughter. The fact that she survived is just a blessing. Someone gave the order that risked her life.
Matt.