Chapter 20
TWENTY
Caelian
The lies stop tonight.
I’ve always been the outcast in my family. I’ve preferred things that way. From a young age, I understood I wasn’t like the others. Coreno’s desperation to ascend to his position was never relatable. Neither were Cristian’s potbellied cries as he whined petulantly about why he should be the heir.
And then there was Carmelo, the even-keeled neutral who pretended he didn’t want power but craved it more than anyone.
I’ve never seen myself in Pa’s drunken, irrational behavior. He’d driven my mother away with his antics. She was willing to accept his many infidelities, but she drew the line at his slovenliness.
Rumor is he sent hitmen days after she walked out the door for good. I haven’t seen her since I was seven years old…
As I race into the city, I’m thinking about these family dynamics that have shaped the outcomes of our lives. I retreated into the mountains as soon as I was old enough and able.
I’ve largely remained a distant presence in the family tree.
Yet, somehow, I’ve become the focus of attention anyway. An occurrence I should be used to after childhood—my illness rendered me so different from the others, it was a weakness routinely spoken of.
For much of my youth, Pa had no problem disparaging me. Acting as if I were nothing more than a brute. I wasn’t calculated like Coreno or the reasonable one like Carmelo. I didn’t even care as much as a whiny motherfucker like Cristian…
I was just the son who was sick and ailing. The son with a broken heart that hasn’t worked well from the time I was a kid.
Perhaps I isolated myself because I felt like an outcast by default. It’s a possibility I’ve considered before. Driving into Dresden late at night, I decide it doesn’t fucking matter either way.
Whatever my father’s grand plan is, it ends tonight. I’m not being taken out and won’t be used as a pawn. I’ll ring his neck ’til no air’s left in his body before I ever let either happen.
Pa lives in a fancy twenty-million-dollar home that’s securely behind the Dresden Gate—the great divide between the haves and have nots in the city. Close to ninety-seven percent of citizens reside outside the Dresden Gate. The three percent that live inside typically have million-dollar homes.
Quiet as it’s kept, Nero lives inside the gates too. He’s only a few blocks away from being neighbors with Pa. Yet these two swear the animosity between their rival families is deadly. If only one of them had the fucking guts to take the other out cold.
I’ll have the guts to do so and then some. I’m not playing games anymore with anyone involved in this war. I’ll do what I need to do if it means survival. If it means protecting my interests and assets.
Nevaeh being one of those assets. The baby she’ll give me another.
My fucking legacy that’ll live on long after my weak heart gives out.
I don’t need to sneak into Pa’s private abode. I don’t respect him enough to put forth that level of effort. I drive up to the wrought-iron gate that cordons off his property from the other million-dollar homes and I flash my headlights for the guards to open.
They spend a moment deliberating over what to do. Should they let Carmine Ziccardi’s son in like so many times in the past? Or should recent tensions and turmoil dictate my level of access?
In the end, they wave me through. It’s late enough in the night that Pa must be in the middle of preparing for bed. He’s likely belligerent after an evening of indulging in cigars and alcoholic drinks of his choice.
I discover the truth in my assumption within minutes.
Pa’s settled down in his bedroom as I blow through the lofty mansion like a tornado.
Several of his men attempt to stop me, but they’re met with swift ends—either I clobber them the instant they come toward me or the deadly glare I give them is so bone-chilling, they stand down.
They know better than to do anything else.
This matter is to be settled between me and my father.
The door’s locked when I try it, so I break it down. It requires little exertion given my dominant size and strength. One straight-on ram from my shoulder and the door gives out, wobbling open.
Pa’s head snaps up from where he sits on the side of his bed attempting to maneuver around his paunchy belly so he can cut his toenails. His jaw drops and his bleary, pinkened eyes widen.
“Have you lost your god damn mind, stronzo?”
“I’m here for answers,” I announce.
“Answers? You want fucking answers? For what? From who? Forget how you could be so entitled in the first place!” Pa bleats out, his doughy face a bright red.
He scrambles to stand up, his ugly bare feet like bricks.
“You really got some unseen levels of audacity, stronzo. Coming into my room—the Don’s room—unannounced this late at night? ”
“I apologize for interrupting your time to cut the claws you call toenails. But also understand that I don’t give a shit,” I say succinctly, as unaffected as I can be considering the fury fuming inside me.
I step into the room, invading it like I’m a conqueror taking ownership of new land.
“You’ve been playing games that have gotten you into the mess you’re in.
Not just with Nero and the Vorones. But me as well.
You’re delusional if you think you’ll escape alive and not in a casket. ”
Pa eyes me puzzled for a long moment, then cracks out a hoarse laugh. “Was that supposed to be a threat, stronzo?”
“Ms. Poitier has been in regular contact with you,” I say. “I know she’s the one who has been feeding you information. I know you had your men attack me outside the Orchid Lounge and you sent more men to do a drive by on me and my fucking wife outside a fucking women’s medical clinic!”
“Regular contact? Define regular contact!”
“Was she the one who let Carmelo know when to breech my home and kidnap Nevaeh? Was she the one who coordinated those doctors from the Gerber Clinic—the same fucking doctors that have ties to Zinc Co?”
Pa’s pudgy face shifts from outrage to cool indifference.
He sticks his hands inside the pockets of his monogrammed pajamas and gives a careless shrug.
“How should I know what your staff is up to? Is it my fault if any one of them turns on your beastly ass? I always knew from the time you were a boy you were more animal than human. I should’ve kept your ass outside in the fucking doghouse where you belonged—”
I cut him off in a single stride. My hand flies out and seizes him by the neck as I lift him easily and slam him into the nearest wall. His indifference vanishes for immediate panic, the way he twists and turns in my hold and kicks out his stubby legs.
I only squeeze his throat tighter. “You underestimate how much of an animal I really am. If you truly understood, you’d know it’s never a good fucking idea to wave raw meat in front of a lion.
He’ll consume you down to the bone. I’m not here to play silly little word games with you, I’m here for the truth, and when I get that truth, then I’ll be here to crush you.
So tell me how you’ve sabotaged every aspect of my life and we can finally get to the fun part. ”
“Sabotage you? You wouldn’t be alive if not for me! I’ve saved your—ACK!” he coughs as I clench his throat to the point his windpipe feels like it’ll snap in two. “Oh… oh… kay! OKAY!”
I relent just enough for him to sputter some more and attempt real words.
“You’re too busy pointing the finger at me, thinking your trusted nanny’s got some scheme going with me, you don’t see it!”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t realize it ain’t me or your blood that’s the problem!”
I release a howl that’s thick and feral like the animal Pa has said I am. Wrenching him away from the wall, I drag him toward the doors that lead to his grand balcony. I shove them open and then bring him toward the banister that overlooks the three stories belong.
Pa’s clumsy and heavy-footed trying to keep up ’til he loses his balance altogether and I’m dragging him like he’s a kicking, screaming bag of potatoes. He’s no small man, but his size still poses no challenge for me.
I handle him without any effort.
Forcing him to his feet again, I shove him half over the railing on the balcony. More wild screams tear from his throat as he hangs damn near upside down. The fall probably wouldn’t kill him unless he landed on his head or neck, but it could render him disabled or out of commission for a long time.
It’s no fall that would be pleasant in any sense of the word.
“You crazy ugly motherfucker!” he yells, scrabbling for a hold on the railing. “Let me go!”
“Interesting word choice, Pa. Do you really want me to let you go right now?”
“Don’t… don’t let go! Don’t you dare fucking let go!” he squeals, and I almost grin.
Codardo.
And has the audacity to act like I’m beneath him. Just some stupid animalistic pawn to be used in his power play.
“Tell me the truth about what’s been going on,” I demand.
“Tell me what the fuck you’re up to and how taking me out gives an advantage to you—that’s what this is about, isn’t it?
Sabotaging me in some way works in your favor, or is this some stupid punishment for not being a boot-licker? It could go either way.”
“Caelian!” he screams, growing more frantic and desperate. “This ain’t funny. Put me down!”
“I’ve done a lot of thinking about it,” I muse aloud, ignoring his pleas. “You could be attempting to manipulate me by making me think it’s Nero out to get me. But really it’s you forcing my hand to be involved in your war.”
“Put me down! Put me down!”
“Then again, you’re not crafty enough. We’re talking about somebody so fucking sloppy, he dribbles brandy all over himself when he drinks. It’s a miracle you’ve risen as high as you have and lasted as long as you have. Maybe all the drugs and alcohol killed too many of your brain cells.”
“Put me down!”
“Tell me the truth!” I rumble, drowning him out. I tip him over the railing a couple more inches ’til I’m the only thing anchoring him. It’d take only one more heave to lift him the rest of the way over.
“You want the truth?” he gasps, flailing. “You want the truth? How about you look to your fucking shrimpy ballerina that you call a wife—ask her all about the shit that’s going down! If you knew… if you only knew… all the ways I protected you from them!”
“WHO?!”
“Put me down!”
“Tell me who!”
“I told you! Your bitch of a wife—NO! NOOO!”
It’s the final plea he gives before I do it.
With a grunt, I give him a push over the railing.
The last few inches of his body slip out of my grasp as he flips over.
For a second that feels longer than it really is, he’s airborne.
He’s flying past the railing, and then in the next second, he’s falling fast.
His body collides with the pavement down below, producing a violent thump.
It’s debatable if they even heard his scream. He’d choked on his own breath on the way down.
I peer over the balcony to admire the damage. He lays bent at odd angles, his foot twitching. Blood begins pooling.
I don’t go to check on him and don’t say another word to anybody. I leave like I came, striding through his large mansion unchecked and unbothered by any of his men I encounter. It’s as I’m walking out the front door that I finally catch snippets of the commotion starting.
They’ve found him out on the pavement below his balcony.
Not in time to stop me as I get in my Audi and speed off into the night. I’m operating off pure adrenaline driving the two hours into the mountains where my estate is located. It’s minutes after four in the morning by the time I’m pulling up.
I enter the home in the dark without bother to flick on the light.
The light would only ruin my next move. I’ve made good on my word I’d make Pa pay for the lies and schemes he’s been pulling. Now I’ll make good on finding out for myself if Ms. Poitier is truly the rat she seems to be.
There’s just one problem.
As I approach the doors that take you out to the terrace where Ms. Poitier’s been sneaking out at night, I discover I’m not alone.
Mia bella ballerina had the same idea.