22. Killian
“Explain,” I demand, putting my dick into my pants and trying to ignore the look of horror and what seems like interest from my older brother.
“A fucking Prince Albert. I’m impressed, Little Bro. Never tried that before. Granted, I’m the one doing the fucking, but still...”
Madd scratches his head as if contemplating things I refuse to think about when it comes to him.
“Mate, you are too fucking free with your man meat talk. May I remind you he’s your brother? And this...” Liam adds, waving a hand toward the chairs in my office.
“This must be covered in unspeakable things. I am not sitting on that.” Liam’s face contorts into a horrified expression as Madd whispers the word “spunk” to no one and everyone.
“Madd, this is the last time you ‘little bro me.’ I am your capo—”
“We’re not in the Don era, and you’re not Al Capone,” Maddox says with a snort.
He lifts his hands in surrender after one look from me in response. Kai only shakes his head while Liam looks at the floor with what can only be called disgust.
“For fuck’s sake.”
I lift my hand, preventing an undoubtedly snarky remark from Madd as I say, “Liam, we didn’t fuck on the chairs. Sit your proper British ass down and speak.”
I hear a chuckle from the bathroom, and then the water starts running. A sound I never imagined I would get to hear again.
Maricela starts to sing in Spanish. The song speaks about the doubt of joy from the little I can hear. I’m more than grateful that I had insisted on a full bathroom in my office. Raven called me a rich, spoiled mafioso, but she did as I asked.
“Ew,” Liam taunts. “Just ew. Look at your face. You’re glowing.”
“The reason you interrupted my morning?” I remind them again, looking at Kai as he nods. Understanding my demand, he starts to speak.
“Remember Elio?”
Of course, I remember Elio. He was the red-headed teenage boy in Italy. The one who helped me return to New York after the trials. No one can forget his transparent skin and freckled face.
“Ginger Head,” I reply, just as I referred to the boy that day in Italy.
“Right. So, after we saved his life, he decided he wanted to join the mafia.” I shake my head. The kid’s promise went to shit.
“They don’t learn,” Maddox says quietly.
“Yes. But that’s not what’s important,” Kai continues.
“Mr. Freckles decided to follow the Albanian and Irish mafia because of his looks. And he managed to get into their group.”
“Who was responsible for this?”
Liam says, “Nikolai and Papa Dearest approved. You hadn’t been given your role yet.”
“Okay, and how does Franco have anything to do with this? He’s in his mansion dying. He’s been to every possible hospital in the world, and no treatment has helped. What can he do from bed?”
I don’t believe the words even as I say them. I know better than most what Franco is capable of.
“He still has loyal people,” Maddox reminds me. He believed we should eliminate all of Franco’s employees to establish order from within.
“Okay. But what are we going to do?”
“So, this boy, Elio,” Kai says, resuming his story.
“He said he heard many speak about a man named The Crazy One, especially among the Albanians, and that he gave them information. It took him a while to find out, but The Crazy One is your father.”
“Call this Elio boy. Now.”
“He’s here in the office talking to Bertha.”
Maricela steps out of the bathroom with her hair still wet, more gorgeous than ever. The first thing I notice is her tantalizing scent.
The scent of wild waters still surrounds her, but the scent of my shampoo marks her as who she really is—my woman. She stands next to me, her head held high.
This Maricela reminds me of the woman I couldn’t break no matter what I did—my wild little girl.
Maddox says, “I don’t know what you did to my brother, but keep it going.”
“Wow, you look like a princess. Are your eyes real?” the boy, who will turn into minced meat in a moment, asks Maricela the second he enters the office.
Maddox turns to him and barks, “Boy, you came to report to the boss not to flirt with his fucking woman,” Madd warns, making the child jump.
“S–sorry, Capo di Capo.” The teenager who wanted to kill me a few years ago to save his family has changed. His hair and freckles are the same, but he’s a young man now.
“I don’t have time for this, Elio.”
I call him by his name, giving him the respect he clearly earned.
“Who set you up to spy on the Albanians? What do you know about Franco? And what did you find out?”
“I tried to contact you many times from Italy, but they kept telling me I couldn’t speak to an important person like you. So, I went to Maurizio. He’s your uncle, no?”
Maurizio is Isabella’s cousin. His connection to the mafia is slight, but I nod for Elio to continue.
“So, he got me in contact with Kai and Liam’s father through a video call. They asked if I could enter the enemy’s house, so I agreed. I did well in school, like I promised you.”
“Okay, kid. I believe you. You left your parents.” A melancholic look passes on his face.
“I pretended to be a street kid. My Italian accent didn’t bother them much because I said my family had abandoned me. I went around their organized groups. They’re nothing like ‘La Familia.’ After a month, they believed me.”
“Did you kill for them?”
“I had to. But I killed their traitors. I didn’t kill any of us.”
This is not what I wanted for the kids I left behind. I should have kept an eye on him. I fucked up. Maricela takes me by the hand. I hold it tight.
“And what did you find out?”
“There was one man there. They called him The Albanian, and they called you The Young Warrior,” he says, motioning to me and my men.
Those fuckers referenced the meaning of my Irish name.
“I don’t know The Albanian’s true name, but that was his nickname. None go by their true names. One is called Crooked Nose because they broke his nose and—”
I wave a hand in the air, indicating he should get on with the story.
Elio nods and says, “So, this Albanian was always talking to someone, calling him The Crazy One, and he kept giving this man details. I once dared to ask who it was, and The Albanian said he was an important Italian giving them information. So, I played like I hated Italians and told them that Italians don’t sell their people out, that they only leave children behind as orphans in the streets.”
The boy glances at Maddox and Liam, who signal him to continue.
“He told me the previous capo is selling out his son because he has cancer, and he’s bored. Franco told them that he hates you.”
“You did a good job, kid,” I say. “Although that hairstyle doesn’t suit you.” He runs a hand over his long ginger hair.
“I don’t think I can do it anymore. One whore saw me looking for information. She started following me everywhere I went. I think she heard me speaking with Liam.”
“Very well. You must disappear.”
“I don’t want to go back to Italy. Papa and Mama are dead now.”
“He’ll take care of you,” Maricela says from her place beside me. “I promise.”
I wonder if she realizes what she’s doing—acting like the wife of a capo.
Liam snarls, “What do we do now? We can’t let Franco get away with this nonsense.”
We all want to get revenge on him for what he’s done to us, but the parents of my two dumb friends have stopped us.
“I have an idea.”
We all turn to Maricela at her soft-spoken words.
“Your father needs to lose the only thing he has left,” Maricela says, and we call my mother.