8. Santino
SANTINO
It’s been days since that video and I’ve watched her finger fuck herself so many times, I’ve lost count. The small whisper of my name falling from her lips is an echo in my mind. It’s all I hear. All day. Every day. I never get rest. She’s all I think about.
And she’s dangerous for my business if I can’t get myself together.
“Mr. Salvati?”
I have to know who she is. Someone who is so brazen to talk to me, a man who kills for no reason at all, takes courage.
Unless…
What if she doesn’t know who I am?
“Mr. Salvati?”
Someone nudges my arm and it’s enough to piss me off because it has the beautiful image drifting from my mind. Yanking my gun out of my holster, I cock it, my finger on the trigger as I point it to Bianchi.
“Dad, what are you doing?” Omar hisses quietly enough for me to hear.
“I’ll be ready to listen on my own time. I don’t appreciate being rushed, Bianchi.”
He raises his hands, a gesture of peace. “I don’t mean to rush you, Salvati. My men here don’t have fucking patience.” His eyes slide to either guard standing beside him. “Apologies for that.”
I tuck my gun into the holster, placing my elbows on the table.
I want nothing more than to put a bullet between his eyes and let the sharks feast on their body.
I keep the marine life fed and prospering at this point.
I’d hate to leave them starving, but I have to wait for the perfect time to attack.
Bianchi can’t know I’m onto him or there will be a war that’ll leave many bodies on my streets.
Innocent people will die. That’s the difference between Bianchi and me. He kills innocents to make a point; I kill people who are guilty—there’s a massive difference.
Guilt sways loyalty. That’s a dying offense in my rulebook.
“I’m hoping my offer is enough to sway your mind for us to join forces, Santino,” he says, picking up a glass of water.
I won’t dare drink anything this man gives me.
Omar reaches for his glass and from under the table, I kick his foot. He understands and drops his arm immediately.
Never take anything from an enemy. Their friendly fa?ade is only used to begin the process of a kill. Anything could be in the water, a poison that could kill my son slowly and I could wake up the next morning with him dead in his bed.
Dramatic? Perhaps.
Has it been done before? Yes.
Because I have done it to other enemies. Never underestimate anyone because everyone has one thing in common.
Everyone will snap when pushed too far. No matter who they are.
They can be the nicest, smartest, calmest, most kind person in the world.
Anger is all the same. It’s an animal in a cage inside us, being poked over and over again until finally…
the beast inside snaps. Nothing but carnage is left in the wake.
“No,” I say simply and stand from my chair. “I believe there is a good system right now, Bianchi. I have the North. You have the South. The city runs well like that. There’s no need to join forces when everything is perfect as it is. We’re allies, nothing more.”
“I’ll give you a month to think about it.”
I lift a brow, splaying my hands on the table.
“Or what? You can’t possibly think you’d ever be able to overthrow me, Bianchi?
You can try, but don’t forget where you come from and who made you.
” I turn to Omar, jutting my chin out in a way that tells him it’s time to go. “I’m happy to continue our truce.”
“Five hundred million,” Bianchi panic shouts as I open the door leading out of the conference room.
I stop in my tracks, glancing over my shoulder at my stepbrother who has a wild wide-eye expression. “What?” I hiss at him, trying to remember the time when we were actually a family.
Bianchi and I have known each other since we were ten years old. My father married his mother. They were happy and in love, the picture-perfect couple.
Except that both of them were ruthless.
Before they got married, Bianchi’s mother controlled the South and my father, the North. When they died, my father left the North territory and wealth to me while Bianchi’s mother left him the same, only the South.
We both control the areas that were left to us.
And for some reason, Bianchi has never been happy with that.
“Five hundred million. The money is yours for us to combine our territories.”
I sigh, pushing the door shut with a slight click.
“Why? Why is this so important to you? And it isn’t because you want to bring the family together, Bianchi.
We all know you never considered me your brother, so what is this about?
Why? And five hundred million? That has to be most of the money you have.
Why are you willing to drain your account for this? ”
He chuckles, folding his hands on his lap as he leans back in his chair. “Most of my fortune?” Bianchi tsks. “You are a fool if you think that’s most of my fortune. Are you low on funds, little brother?”
I sneer, hating him calling me that when I’m nowhere near such title. “You only wish.” I rip open the door again, hating that every single time we have a meeting, they all end up the same.
Me pissed off and ready to kill him, but if I do, it will start a war between our territories.
I’d rather not have that kind of eyes on me.
Cops, the FBI, bounty hunters, everyone would be called, and we would be the most wanted men in the country.
Bianchi has always been greedy. Even when we were kids, he never appreciated what he had.
“It’s only a matter of time. You’ll accept my offer one of these days.”
“You’ll be waiting a very long time, Bianchi. I have my own empire. My children will rule next. Who do you have?” I smirk, tugging on the lapels of my suit. “As always, it’s been a pleasure. Same time in a few months?”
“You can count on it.”
Omar and Lorenzo follow behind me and flank my sides. Stepping onto the elevator, the doors close, and I press the button to the ground floor, loosening my tie and unbuttoning the top of my shirt. I fucking hate meeting with him.
“Don’t say a word until we are out of here.” If Bianchi is smart, he’fs installed hidden cameras in here. It’s what I would do and have done. There isn’t one area of any building I own that isn’t covered by cameras.
“Yes, Sir,” Lorenzo says, standing with his hands folded in front of him.
“You got it, Dad.” Omar leans against the side of the elevator, takes out his lighter, and flicks it on and off.
The sound is grating after the meeting I just had with a person I only like to see, maximum, a few times a year.
Omar lights the flame again, the orange flickering from his breath. I cover it with my palm, suffocating the flame from its oxygen, uncaring how hot it is against my palm.
“Enough,” I warn.
Omar gulps, tucking the lighter in his pocket. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Luca doesn’t fidget. He’s quiet, an observer, watching everything unfold from the sidelines. It’s how he learned so quickly how to be good at this job. He’s always aware of his surroundings, which is what makes me sad about how short his temper is.
It will be the death of him.
Omar only needs some guidance. He’ll learn.
The elevator doors ding and Lorenzo is the first one to step out, hand placed on his hip where the gun is. He looks left, then right, clearing the space, and I step behind him with Omar covering my back.
The air is warm and the sun is hot as we step out of the skyscraper. Sam, the driver, is waiting on the curb, opening the back door for us. When we climb in, I punch the seat with frustration, and unscrew the cap of an expensive scotch, taking a large swig out of the bottle.
Not many can get under my skin, but my stepbrother does.
“What do you think he’s game is, Dad?” Omar asks. “I don’t understand what he wants.”
“He’s desperate. Something bigger is going on.
Five hundred million is a lot of money to take over the North.
” I take another swig, trying to think about what Bianchi’s plans are.
“Obviously, my territory is worth the price. I run it better than Bianchi ever could.” Hard truths are just facts.
The crime, murders, even drug busts are higher on his side of town.
I’m smarter than him and right now, I don’t like being outsmarted by someone who doesn’t know how to control his own territory. Now, he wants mine? For what?
It makes no sense.
“What would you like the next steps to be?” Lorenzo asks.
“I want to know what my stepbrother is up to. I don’t care what it takes. Find someone who is willing to turn on him, offer them protection here.”
“And then?” Omar leans forward, a serious expression his mother also had when she wanted to know more.
“And then, we use it to our advantage. We have time. He didn’t get what he wanted from me today. He’ll keep trying before he retorts to anymore violence. Trying to flip another one of my men will blow his cover. Mark failed so Bianchi is needing to start over.”
“I can’t believe that prick is my uncle.” Omar glares at the window, his fingers curling into a tight fist.
“He isn’t,” I remind him. “He is not family. He isn’t your uncle. Being a part of someone’s past doesn’t mean they are welcome in your future.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?” Omar’s voice is smaller like a small boy curious about the world instead of a grown man about to take on a kingdom.
Lorenzo puts in his earbuds, knowing this conversation isn’t meant for him. It’s between father and son.
Omar isn’t my employee right now. He’s my kid, wondering what it would have been like to have an uncle who loves him instead of wanting to kill him.
“It used to,” I admit, slapping my hand on his knee, and he lifts his big gaze up at me.
It hits me that not once have I ever thought about how my relationship with Bianchi would affect my children. Omar and Luca only ever had me and their mother. They don’t have any other family except me and the people who would give their lives for us who are in the Salvati Syndicate.