Chapter Twenty
Tyson
The smell of sex, smoke and alcohol hits my lungs.
The heavy beat of base pounding in my head, pulsating in my temples. This is bringing back unpleasant memories, making me already regret my decision to come here.
The Death Trap.
The finest establishment in Los Angeles, if you can call a whorehouse that. Reserved only for the wealthiest and most depraved.
Well, officially it’s a just a club with the occasional stripper lounge, but no one would dare checking the back rooms.
Not if you don’t want to end up in a body bag since going against the Corso brothers in his city is a certain death sentence.
Perks of being as ruthless as we are.
While other cities on the West Coast that belong to the Italians get hit with the occasional attempt from the Bratva or the Irish Mob to gain a foothold, Los Angeles belongs wholly to the Camorra.
Secured with our blood.
And since my brother Dante took over this particular joint, he’s not only made it much more profitable, but ensured that none of the girls were held here against their will like it used to be during my father’s reign.
With a black balaclava covering my face, I slip in through the back entrance. None of the bouncers blinking an eye as I pass the VIP area, heading straight upstairs and away from the inebriated mass of grinding bodies.
As soon as I enter the code to my brother’s office, I’m greeted by the obnoxious sound of slurping with the occasional gagging in between.
The massive bulk of my eldest brother is slumped in a leather chair behind his vast oak desk. The room dark and uninviting just like the man himself.
But what throws me off me most is that there's stubble covering his wide jaw, his always neatly groomed hair in disarray.
Nonetheless, in his three-piece designer suit hiding the Camorra's tattoo on his chest, the ink I’ve never gotten for myself, the man still looks like a true king.
Brutal and merciless.
His eyes, filled with an emptiness similar to my own despite his cock getting sucked, rise to meet my gaze. The whore at his feet working hard to dislocate her jaw, unperturbed by my presence.
“Out!” Dante barks and the girl instantly scrambles to her feet and out of the room, keeping as much distance between herself and me as humanly possible.
Stumbling out the door, she doesn’t bother fixing her clothes since one of her boobs is still hanging out the top of her skintight mini dress.
I raise an eyebrow.
Dante never brings the whores home with him. Or anyone for that matter.
He’s a meticulously consistent bastard.
Also, it’s always ones with dark, mahogany hair. Every single one of them. Yet he never fucks one twice.
At least that’s what rumors suggest since I'm not around much anymore with being perceived dead and all of that.
My half-brothers even procured a body that was mutilated enough it could have easily been me.
All to set me free from this life. Letting the throne pass to Dante without anyone questioning his claim.
Rafe keeps me informed though. Not that I give a fuck about my brother’s sex life, or the lack there of from the looks of it. But our younger brother tends to be more invested in this bullshit than actual business.
“The fuck are you doing here. Someone could have recognized you!” One thing I like about Dante is that he’s a straight to the point kind of guy.
What you see is what you get with him, none of the emotional shit that would be wasted on me all the same.
“Then they’d be dead.” I make myself comfortable in the seat opposite him. “I finished up with Rafe and decided to drop by. Long time no see.”
“Right, if it wasn't on your way you wouldn’t have bothered.” His voice is cold, completely unaffected.
Only a few people would be able to distinguish the nuances in his undertone, reserved for his closest circle.
“You know me too well, brother.” I counter with a wink to piss him off.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of you barging in on me getting my dick sucked.”
“You should be thanking me. It looked like you've forgotten she was down there.”
Grumbling something under his breath that sounds a lot like fucking smartass, Dante fixes me with one of his signature glares.
“Did you dispose of the body?” All familiarity vanishes, leaving only the Capo of the Camorra before me.
“Each body part has been sent to a different underboss. The head to the Pakhan, the cock to John himself.”
“At this point, war is inevitable.” There’s a lethal edge to his dark gaze.
No one knows how to wage and win a wars better than my half-brother.
No one knows how to fight more ruthlessly and without merci better than the Capo.
“They haven't acted directly against us. I doubt they even know how deeply we're involved in this.” That may be true, yet it changes nothing.
“Not a soul knows who Malory truly is to us. To them, John has no real ties to the Camorra or they wouldn’t have dared crossing us on our own turf.”
I seriously doubt that Malory’s father has mentioned his transgressions against us to the Russians, our shared past.
Or the old Pakhan wouldn’t have been so easily swayed to have his men acting as mere foot soldiers in his search for my baby girl.
“If they haven't known before, they will soon.”
When I narrow my eyes at him, he amends. “Not Malory’s identity. If they think she means nothing to us, or better yet that she’s dead, it’ll keep her safe. But from your actions alone, your grudge against John has become quite evident.”
Yeah well, Rafe and I might have left quite the display of flayed meat hanging off each separated limb from the asshole he caught last night, disturbing me and my girl with his call about whether I wanted to join in on the mutilation.
Something that's been adopted since my brother’s ruthless rule. Dante’s unrestrained brutality inspiring unwavering loyalty among his ranks, making him a born leader.
A Capo .
“Nonetheless they must be dealt with sooner or later.” Dante leans back in the padded armchair that barely fits his bulk. The man is even bigger than I am and that’s an impossible feat.
“We haven't chased the Bratva out of our territory for nothing all those years ago. And it will fucking stay that way.” He states with deathly finality.
Once the Capo sets his mind on something there’s nothing and no one that will stand in his way. No matter how much blood has to be shed in the process.
“None of this touches her.” I snarl.
I’m more than content to leave my brother to his wars. Not caring how many bodies he leaves behind as long as it isn’t the one person I’ve come to care about.
“You have my word. She'll be protected.”
With a final nod, I stand. Heading for the exit without another word.
After spending half of the night questioning and then dismembering another Russian who's been foolishly looking for what's mine, I ache to get back to Malory.
Without her in my arms, I feel emptier than ever before, the bottomless hole in my chest throbbing at its edges.
“And Tyson?”
One foot out of the door, I look over my shoulder, meeting Dante’s unreadable gaze.
“Take care of her, brother.”