Chapter 3
SANDRO
I can feel Raf fuming beside me. I half expected him to make me find my own way home tonight. But he didn’t abandon me after our dinner with the Lombardis like I thought he might—not that I would have minded walking.
But after three more fights in the Murrays’ underground boxing ring, my jaw is throbbing, my knee doesn’t bend quite right after a dirty shot from McMann, and I can barely see out of my left eye.
I’d probably make an easy enough target on the streets tonight. Maybe that’s why Raf decided to stay.
Or maybe he was ready to watch someone beat the crap out of me after how I behaved in front of my future in-laws.
Either way, the beast inside me is finally quiet, and I’ll be able to get some sleep tonight.
It’s been much harder to come by since the Tanakas ripped my family’s world apart and left my twin brother’s life in pieces.
They killed our father, killed Raf’s wife, destroyed our family home. They took everything from us and left us scattered, vulnerable.
I know I won’t rest easy until they’re dead—everyone who betrayed us.
That’s the only reason I agreed to take a wife. If we need the Lombardis’ support that badly, I’ll marry their daughter.
In the end, I’m not the one who will pay the price.
Until the dust settles, I can carry the guilt of strapping her with a man like me.
I’m sure it won’t take her long to realize she drew the short straw in this arrangement.
From how well dinner went, I’m confident her family has already realized just how horribly they’ve failed their daughter.
But if tonight didn’t convince them to break off the engagement, I doubt anything will.
To my surprise, I feel a flicker of pity for Evelina Lombardi.
She likely has no choice but to marry me. Her family wouldn’t take her wants or desires into consideration when they could finally land a Chiaroscuro for a son-in-law—even if I’m the broken brother.
It’s a prospect they’ve likely been drooling over since they first discovered they would be having a baby girl.
To climb the twisted social ladder of our world, the Lombardis are willing to sacrifice their only daughter to a monster.
This will likely be their best chance to join our houses, a feat I know Matteo Lombardi has been struggling to achieve for years.
How the mighty have fallen that a Chiaroscuro would even consider stooping to such a level. And yet, there’s no doubt in my mind that Evelina is the one getting the raw end of the deal.
The car rolls to a stop at the front of the gates of the Novikov estate, and they slowly swing open.
It’s strange to think of the Bratva compound as home, but over the last few months, since we claimed it, destroying Pyotr Novikov’s clan in retribution for helping the Tanakas, I’ve actually come to like the more practical layout of the fortified Russian compound.
And with my adopted brother, Miko, taking charge as the new Bratva Pakhan, we’re far less exposed than we would have been without a place to call home.
Speaking of the devil, Miko’s waiting for us in the vaulted foyer as we stride through the well-guarded front doors.
“How’d it go?” Miko asks, arching one eyebrow and swirling his tumbler of whiskey as he takes in Raf’s stormy expression, then my ragged appearance. “I take it the Lombardis thought better of the arrangement.”
Raf snorts as he makes a beeline for the cigar room and the fully stocked wet bar in it.
“Against all odds—or any semblance of reason—they haven’t changed their minds.
Yet.” He pours himself a healthy shot of whiskey and casts me a dirty look before dropping onto the couch without offering me one.
He really must be pissed. “Though Sandro did a damn good job of trying to convince them to back out tonight.”
Shrugging, I head to the bar and pour myself a drink, then grab a handful of ice from the ice bucket and press it directly to my swollen eye.
Biting back a moan, I settle beside Miko on the soft chocolate-colored leather sofa across from my twin.
“Tweedledum over here didn’t bother meeting me at the house to get ready, like I asked him to,” Raf grouses. “I had to drag him out of the Murrays’ fighting pits once I realized he had no intention of even acknowledging the messages I sent.”
“You know I don’t keep my phone on me when I fight—”
“And you know how I feel about your getting chummy with the Irish after what they did.” Raf’s words crack like a whip, his eyes flashing, but his argument has grown stale.
We’ve been over this more times than I can count. Yes, the Murrays joined with the Tanakas and Novikovs to burn our family home—and empire—to the ground. They smiled to our faces as they slid the knife between our shoulder blades.
But we only have the strength to take on one enemy at a time—and the Tanakas pose the largest threat to our continued survival.
Besides, if rumors in the fighting pits hold any truth, the alliance made between the Japanese and the Irish might not last much longer. And that will only be to our advantage.
“Regardless of how you might feel about it, Raf, we all know what Don Augusta would have said,” Miko says softly. “Keep your friends close…”
“And your enemies closer,” Raf finishes, his expression dark with fury. “The strategy isn’t hard to grasp, but we both know that’s not why Sandro fights.”
His eyes find mine again, and I can see the underlying turmoil in them—because even if Raf and I stopped speaking about it a long time ago, I know he carries the blame for my insatiable thirst for violence.
He knows the reason behind it—all my brothers do.
But Raf’s the one who feels responsible for creating the monster inside me.
In many ways, we are two parts of one whole.
So, despite the countless times I’ve tried to convince him otherwise, he still shoulders the blame for my worthless, broken mind.
Because there’s no denying that he got the lion’s share when it comes to intelligence. I’m about as sharp as a butter knife. But that’s not his fault.
Nor is the fact that our father tried his damnedest to beat some sense into me—literally—when he realized something about my mind wasn’t quite right.
I guess the lesson stuck better than I would have anticipated, because now that our old man is dead and gone, I’ve just found another way to get my bell rung.
When it comes right down to it, Raf’s not wrong to question the reasoning behind my actions.
Because logic has nothing to do with it. Fighting is the one way I’ve found to silence the voices in my head—the endless whispers of just how damaged and unworthy I am.
He’s right.
I don’t go to the Murrays to keep a finger on the pulse of our enemies. I do it for my own peace of mind. So I can get some damn sleep around here.
“Can we let it go?” I growl. “The Lombardis didn’t reject the proposal, so what does it matter if I made a bad first impression? If anything, I think it proves we can stop worrying so much about our numbers. They’ll definitely back us.”
Raf releases a heavy breath through his nose, and his shoulders finally start to relax as he leans forward to brace his elbows on his knees.
“You’re right. They might not relish the idea of your being their son-in-law after tonight, but they didn’t even hint at backing out of the alliance.
And their daughter handled the situation better than I could have hoped. ”
His lips quirk into a bitter smirk, and I can see the pain behind his eyes as he stares into his whiskey glass.
“She’s beautiful, too, isn’t she?” he murmurs. “No doubt, she’ll make a perfect bride.”
I know the agony behind Raf’s words, the reason he couldn’t accept the proposal himself. He’s still carrying the gaping hole that his wife, Genevieve, left behind the day she died. And that loss is all he can think about. It underscores every decision he’s made, taints every emotion.
It’s funny. When Raf met and married Genevieve less than a year ago, I was sure he only did it to get under my father’s skin—not because she was the love of Raf’s life or anything, like Stephanie is for my brother Gio, like Sora is for Leo, and Anika is for Miko.
But seeing the devastation Genevieve’s death has caused him made me rethink what she and Raf must have had.
It’s the one time I’ve come to doubt my understanding of my twin, and seeing his grief, day by day, makes me all the more reluctant to form that kind of attachment myself. Even if it’s just contractual.
“Sounds like you’re in luck, Sandro,” Miko says, his blue eyes glinting as he turns them on me. “No more need to find comfort at Portentia’s once you tie the knot.”
I grunt in response and toss back my drink.
It’s no secret that I’m the last of my brothers to continue frequenting the private members club that belongs to our family.
Though it was Miko and Leo who introduced me to the pleasure of getting lost inside a woman when they took me and Raf to Portentia’s for our fifteenth birthday, they’ve long since quit sex clubs in favor of their wives’ beds. But I’ve never seen the appeal.
Why willingly accept a weakness when I’ve spent my entire life trying to wring every last ounce of it from my veins? The soft spot I have for my brothers is one I’ll never be rid of—even if our father tried his damnedest to change that. But I refuse to lower my defenses for anyone else.
Still, I can’t deny Evelina is strikingly beautiful, and her composure tonight was unshakeable.
That will be an invaluable quality in a Mafia bride.
But I won’t say as much because it might muddy my brothers’ understanding of where I stand on this whole ludicrous plan.
I don’t want a wife. But the Lombardis have the numbers we need, so this will be an invaluable alliance.
All I want is revenge for our family, and if marrying Evelina will help accomplish that goal, then that’s what I’ll do.
“Now that negotiations are settled,” Miko says, changing the subject since I’m clearly not interested in discussing the current one, “we’ve been putting off a more pressing conversation for far too long.”
Raf and I share a dark look. I’d almost prefer we go back to talking about my impending nuptials. But Miko, it would seem, is determined to rip the Band-Aid off.
“What with Leo quitting the illicit side of the family business and Gio refusing to take part in revenge—or running things—now that they’re both married and becoming fathers…
” A fact that, thankfully, hasn’t softened Miko’s thirst for Tanaka blood, at least. “The Chiaroscuro family no longer has a Don,” he points out.
The way he says it makes it painfully clear that he no longer considers himself a part of that family—even if we still consider him a brother. But he is Novikov by blood, no matter what I think on the matter.
“The men need someone to get behind if we’re going to take back what the Tanakas stole from us.”
“You should be the one to take over,” Raf says, his voice cool and rational. “You’ve been leading Chiaroscuro men for nearly a decade now. They trust you. And you’re already the head of the Novikov Bratva. You’ll unite the two in a way no one else ever could.”
Miko shakes his head. “I have my hands full running one family. Besides, Don Augusta was right. I’m not a true Chiaroscuro.
The men won’t follow me—especially now that we know who I really am.
No, I will be your ally to the end—and always your brother in the ways that count—but I can’t run two such distinctly different families. ”
Silence stretches between us, the tension humming in the air as I consider the reasoning behind his decision.
He’s right. When it comes down to it, no Italian would willingly follow a Russian Pakhan—even if that Pakhan was raised to follow the code the Family abides by.
Miko might understand all the intricacies of our world and hierarchy.
But Don Parelli—the capo dei capi, in charge of approving our next Chicago Don—would never allow it.
He’s already made it very clear how little he likes that Leo abdicated after receiving his blessing.
Thankfully, we never got far enough down the path of making Gio Don to ask for his blessing a second time.
This is the last chance we’re going to get before Don Parelli might decide to remove our family entirely.
And if he does, then no amount of fighting or bloodshed will return us to power.
“Then Sandro and I can rule together,” Raf says, his jaw setting as that familiar look of determination ignites a spark behind his eye. “People practically think of us as one person anyway,” he jokes. “And since they can’t tell us apart, who’s to question us about which one should hold the title?”
I appreciate Raf’s hesitation to claim the title for his own—especially considering that the long and glorious tradition of naming a new Don usually ends with infighting and blood between brothers, if not outright murder, rather than a peaceful compromise.
But I’m shaking my head before he’s even finished suggesting his plan.
“I don’t want the title,” I state. “I’m the muscle, not the brains.”
Raf frowns, his expression darkening, even as Miko chuckles.
“I hate it when you say stuff like that,” he grumbles.
“Let’s face it. You were born to be Don, Raf—more than any of the rest of us, really—even if our father couldn’t see it.
The only thing that’s stopped you from being the best choice to lead this family are stupid, archaic traditions that say you can’t because we’re the youngest. But you’re the kind of man with a voice and mind that our men will rally behind.
Not me. And they need that now more than ever if we’re going to take back our birthright. ”
It’s probably the longest speech I’ve ever given, and Raf seems surprised by the compliment, but Miko’s smile just broadens, and he claps me firmly on the shoulder.
“Can’t argue with that,” Miko says, turning his eyes on Raf.
And after a moment’s hesitation, Raf gives a single nod of acceptance.