Owned by the mafia boss

MICHAEL

There were seven stages of grief, but I only felt one.

Rage.

Daniel had an anger management problem. A gangster with attitude. Go figure. He wasn’t the easiest person to deal with. Growing up, we’d had a love-hate relationship. He slapped me around until I packed on enough muscle to strike back. We used to beat the shit out of each other. Once, he stabbed me in the thigh.

My overwhelmed mother sent him to therapists who made him count to ten and bullshit like that. Daniel never hit pause on his aggression. If a fight broke out, he ended it with a gun. And he won.

This time, he hadn’t been so lucky.

All I knew was that an altercation had led to Carmela’s father sinking two rounds in my brother’s head. Knowing Daniel, he probably asked for it. That didn’t mean my mom deserved to watch his corpse sink into the ground.

It was my job to pick up the pieces.

“Ignacio. Can you hear me?”

I doubted he heard anything but the ringing.

Ignacio slumped on concrete. Carmela’s judgmental gaze seemed to glare through her father’s eyes. A patchy beard stained with vomit grew in salt-and-pepper chunks. He still wore his Sunday clothes, although he’d stripped to his tank top. Every day, he’d peeled off another blood-soaked layer, discarding it like a tumor excised from his body.

I took it as a sign of progress that he was weakening his resistance, but after countless fuck-yous and fuck-your-mothers, I decided Ignacio was nowhere close to a mental breakdown.

Stubborn ass.

My brother had been just as bullheaded, and the comparison twisted a knife in my chest. If I’d taken his complaints seriously, Daniel’s dispute with Ignacio would’ve stayed harmless. My mom and sister wouldn’t be wrecked. I wouldn’t be struggling to move on in a world without him.

“Fuck you,” Ignacio growled. “Fuck your mother and your rotten family. I hope they get cancer in the ass and die, all of them.”Property belongs to Nôvel(D)r/ama.Org.

He’d said it a thousand times already.

“I’m bored with these exchanges.” I stooped and grabbed a fistful of his hair. “You tell me to fuck off. I hit you. And round and round we go. What are you trying to prove?”

Ignacio grimaced and spat, crimson staining the floor. The sixty-something-year-old staggered upright, shrugging off his pain like he had for five days.

Carmela’s father was one tough bastard.

“Give me what I want, or I’ll introduce you to Vinn.”

I pointed out my cousin, but it wasn’t necessary. Ignacio’s gaze never strayed far from the imposing Costa boss.

Vinn stood in a navy hoodie, rolled to tattooed sleeves, beside the Camaro that needed bodywork. The acting boss before him, Alessio Salvatore, put him in intimidating roles. Vinn was tall and big, with biceps as wide as my neck, and he didn’t know how to not be frightening. I loved the guy, but he had zero self-restraint. He wielded an axe when he should’ve used a scalpel.

People were scared of Vinn. They zeroed in on what I overlooked. Instead of deadness, I saw decades of trust. Vinn was the kid with nothing to eat until my mom sent me to school with two lunches. He was a tragic character who attracted women like my sister, who wanted to fix him.

I switched on the stereo, which blasted Metallica’s “Ride the Lightning.” Ignacio groaned and pitched forward. Spittle ran from his mouth in a constant stream, and he screamed in unintelligible syllables.

I increased the volume.

Ignacio clawed his ears. The song reached the halfway mark before I stopped the music. His frame straightened to his towering height.

“When I get out, I’ll kill you!”

I grabbed his bound hands and shoved him into the metal chair. “Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome to try if you escape.”

“I swear to Christ. I will burn all you love to the ground.”

“Naz, I have your daughter.”

Ignacio froze. A flicker of panic marbleized his bloodshot gaze. He doubled over, cradling his head, whispering a prayer in a shrill voice I’d never heard before.

Jackpot.

“Carmela came to see me. Beautiful girl. Very sweet. Willing to do anything to save you.”

All we’d done was talk.

I leaned back, lost in the memory of that hottie strolling into my house like she owned the place. Many qualities of Carmela appealed to me-smoking-hot body, grab-me-by-the-balls confidence, and her affinity for children.

All reservations about marrying Carmela disappeared when I remembered Ignacio’s devotion to his daughters. He’d almost started a war with the Irish after a member had assaulted Mia, his youngest. I wanted to twist the blade, so I’d cut him from Carmela.

I would take his darling jewel away from him forever.

Ignacio lunged with a snarl, snapped by Vinn’s hand. “What did you do to my girl?”

“Everything. It was a wild night.”

“I’ll kill you! I kill your whole fucking family!”

“Relax, Ignacio. She’s no worse for wear.” I winked at him, provoking another hoarse scream. “Actually, I’m keeping her.”

If someone taunted me about Mariette like this, I would stab their nuts with an ice pick. It turned Ignacio into a frothing beast who leaped at me no matter how often Vinn restrained him.

“No. Not my daughter, you son of a bitch!”

“Give me information. Save Carmela.” A sharp frustration tugged at my chest as he sat, gnashing his teeth. “Or I’ll continue to do whatever I want with her.”

Nothing.

Maybe he didn’t care.

Ignacio attempted to stand. “I can’t say anything!”

“I’ve had it with your bullshit. Tell me, for Christ’s sake. What did my brother do? Why did you shoot him? You’re dragging this out, and it’s pissing me off! Grow a pair and own what you did.”

Vinn pushed him down. “Michael. Enough.”

I refused to change the subject. “Why did you murder the man protecting you?”

“Michael, stop.”

I grasped Ignacio’s dislocated shoulder and dug my thumb into the joint.

His shriek pierced my eardrums.

“I said stop.” Vinn seized my bicep and jerked his head toward the office. “Let’s talk.”

I shoved him. “I’m not done.”

“You are.”

Disobeying a direct order from Vinn wasn’t an option, even if he was family. I stood, kicking the chair on its side. None of them had ever really seen me angry. They knew me as the fun-loving guy, the peacemaker-the man everybody chose for a godfather role.

Not anymore.

Everything inside was twisted and black.