Matteo and I have been close since we were three and were old enough to choose one another to play with. We’ve been practically fraternal twins since the day we were born. I’m two-and-a-half hours older. We used to share a crib when our mothers visited each other practically daily. Luca and Matteo’s older brother, Emilio, were close until their falling out.
Once we really got into the family business, Maria sought her other friends because we could no longer involve her in the things we got up to. It was an adjustment back then— not having her around with her infectious laugh and ability to cause the most trouble and never get caught. I’m adjusting to this change in our relationships now that I’m the odd man out. Would it be nice to have someone to come home to? Someone to love and be loved by? Of course. Are my family members making it work? Definitely. Do I want to endanger a wife and children just because I might get lonely? Not a fucking chance in hell.
I don’t fault the others for finding their soulmates. I just won’t look for mine. I absolutely believe in them. My parents and aunts and uncles— except for Auntie Paola and Uncle Cesare —are proof they exist. I’ve known that my entire life. But that doesn’t mean I need to find mine. However, that’s small consolation as I climb into bed alone. I’m going to my club tomorrow night. I’ll fuck this maudlin shit out of my system.
“Where are we at with those fuckers?”
I jerk my chin toward the two men strung up in the garage. This isn’t some tandem residential space. This appears to be an abandoned commercial garage. It’s where we deal with the unsavory parts of our jobs. It’s where people walk in but never walk out. It’s in an Italian neighborhood where we either pay people well for their silence, or they’re smart enough to be too terrified to say anything. The guys are naked and hanging from hooks in the overhead door chains. We’ve been opening and lowering the doors a few inches to a few feet to coerce them. It must feel like their arms are about to rip through their skin. Not to mention the fact that I took pliers to their teeth earlier.
Matteo shakes his head and rolls his eyes.
“They’ve given up as much as they know. Now we’re just punishing them.”
We purposely don’t grease any of the chains. The doors are the big metal ones that echo like thunder when they open and close. It drowns out the screams. As I look at the men, I know Matteo’s right. We know the men who kidnapped Aunt Sylvia are all dead now. We know they were men Maks hired afterwards for an unrelated job, and he didn’t know of their involvement. We don’t know the mastermind.
We know the man who arranged the mercenaries was beaten to within an inch of his life for a completely unrelated issue. The Triad may operate in China, but they have no qualms about settling scores with individuals here in New York. It was a bit bittersweet, though. The man, Robert Simms, targeted Chelle for her connections to our family and the Kutsenkos. Simms attempted to wage his vendetta against Pasha Kutsenko through Chelle. We thought they’d killed him, but he survived. Motherfucker.
That’s a prime reason why I don’t want to bring an outsider into this world. There are Mafia daughters I could consider, but I’ve never been interested in anyone from the families who work for us. I’ve known the women my entire life. I even messed around with a few in high school. But if I were to marry, I’d want a life to come home to that’s separate from work. Since work is family and family is work, there’s no way to separate them. Hence why I won’t marry.
But fucking hell. I’d still love to strip Elizabeth naked. Lick every inch of her. Make her beg to