They bow their heads as I walk, showing me the same respect they give my father and brother.
I make my way inside, and as always, I take in the fervent atmosphere when I turn down the large hallway leading to the meeting room.
The atmosphere emanates from the décor and design my father chose for this particular section of the house. The Renaissance paintings lining the walls on either side are what does it.
This is the only section of this house where you might believe you’re walking the halls of an Italian family home. It’s the route our men would take and what they’d see on their way to meetings.
As an avid lover of great art works and an artist himself, my father chose the paintings that depict the most powerful images of war and death. As such, he favored Caravaggio for the emotion he evoked in his art.
The paintings serve as a reminder that although times change and so do the players, similar problems exist over time. Those who are in power will try to maintain power and gain more, and the weaker parties will either ally themselves with those in charge or overthrow them. Such was the case with many revolutions in history, and often what brought down the powerful are the things they overlooked or making the simple mistake of thinking they were invincible.
Walking down here is like taking a walk through the Vatican in Rome, where I’ve always felt the old mythological world had been preserved somewhat within that space. I have the same feeling here, but today, the images of war and death remind me of my own situation because we are at war with an unknown enemy.
Raul Alvarez was only a piece of the puzzle that still mystifies me, and I need to get to the heart of what’s going on before it comes back to screw with me and my family.
I walk into the meeting room and find the people I need to talk to are both inside.
At the head of the table is my father, whose face brightens when he sees me. Some of the life returns—a sign he was worried about me. Next to him is Ivan, my brother—myhalf-brother,but as Father keeps reminding us, the same blood flows through our veins. It matters not that we have different mothers or we’re ten years apart. We’re brothers.
I know he wants us to be the same kind of brothers as he and his brother were, but unlike his brother, Ivan would never take a bullet for me.
The flat, emotionless look in his almost black eyes reminds me of that and is a tell he’s jealous as fuck that I’ve just done something neither expected me to do.
Sophia, my aunt and my father’s sister, walks into the room from the other side with a stack of papers in her hands.
When she sees me, she rushes over to me and hugs me.
She’s the balance in our dark world. She’s the closest thing I have to a mother now, and like my mother, she’s always been there for me.
She was the first face I woke up to when I came out of the coma, and she’s been on edge ever since worrying over my safety.
“Thank God, you’ve returned,” she mutters, tears filling her eyes as she gazes up at me.
“Was there ever any doubt?” Father says in that same powerful voice he’s used to command the legion of members in our Bratva and our allies. “This is my son, Sophia. Of course, he has returned.”
“I’m just happy to see him return unharmed,” Sophia says.
“Thank you, Auntie,” I say. I only call her that in special moments like these when we’re together as a family. At other times, I refer to her by her name for business purposes.
Sophia might appear soft because of her good-natured ways, but she’s the equivalent of a consigliere in the Italian Mafia to my father. Nothing gets past her, and she’s the backbone to our organization.
“And what news do you have, brother?” Ivan asks, running a hand through his dark mane of hair that has the same unruly style as mine.
That’s perhaps as far as our similarities go.
I reach into my pocket and pull out Raul’s ring. I walk right up to the table and hold it up so they can see it.
“We now have control of the Alvarez Cartel.”
Father nods his approval. He’s proud of me. “Well done, my son.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Getting control of the cartels in Mexico is a massive achievement to be proud of, but the key reason he looks like that is because of the justice I got for my mother and sister.
I put the plan together as soon as I could walk.
I left my hospital bed against doctor’s orders and raced against time to find my sister. I already knew finding her would be a lost cause.
