Son of a Mobster (Dangerous Devotions Book 1)

CHAPTER ONE

(Sean)

Burning leather always left an undesirable stench in the air, but another pair of gloves unavoidably fell victim to the infuriated flames of my fireplace. I wrung my hands still feeling the sticky blood that had never actually touched bare skin.

I stripped off my shirt, tossed it and watched as the evidence of another man's life fluids were obliterated, then did the same with expensive black dress pants and rubbed my chilled, tattooed arms while I watched them burn. Soon, ashes would be all that remained of that night's brutal altercation. Of course, I had no regrets – except that the man still drew breath.

"What did you do?" I didn't know how long my little sister had been sitting on the bottom of the staircase, but she was there and I knew she knew who I had attacked.

"The man lied. He deceived you about his entire life – and you are worried about what me – your brother has done to him?"

Oh, little Mickie. The sister I had protected since I learned of her existence. Grown yet, she still remained under my watchful eye rather she thought she needed it or not. She stood toe to toe with me that night screaming and vowing to hate me for the rest of her life.

It was the same argument every night since her so-called boyfriend had foolishly blown his cover. Josh Tucker, a devious punk turned cop, had concocted an artful scheme – and he had almost succeeded.

The audacity of the JBI. Sending an agent into my little sister's college to befriend and gain her trust. I was used to the schemes that organization concocted, but this – it was personal. I knew Josh Tucker. We went to high school together. The man hated me and I know his interest in Mickie had nothing to do with his job.

I knew how happy the new man in her life had made her. I could hear it in her voice and I saw it in her eyes. She'd had bad luck with boyfriends since she was old enough to notice the opposite sex. It made me sick to my stomach to think about how he had used her. That had been Tucker's first mistake. The second – persuading her into his bed. Information I wished I had not happened upon. The memory of her sobs as she confided to her best friend had become forged in steel in my mind and those words replayed when I came face to face with him in the alley – she wasn't sure if she'd wanted to or not.

"I am the one who was involved with him. Me! It was my business to confront him. You had no right!" Mickie stood, flung a curl of strawberry blond off her shoulder then stomped away to her room.

"Well, excuse me for giving a damn about you, Mickie! My mistake!" I bellowed after her. I wanted her to keep arguing with me like she always did until we would both say something so ridiculously sarcastic the squabble would end in laughter, but not this time. This time she was really ticked.

I placed my hands on the mantle. Squeezed it and cursed my deceased father, the man from whom I had inherited everything – and nothing – nothing but heartache.

I gazed around the lavish dwelling, built by blood and manipulation and again toyed with the idea of burning it to the ground. I had never wanted it or the bank account, but both had latched on to me as well as the legacy that haunted the Gianetti name.

What was I doing? Why won't this let me go!

The guy deserved a good beating after what he'd done, but my actions were lethal. It's like I'd forgotten how to be a decent human being. Like I had forgotten the difference between wrong and right. All I knew was I was a Gianetti if someone became a problem – eliminate them.

I brushed a hand over my tied back, shoulder-length hair and stared at my reflection in the mantle's mirror, exposing resemblances to the mad man who had contributed to my birth. Somewhere inside was the young man who had planned to leave it all behind. Somewhere behind those same steel blue eyes was a good guy.

Yeah right!

That guy was a foolish boy who should have known better. I was my father's son and there was nothing I could do about it.

I climbed the stairs to my own bedroom and entered the adjoining bath, hoping a shower would cleanse away any remaining evidence, as well as the blemish on my soul. When I exited I found the house quiet, even the normal echo of bass from Mickie's radio was absent which meant she was either pouring out her sorrows on her cell phone or gone. So, I readied myself for a night in – alone.

"Come to bed, Sean."

I heard that familiar voice in my head. The same sweet tone I always heard when I was alone. It beckoned. Lured me toward a large four-poster bed where I could climb beneath the plush comforter and get lost in a fantasy world.

"Where have you been?"

I snuggled in and closed my eyes.

"I'm here," I said to the voice only I could hear. "I really missed you, baby."

But the voice didn't answer back. I was losing her. The memory of her voice grew fainter by the day. "Please ... don't go ... I really need you tonight."

For a moment I dared to close my eyes, then flung them open quicker than I had closed them. I feared my nightmares more than any other adversary. I fought my slumber, ignoring the sting of exhaustion, like I did every night until eyelids slammed shut as if made of lead, forcing me into a rerun of despair once again.

"Sean ..." The voice called out in a sing-song tone, then giggled.

I saw my wife, waiting for me where Jenithiyah's fingers tickled its seas. Her bare feet gliding over the white sand beach as if she were floating. She giggled, then dove into the water before I could catch up.

I eyed Jenithiyah's largest wonder, the perfect statue sitting with his legs crisscrossed, one hand on his knee and the other draped against the mountain as if he were sitting on a large stone sofa. A waterfall cascaded from his crown, down his shoulder, and onto his lap. Beneath his knee, an ocean curtain hid a secret – a small cave.

I glanced behind, then dove into the water, swam a few feet deeper and found the entrance. I surfaced on the other side, pulled myself up, positioned myself on the edge of a flat rock and dipped my bare feet into the warmth of the pool below.

"It took you long enough." Sara teased, inching closer to me on that rock.

I reached out for her hand.

She smiled.

BOOM!

Out of breath and soaked with sweat I bolted upright with the sound of the bullet in my dream simultaneously drawing my pistol from beneath my pillow.

"Drop the weapon!" Blurred by tears, I only saw shadows of the men who stormed into the room. "Drop it, now!"

For a moment I thought about pulling the hammer back. For a moment I thought about provoking them.

"Drop it, Gianetti!"

I let it fall.

"You have the right to remain silent ..."

I was no stranger to the words they spoke. I was accustomed to the violent manner in which they removed me from my current location. As routine as the sun rising and falling, I went through the process. I posed for the picture. I laid a hand on the glass so flickering rays could memorize my prints and I smoked, blowing puffs into the faces of the interrogators until they gave up and threw me into a solitary cell.

Theythought the tiny enclosure would have an effect, and it did, but not the waythey envisioned. There was something comforting about three brick walls, asteel door, and a cot