|Zaviero|
"FUCK YOU, CAELIAN."
The knife leaves my fingers with a whoosh. It strikes the wall before falling with a clang, a mere inch away from the man's sweaty face. A miss that was done on purpose.
"Thanks for the offer but I'd rather stick it in a puttana's cunt. Or mouth in this case." Caelian shoots me a smirk as he wraps the whore's hair around his palm, guiding her lips onto his cock. His annoying grunts fill the room once he thrusts in.
Infuriated, I press my lips into a thin line. Numerous times have I warned my brother to quit mixing business with pleasure but he, as usual, pays me deaf ears.
"Are you going to deal with this bastardo or do I have to clean up your shit as always?" I spit in his direction, pissed.
It is his fault I am stuck here, interrogating the fucking rat he'd hired. A shit bag who dared to steal from me. I could have left it to my underboss and deal with some other shit, except that the bastard was getting his cock sucked.
"Kill him Z, I'm rather busy," Caelian groans loudly, hoarse voice mingling with the gagging moans the whore emits. "That's it, take me in deep, slut."
Fuck him.
Rather than entertain his nonsense, I grab a dagger from the table, amongst a variety of torture devices and stalk forward. As I do, I crook a commanding finger at Aldo, my cousin.
"Remove the traitor's gag."
Aldo's hulking frame strides across the dank basement. He bends down and strips the tape off the coward's mouth before he melts into the shadows. Apart from him and my whore of a brother, other henchmen are fused in the background, ready to beat the mole to a pulp should I order it.
I stand in front of my victim, the light streaming from the bulb above, casting him in full glare. He's bound upside down, dangling from a rope that spins him in circles.
"Please Don," he croaks out between split lips, a mixture of red fluid and snot dripping onto the blood stained ground. "I didn't have anything to do with the weapons' disappearance."
Contempt twists my face into a scowl and I flick the knife, up and down, in and out. "I hate two things the most in the world. Liars and losers. They're the lowest skunks. And right now, you stink of both."
"Please Don, I swear." Marcello tries to blink open his right eye but it's smashed shut, so only the left flutters. "I took the weapons as you requested but–"
I cut him off, voice cold, "You were meant to transport my ammunition to the site after my men left it in your possession. Now, imagine my fucking surprise when I arrived to exchange arms with the Donato family and found only thin air?"
Rage collects in my veins, simmering as I recall the sneer on Donato's ugly face. He'd thought me a fool for not keeping to my end of the bargain. And his gun had been quick to think so too. Without waiting for an explanation, Donato had fired shots after shots at my men, the whole deal going up in flames. And now, a few of my henchmen laid in unrecognized ditches, dead. Thanks to Caelian and this motherfucker.
The overwhelming urge to slash open Marcello's neck swamps me again but I dampen that dark desire. There are still a swarm of questions to ask.
"Marcello." I advance closer until my black shoe pauses at his head, his body trembling, the stench of unwashed clothes, urine and blood hitting my nose.
"Where are my guns?"
He cries, red foam frothing at the corner of his mouth, "I don't know Don. I dropped it in front of the warehouse and left. I sw—"
I kick hard at his chin, halting that swear word from escaping. He yells, a gash appearing on his already bruised skin. I kick again at that inflamed spot and this time, his loud scream is almost girlish, mingling with the slurps, husky moans and grunts from Caelian.
"I believe I was very direct and I expect a direct answer. Where. Did. You. Keep. My. Guns?" My tone is glacial, my jaw ticking in barely concealed anger.
I grant him a second, hoping he cracks. He doesn't. Marcello shakes his head to and fro, blubbering something but it comes out muffled, his expression twisted in agony. He's choking on his blood or a knocked out tooth.
And I am still clueless. Fuck.
Nose wrinkled in disgust, I take a step back, nodding at Aldo.
He appears before me, donned in all black, a gun wedged in his smudged pants.
"Cut his body into a hundred, tiny pieces. After, mail his mangled parts to every underdog working for the De Santis family. That should serve as a warning to anyone who wants to come against me."
Aldo bows his bald head in acknowledgement as Marcello jerks forward, a pathetic attempt at escape, considering how tightly he was secured.
"And Aldo?" I drop the knife on the table.
The huge man's frame pauses. "Yes, Don?"
"Shoot that whore when Caelian is done with her."
"Z!" My brother darts up from the chair and the slut falls back with a startled yelp. His still erect cock bobs in the air as he throws a glare my way. "She has nothing to do with this."
I rake a sardonic glance at his messy black hair, unbuttoned shirt and mucky shoes. Sporting a week's old beard on his face, my fucking underboss looks like a mess. A glorified mess and it eats at me.
"She was listening and that is enough."
Fire blazes in his mismatched eyes, one glinting of black and the other, silver. The tattoos on his abs shift, with the rapid heaving of his chest, his knuckles balled into fists. He is angry but my word is law and no one, not even my brother can defy me.
He wants to though. Caelian's lips widens open in defiance, about to speak but I wag a finger, zip it. "Her blood is on your hands. Deal with it."
Abruptly, I whirl around to climb up the stairs without a second look, yanking off my tie and cufflinks. That should teach him a lesson to tuck his dick inside his fucking slacks and focus on the game again.
I have no idea what the fuck had happened to him but since two months, Caelian had been getting out of hand, whoring and drinking like a commoner. And I hated it. I wanted my wily brother back, not the one who decided with his cock.
I step onto the corridor. Fresh air from the open window spills onto my heated flesh, cooling the anger that boils within my veins. Nothing makes sense anymore. Not my brother. Not my fucked up deal. Not my family. Or my fucking guns.
A bitter scoff escapes me. Nothing had ever made sense since my birth. Ever.
Again, my mind roams through the incident. Guns. The empty warehouse. Donato.
Marcello had been tortured earlier but he was deadset on his innocence. Without a doubt, he might be uttering the truth but mistakes as fatal as his has to be nipped in the bud before chaos reigns. And in my world, more chaos means more wars.
"Did he crack?"
Mamma.
I stop in my tracks.
She is a few feet away, slumped against a pillar, smoke from her lit cigar shrouding her facial features in a cloudy haze.
A protest rises up my throat at viewing her smoking but I shove it down. She wouldn't listen either way.
"No. He insists that he had no idea. A part of me doesn't believe him, and another part does."
"If Marcello didn't steal it, who did?"
The breeze blows the cigar's smoke in my face, clearing it off for a second so Mamma's hardened expression comes into view. Her beautiful face is neutral, those silver eyes I'd inherited from her, glittering with a blunt light. The white fumes dims her features again.
I fist my knuckles, a snarl ripping out of my throat, "Someone that has a death wish."
Mamma's tone is brittle as she replies, "We spent a billion euros on those arms, Zaviero and we need it back ASAP. You and Caelian have to search the whole of Italy, burn the city to fucking ashes or ransack it upside down. I don't care how you do it. All I bloody care about are my guns!"
It is only my mother who can snap at me and she knows it. But her common sense checks her from mocking me in front of my men which fortunately for her, are absent.
"I am dealing with it. My men are combing through the city as we speak," I grit out between clenched teeth.
She doesn't say a word but straightens up and chucks the cigar to the marble floor. A slight crunch rents the air as she crushes it beneath her heels.
A silent dismissal. Cracking my fingers, I take it as my cue to exit but her voice halts me.
"Zaviero."
Not Z like Caelian calls me. Has never been Z since I turned eighteen.
"Yes, Diya?"
After the tragic event that had ripped our family apart, Mamma had ordered Caelian and I to only call her by her first name and never as the woman that birthed us.
Mamma arches a carefully plucked brow, miffed. "It's Ugodiya."
"You insisted on us calling you your first name. Not on how to pronounce it correctly." Unperturbed, I shrug, forcing down the unheeding part of me that itches to gain another reaction from her. One that isn't so cold.
"I see." She sweeps her blonde braids away. It cascades over her lithe shoulders in a defiant move, evading whatever reaction I wished for. Of course.
"Dante will be here in the evening with your fiancee." Her eyes bores into mine, daring me to refuse the finality in her words.
And I do. I glower at the woman who doesn't even look her age. Even in her sky high black heels, she only reaches to my shoulders, clad in a tight gown, the brown of her skin contrasting sharply against the white coloured dress.
"You mean the one Caelian is fucking?"
If my sentence rams on the wrong nerves, Mamma doesn't bat an eye. Rather she veers closer and arranges my crumpled collar, fixing the tie until it is presentable. When she notices the chain necklace hanging off my neck, she clicks her tongue but remains mute. Then she tips on her toes to brush out ash from my curly hair.
Ever so "caring" my mother, wasn't she?
Her cigar scented breath and a hint of lavender fragrance wafts into my nostrils as she orders, "At the dining table, look presentable, stop scowling and dare I mention, that you smile at the poor girl. She's not the cause of your misfortune."
My nose flares wide in ire but she is my mother. No matter how bitter or unfeeling she always appears. So I grant her a stiff nod.
Mamma pats my right arm. "That's my boy."
A cold smile descends on her red coated lips before she saunters off, probably going to wreak havoc on the strip club that she runs.
I bristle, cloying fury engulfing me. As the Don, it is my duty to secure my marital status and procure an heir. But Dante's daughter is the last woman I want to marry, whether my brother had fucked her or not.
Fingering the silver chain, I stalk to my home office, determination, a vicious drive that pushes me. My future wife lives in New York, miles away from Italy. And right now, I give zero flying fuck about la famiglia or the lack of it, in my perspective.
Besides, I'd set the wheels of doom for my certain future bride in motion and come fire or brimstone, she was the only one I was willing to marry.
After all, as they say, revenge is a dish best served cold.
A/N: Okay, yall, this was a bit hard for me. Like out of bounds. I don't write like this but this is me doing it for this book. Le sigh.
Not only am I new to the mafia world, the present tense is choking me life. I thought of giving up LMAO. Then I remembered that I have to step out of my comfort zone and try out new things. As I let myself write, it wasn't that bad tbh.
So yeah. We finally meet Z. What is your first though of him? And does this chapter makes you want to read more? And yes, Zaviero is biracial.
Thanks,
Nita.