Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“Is he alone?” I ask.
“I just gave his nurse a break,” Sal says. “She’ll be back in an hour.”
I nod and stand there silently, hesitant to move. Since my father’s rapid decline, I’ve only seen him a handful of times in person. He’s a shell of the man I once knew, and I have two people to blame for that.
“You’re doing the right thing,” Sal encourages me quietly. “Go, Angelo. We’ll be here when you’re done.”
I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth and walk to the door. When I open it, the sight that greets me punches through my chest. The room is dim, but I can still make out my father’s dwindling frame in the center of the bed.
His eyes are closed, his breaths are labored, and he doesn’t hear me as I take a seat in the chair at his bedside. He’s been heavily medicated to keep him comfortable, but Sal assured me his dosage had been adjusted so he would be lucid for tonight’s meeting.
For a few minutes, I do nothing but look at him. The name Silvio Vitale used to send shivers down spines. Now, he’s a husk of a man. He never could have known that after everything he sacrificed for his family, it would be his own flesh and blood to send him to the grave.
A fresh wave of fury rolls through me when I think of everything Matteo and Abella have robbed from this family. My mother’s life. My father’s health. Years of my freedom. They have fractured the Vitale dynasty beyond repair—all for a wedding that took six years to come to fruition.
I’ve tried to understand it, but I never will. If you don’t have loyalty, you have nothing in this life.
“Angelo?” My name passes from my father’s parched lips as he blinks up at me through heavy-lidded eyes.
“Yes.” I lean closer, reaching out for him. “I’m here.”
“Figlio mio.” A tear leaks from his eye. “You’re home.”
“I’m home, Papà.” I kiss his hand.
This was never how I wanted to remember my father. He’s the strongest, most honorable man I know. He gave all of himself to his family, to this life, to the Cosa Nostra. He taught me resilience, loyalty, and all the things that a man should stand for. He taught all of his sons the same.
He gave us a legacy. Power. Wealth. An entire fucking empire. And still, it wasn’t enough for Matteo.
“Your brother?” he asks.
“I have eyes on him in the city,” I tell him. He’s at the Cat House getting his dick sucked by a woman who looks strikingly similar to Abella.
“And the Tribunal?”
“It’s all settled.”
He gathers what little strength he has to squeeze my hand. “You know what you have to do, Angelo.”
The quiet grief buried beneath his control reminds me who he is. Who he’s always been.
“I understand.”
“Retribution is your birthright.” He lifts his gaze. “A Vitale never lets a slight go unpunished. It applies to all of us.”
“Retribution will be had,” I assure him.
Satisfied, my father sinks back into his bed using the last of his energy. “This is how you’ll honor my name. I don’t want a funeral. I don’t want my children sitting around crying for me. Preserve our legacy. That’s what I ask of you.”
“You have my word.” I nod. “It will be done.”
“Then let me die peacefully. Send me back to your mother, tesoro.”
Agony lodges in my throat as I nod and retrieve the syringe I’ve prepared.
“When you see her, Papà, give her my love.”
9
ANGELO
The Moretti family home sits on the western side of Black Stag Island, overlooking the rocky cliff where Martina Moretti ended her life. Knowing her husband, I can’t say that I blame her.
The white stucco house is sizable by most standards, though it’s the smallest on the island. Inside, the walls and furnishings are either beige or neutral, expensive but cold. The Morettis are wealthy, but not Vitale wealthy. Maurizio has done well for himself, carving out his own slice of business in the Cosa Nostra as an accountant. He funnels laundered money through shell companies and takes a cut for his troubles. It’s kept him in a cushy lifestyle with free time to indulge in his favorite hobbies. The man loves to eat, drink, smoke, and fuck.
It's not a surprise that tonight, when I walk past his office, I catch a glimpse of him fucking the maid through the cracked door. He’s grunting like a hog, and by the time I’ve ascended the stairs, he finishes the performance with a labored splutter I rather wish I hadn’t heard.
As I walk down the familiar hall to Abella’s room and open the door, silence and darkness greet me. Unlike her father, she maintains a regular routine and is generally asleep by eleven. I know this, just as I know every visitor, call, and text she’s had over the past six months.