4

“Do you know them?”

Her eyebrows furrowed, recognition in her gaze. “They’re my brother’s friends.”

My eyes flickered back to the two men striding towards us like they owned this joint. Danger was part of these two men, and not because of the ink that marked their skin on their necks and hands, but it was the harshness in their gaze. Darkness in their eyes that resembled that of Alessio Russo.

“Are you sure?” I barely got the words out when the two men stopped in front of us. “Ladies. I’m Cassio King and this is my brother, Luca. We’ve come to take you home.”

Branka and I shared a glance. We planned on hanging out here for another week before I headed out for my assignment. Asia. Kuala Lumpur. My finger itched to start snapping photographs.

Branka waved her hand as if that would send them away. “No, thank you.”

“I’m afraid, I’ll have to insist,” the other guy chimed in. Luca King. Cassio and Luca King. In the back of my mind, I searched for that name. It was familiar. I’ve heard it before. The alcohol I’d consumed wasn’t helping.

Cassio and Luca King.

Mafia. Their father, Benito King, was one of the most feared men on the East Coast of the United States. And his sons weren’t far behind them.

“Your mother is dead, Branka,” Cassio explained. “And your brother needs you back.” A soft gasp escaped my lips and I glanced at my best friend. She kept her expression masked, but I knew she cared. She wasn’t as close to her mother as I was to mine, but she loved her. The poor woman married a hard, cruel man and it broke her.

I felt the men’s eyes on me and I turned to look at them.

“Miss Corbin, you can come along. Alessio indicated you and Branka are close, and she’ll need all the support she can get.”

Hesitation slithered through me. I wanted to be there for Branka, but I wasn’t sure that I wanted to see her brother. Or her father.

Branka slid her hand into mine and our eyes locked. “Please come,” she choked out, her lower lip trembling and there was no way I could refuse her.

CHAPTER 2

ALEssIO

I fucking hated funerals.

The fact that it was my mother’s made it ten times worse. I hadn’t been close to my mother. It was impossible with my father - correction, bastard stepfather - around.

The fucker loved tormenting everyone around him. He hadn’t even given Branka a chance to say

goodbye. He held our mother cut off from everyone until she was dead. For goddamn days.

Throwing an impatient look at my watch, I noted the time. I had another twenty minutes before I had to head out, or I wouldn’t make it to the cemetery on time. I poured myself another scotch and downed it in one gulp.

Montréal. Québec. I ruled everything in these territories and east of them, all the way to the Atlantic Ocean.

From the window of my office, I could see the Saint Lawrence River. The ships traveled at a slow speed, fooling you into believing this city had a slow pace. It was anything but slow, and the corruption ran deep. I’d experienced it firsthand.

Fuck, I ran it. Owned it. Ruled it.

Before me, it was my stepfather that had these streets running red. He climbed the ladder by killing the innocent, weak, and powerful; no cost was too great to him when reaching for his goal.

I guess in that regard he wasn’t too different from my biological father. Fuck them both. I just wished it was him that I was burying today.

Not my mother.

He knew it too. It was the fucking reason he pulled that stunt. Jesus fucking Christ, I tasted what this world would be without him for the briefest moment. Thank God I didn’t message Branka to let her know. She endured enough torment from our father. This would have been too much.

Now, I had to protect my sister more than ever. I failed Mia, I couldn’t repeat the same mistake. Branka couldn’t endure Father’s cruelty. It left a goddamn mark on her, although she appeared strong and invincible. She wasn’t; if anything, she was fragile and so easily breakable.

Flicking another glance out the window, I knew time was running out. I poured another and relished in the bitterness as it slid down my throat.

I’d have to head to the gravesite.

If for nobody else, then for Branka. For my mother. For Mia.

THE RUSSO MANSION was the most expensive stretch of real estate in the province of Québec, possibly Canada. It was two hundred acres of prime real estate on one of the Great Lakes.

My mother would be buried among all the other Russo family members, living her eternal life among enemies. In their family cemetery. It fucking rubbed me the wrong way. I wanted to burn the motherfucking place down and move her and Mia, my sister, to my own property with a little chapel and cemetery where they could have peace in their death.

Since they couldn’t have it in life. At least Mia and Mother would be together. After all, she always hoped for Mother’s salvation. It was for Mia that I’d saved her that day.

I threw a hateful gaze at my father who stood with a smug smirk next to Branka. I just wanted to reach out and choke the life out of him. See the light extinguished from his eyes. I was at Luciano’s earlier this week when I got the note. My father was dead and I needed to rush home.

So I did. Only to find my mother dead. I should have known better. The man loved to torment everyone around him. Even when we were kids, he loved to destroy anything good we had. Fashion designs for Mia. Learning self-defense skills for Branka. Building furniture for me. Fuck, he killed everything just to hurt our mother.

Every. Single. Thing. That woman couldn’t eat without being tormented. I closed my eyes, remembering the misery she called her life.

Mother showed up in my bedroom. Her long white nightgown swallowed her frail frame. She never came to my room, so I tensed, watching her warily.

“Come along, Alessandro,” she called out, her voice soft. A rare show of emotions shone in her eyes. She looked like a caring, doting mother, ready to take on the world. It shot a warning through my fifteen-year-old brain.

Mother usually stared with an empty gaze at the world, moving through the mechanics of life on a day-to-day basis.

I narrowed my eyes on her. I didn’t hate Mother. I felt sorry for her, but I didn’t like that she was weak. I found Father extinguishing his cigarette on Branka’s little body and Mother just watched him.

She fucking watched him, her gray eyes dull. “Your sisters are with me.”

That had me jumping off my bed and following her. I had outgrown her, my frame already about three inches taller than her. It didn’t stop me from wanting a hug. Or comforting words, here and there.

All I got was beatings from Father, his hate constantly staring me in the face. Apathy from Mother, her dead eyes staring everywhere but at me. They both hated me. They hated my sisters too. What had we done to them to deserve it?

The moment we stepped inside the bedroom, Mother shut the door behind me with a soft click. Then she locked it, pulling the key out of the door. My sisters sat on the large bed. Branka was still an infant, her lungs carrying a high-pitch note that pierced through my brain. Mia, who just turned ten yesterday, sat next to her, her eyes wide in fear and her face smeared with tears.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her, dread pooling in the pit of my stomach. “Father burned Branka,” Mia rasped, her body shaking.

“He won’t hurt us anymore.” My mother’s voice was eerily calm. The expression on her face was that of a madwoman. She had finally snapped.