CHAPTER 5

Dean

Grace 24, Dean 32

Honestly, I loathed violence.

Brutality was in my DNA, whether I liked it or not. The day I was born into the Moretti family, my fate was sealed in this area.

I held a gun for the first time at the young age of seven, the day Dad and I went on a hunt in the woods. My mother was reluctant to send me on this voyage with my father. I remembered how much she roared that particular bright morning. She even pointed a gun at my father, but when she lost the overly protective mother game, she tried to negotiate with Dad.

She told Dad he wouldn't bring violence near me, and in return she would go to our grandparents' house for dinner. Mom disdained Moretti's family house and people in it. That morning she swallowed the bitter pill for her son's betterment.

Mom did keep her part of the deal, but Dad, he broke it the moment we set foot in the woods. He pulled out a Smith and Wesson model 686 and thrust it in my hands with zero hesitation.

Whatever you were thinking, let me clear one thing here. My father treasured my mother most in this world, the only reason he went against his family and married the daughter of his rival family. Their love story deserved another book, not some paragraph in my story.

He wasn't only a husband; he was also a son, a brother, a mafia leader, and the most vicious man in the world. The soft side he reserved only for my mother couldn't come between anything else. He hardly let that happen.

That day, I killed a wild boar, a woodcock, and a quail. Of course, we kept it from my mother.

Did I enjoy the killing?

Not really. I was my mother's son after all; I hated the weight of that metal in my hand, the coldness of it, the smell of the gunpowder, and the blood of the animals. I wanted to run away, but since it wasn't an option, I stayed beside my father and tried my best to blend.

As I cleaned the blood from my hands in the dingy bathroom with a dim yellow light, I couldn't help but think about that day.

Now, I hardly needed to look at my target before pulling the trigger. It was like cooking pasta: five seconds to load the gun, four seconds to capture my target. three to decide where I desired the bullet to hit; the leg was my favorite; it made a man vulnerable but kept his ego floating on the edge. Two seconds to stare in the eyes of my target to know how much courage was still left in him and one second to pull the trigger and finish the job.

Barely a drop of sweat wasted in this entire process.

Easy and done.

Playing the cat and mouse game was exhausting. Wasting my precious time on a man who was standing on the brink of death, in my view, was unnecessary and pesky. Pulling the trigger and finishing the job was a better alternative in every possible way.

“Tonight was fun.” Enzo said once I entered my office in our club. “It had the potential to become great, but you spoiled it with your short temper. Man, when will you learn to enjoy the blood?” He sulked like a little kid, which only worsened my annoyance.

“How is work?” I asked, sitting in my chair.

“Great.” He proudly smiled. “This time our shipment landed right when we planned. The products are all world-class and too good for our junkie clients. Soon, the Russians would ship the weapons. We are expecting them by the end of next month.”

“And how about Mayor Hale?” I leaned back on the chair and laced my hands together with my eyes closed.

“Lord.” He sighed. “As I said earlier, this man is clean. I can't find dirt on his name.”

“Then create one. Maybe multiple. Trap him like you did with the man tonight.”

“So now we are crossing the only rules this family has followed for the past fifty years.”

“Rules are meant to be broken, Enzo.”

“We don't mess with politicians, Dean. That's our red line.”

“For me, Grace is my red line.”

“Fuck.” He screamed.

The soft music filled the room, a veil of serenity draped all over the cold place. It was a warm hug, one I needed tonight to keep my sanity intact.

Every time my hands pulled the trigger, my mind went on a pilgrimage full of chaos and noise. The picture of my previous victims flashed through my eyes, and my mind kept recalling their last words. The tears hit hard, the begging set my nerves on fire, and the sound of their last breath undone me.

Just like it did tonight.

I loathed these. The killing, the blood, the brutality people expected from me.

How could a human being kill another?

We were part of the same species, and yet it was still hard for us to feel each other's pain.

It was unfortunate that I was the only son of my parents. If I had a younger brother, I would have stepped out of this place and offered him the crown.

Sometimes I thought Enzo would be a great fit for this position. As the leader of the mafia organization, I was certain Enzo would thrive in this role. His connections were strong with others; he even got a few of his men working for our enemies.

It would be so much better if he agreed to my proposal and took my place in this circus.

“There is a feast in Mayor Hale’s residence. The guest is Senator Peter Dickens.” Enzo said.

“And this is useful information for me. Why?”

“The whispers say Mayor Hale is interested in taking his professional relationship with Peter to the next level. By marrying his golden daughter to him.”

I opened my eyes; the bright visible spectrum assaulted my vision coldbloodedly. I didn't have any time to react to this when my goal was already slipping away from my hands.

Grace Hale was already a forbidden fruit, a woman celebrated by society and sheltered by her powerful political background. Asking her for me was similar to thinking I could get the head of the Columbia Cartel, who was currently making my life hell.

The woman I set my eyes on was out of my reach, and now I had a competitor.

Great.

And here I thought my life was already complicated enough.

“What do you know about this Peter?” I sat straight.

“Fifty years old. Five times married and divorced, father of twelve children, and, of course, corruption is his regular ally." Enzo smiled. “There is blood in his hands, toes, and head. He killed at least three people.” He stood. “Did I mention one of them was his wife?” He winked at me.

What the fuck.

“Yeah. What the fuck.” Enzo murmured my thoughts aloud.

“Give the FBI a tip on this guy. He can't marry Grace.” I snapped at him.

“Desperation doesn't suit you, boss.” Enzo sighed. “Clam down and let me handle this matter.”

“Enzo.” I shouted.

“Grace will be yours. You want her, you will get her.” Enzo patted my shoulder. “You have my words.”