My Biker Mafia Stepbrother

 CHAPTER 1: PILOT

Candice’s P.O.V.

I stood at the gate with my suitcase dragging at my side. The house looked the same, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. Curtains drawn, windows locked. Still, I waited, hoping Dad would come out—just once.

Behind me, Mom leaned against the car, tapping her fingers on the roof. “Candice,” she called, her voice sharper than before. “He doesn’t want to see you. Let’s go.”

I ignored her and rang the bell again. The sound echoed inside, but nothing moved. My chest tightened. He was in there. I knew it. He just didn’t want to face me.

I turned away, fighting the sting in my eyes, when the door creaked open.

“Princess.”

His voice was faint, broken. I spun back. Dad stood in the doorway, thinner than I remembered, shadows beneath his eyes.

“I… I didn’t hear the bell,” he said, his lips twisting into a forced smile.

I knew he had, but I didn’t argue. I dropped my suitcase and ran into his arms. His embrace felt weaker, but it was still home.

“I shouldn’t have shut you out,” he murmured against my hair. “I was never angry at you, Candice. Not once.”

My throat tightened. “It’s okay, Dad. I just… I needed to say goodbye. I’m leaving for L.A.”

“I know.” His hand lingered on my cheek, rough and trembling. “You’ll be safe there. But promise me something. If you ever need me, you call. No matter what. You’ll always be my little girl.”

I nodded, whispering, “I’ll visit on your birthday.”

Before I could fall apart, I pulled away and picked up my suitcase. He stayed on the porch, watching me go, his figure fading in the rearview mirror as Mom drove off.

Silence filled the car. I stared out the window, thinking of Dad, thinking of the scar on my stepdad’s jaw, and the son I hadn’t met yet. None of it mattered. One year—that was all. Then I’d be eighteen. Then I’d come back.

Mantovani’s P.O.V.

I sat in my office, reading through files on the Miami project when the door creaked open. My father walked in with a cocky grin, gripping an envelope like it was gold.

I already guessed what was inside. I knew what was coming, but I stayed quiet. No point letting him know I had the men wrapped around my finger. If he realized the underbosses followed me now, he would lose his temper and cause another massacre.

“Mantovani,” he said like he owned the world. “Got something important for you.”

I didn’t bother to hide my annoyance. “That right? What is it this time—babysitting or cleaning up after one of your messes?”

“Enough with the attitude,” he barked, waving the envelope. “You and Conti are going undercover. Some fancy school uptown. I need you to dig into the sheriff’s little brother.”

I dropped the file in my hand and raised a brow. “You want me… to go to school? I run half the East Coast, and you want me pretending to be some damn teacher?”

“This is bigger than your ego,” he said. “The sheriff’s been taking out our people one by one. His brother’s the only weak point. No records, no photos, nothing. All we know is he’s at that school. You get close, figure out his connection, and find us a way to take the sheriff down.”

I scoffed and grabbed the envelope, flipping it open. New ID, background files… a full fake identity.

“Why don’t we just shoot the sheriff between the eyes and be done with it?”

“Because that hasn’t worked for anyone else,” he snapped. “Every hit on him failed. He’s a ghost. But his brother? He’s real, and he’s unprotected.”

I leaned back in my chair, blowing out a slow breath. “And while I’m stuck playing happy little teacher, you’ll be at home, playing husband?”

His jaw tightened. “You leave my wife out of this.”

I sneered, lighting a cigarette just to piss him off more. “Your wife? The same woman you met three months ago? And that stepdaughter I’ve never seen? You act like they’re royalty.”

“They’re part of this family now.”

“No. They’re part of your midlife crisis,” I said coldly. “I don’t care if you tattoo their names on your chest—they’ll never be my family. You better tell them to stay out of my way because if they show up at my place, I’ll send them back to you in pieces.”

His hands curled into fists, but he kept himself in check. I knew I got under his skin, and I liked it.

“Get it through your thick skull,” he said, voice low. “This is about survival. You do this, we survive. You screw it up, we’re all dead.”

I stood up and leaned across the desk, towering over him. “I’ll handle the job because I don’t feel like dying anytime soon. But make no mistake—I don’t answer to you. You’re the boss in name only. Remember that.”

He stared back, his mouth set in a tight line, but he didn’t say a word. He just turned and walked out.

I sat back down, crushed the cigarette in the ashtray, and grabbed the envelope. Inside was an IF card with my face on it. I face-palmed, "You have got to be kidding me."

As far as fake ID goes, this was a joke. My name was not changed. The only thing different from my original ID card was the address and Identification number. 

"Whoever thought this plan would work was brain-dead."

I am a famous in the Mafia world, and not just because of my father's name. Going undercover with this was suicide—or maybe that was exactly what I wanted. Let it fail, just to show my father how useless his plans were.

I barely flipped through the documents when Conti barged in without knocking, like he owned the place.

“Ever heard of knocking?” I muttered without looking up.

Conti chuckled. “Since when do I need permission to walk into your office?”

I sighed and set the papers down. Conti was the only one I tolerated—my brother without the blood. But today, his cocky grin annoyed me.

“Maybe you don’t need permission, but some sense would help. I’m not in the mood.”

Conti dropped into a chair. “Let me guess—you’re sulking over the high school gig? Dad’s not stupid. There’s a plan.”

I shot him a sharp glare. “Conti, stop defending him. We both know this is stupid.”

“Convince me,” he said.

I leaned in. “One, everyone knows who I am. Two, this ID is pathetic. Three, I’m losing my mind waiting months. I need to spill blood, not babysit a kid.”

Conti was quiet, thinking. Then he asked, “When was your last therapy session?”

I tensed. “Been a while.”

“How long?”

“Six months, maybe.”

“And meds?”

“Stopped them too.”

He snapped, “You know what happens off those meds.”

I looked away. Conti paced. “Get up. We’re going to the doctor.”

“I can’t,” I said.

He stopped. “Why?”

“Because,” I sighed, “I killed him.”

Silence. He stared, stunned. “Why?”

“He knew too much. Less people know about me, the better.”

He sank in the chair. “You should’ve told me. Now I have to find another shrink.”

“I don’t need to be sane,” I said.

“Yes, you do. Or you’ll be dead by thirty. Next time, talk to me before you kill someone.”

I raised my hands. “Fine. You pick the therapist. Just no feelings talk.”

“No promises,” he said.

I changed the subject. “Why don’t I just kill the sheriff?”

Conti raised an eyebrow. “You said that wouldn’t help. He’s part of a team. Kill him, someone worse comes next. We need his secrets or to turn him.”

I groaned. “Right… I said that.”

“Yeah, you did. That’s why Dad made this school plan—get close, gain leverage, cripple them from inside.”

I rubbed my temple. “Maybe I’m more screwed up than I thought.”

Conti nodded. “You think? And you haven’t even heard the best part.”

I scowled. “Go ahead, ruin my day.”

Conti grinned. “Your stepmother and stepsister are moving in tomorrow.”

I blinked. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes, and it gets better,” Conti continued. “The stepmother knows about the business, but the daughter doesn’t. Boss wants you to keep it that way. You’ll be playing the perfect big brother… and an English teacher at her school.”

My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. She thinks you’re the heir to a luxury empire and some bored billionaire with a writer hobby. Boss had all the police records wiped, rewrote your history, and scrubbed every trace of your name from investigations.”

I couldn’t believe it. My father managed to pull off the impossible. Either he did it because he loved me… or because he wanted to play perfect husband and stepfather.

I scoffed. “He didn’t do it for me, Conti. Don’t be naive. It’s for his shiny new family.”

Conti stayed quiet.

I stood, grabbing my jacket. “Fine. I’ll play along. I’ll be the good boy, the helpful big brother, the boring English teacher.”

Conti chuckled. “And no killing the stepsister.”

“No promises,” I grinned.

Conti’s grin faltered. “Mantovani…”

I waved him off. “Relax. I’ll behave… for now. But when this is over, I’m getting what I want. And when I’m done, our dear old man won’t be calling the shots anymore.”

Conti’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know if that’s a promise or a threat.”

“Neither,” I said with a smirk. “It’s a guarantee.”