Betrayal Breeds Deadly Consequences

Roman De Luca POV

PRESENT DAY

A man whose name I do not remember once said that there are four types of murder: capital, forgivable, justifiable and laudable. Growing up in my world, I learned to add one more type - necessary. The one where you have no choice.

And there is another type of murder that I figured out myself consistently. A pleasant sight. The kind of killing that feels satisfying… Like I’m cleaning up the scum of the street.

“Think very carefully about what you’re doing, Vincent,” my father says calmly.

I’ve known the man all my life, and I can’t say I’ve ever heard him raise his voice. Not even when he’s angry.

I’m tempted to move forward and slam Vincent’s head into the wall, but he’s surrounded by several men. No weapons yet. We don’t want this meeting to end in a bloodbath.

Vincent has called us here to ask for a truce, to stop the battle we’ve been fighting for the past few days. Since then, he's managed to convince several of my father's most trusted capos to defect and betray us.

"I've thought it through," Vincent says, trying to sound as calm and confident as my father.

But there's a slight tremor in his voice. I can even detect a tremor in his hands. Damn coward. If he weren't brave enough to stand up to the Don, he shouldn't have started this farce of a coup in the first place.

I look around. My father and I were perhaps overconfident, bringing only seven men. Vincent brought twelve. Coward again.

What angers me more are the men around him. They used to work for us. Trusted men who benefited from my family. If they weren't happy with the way things were, they should have come to us. Instead, they chose to side with a dead man.

"And you think that's the right course of action? What are you going to do, Vin? Kill me?" My father asks, his lips curling slightly.

"You think I can't do it?" Vincent grins.

He's my father's age, with thinning dark hair and brown eyes, a tall, plump man who's ready for trouble. He taught me how to shoot a gun when I was eight years old.

That’s why this pisses me off so much. Because Vincent wasn’t just part of our organization, we considered him family.

“I’ve been preparing for this for a long time,” he continues, and I want to slap the smug smile off his face.

“I know the ins and outs of every part of the De Luca business. I’ve managed to convince most of our biggest suppliers and investors to back me. I have the backing of Russo. Do you think you can do anything to stop me?”

I don’t show any emotion when Russo is mentioned, but inside, I’m seething. Russo and my family hated each other for years. Like us, they are one of the five families of the Italian Mafia that dominate the New York underworld.

The only difference is that while my family's empire has grown, they have retreated, choosing to retreat into the shadows. They still have some power and influence, but we have much more. It's no wonder they support Vincent in his quest to overthrow my father. But it still stings that Vincent made a deal with them behind our backs.

"Are you going to tell us why you called this meeting, or are you going to continue to bore us to death?" I ask, feigning a yawn.

Vincent stares at me, while my father's gaze snaps to me. He hates it when people speak out of turn. Or when they speak when they're not being spoken to. But I'm tired of all this posturing and talking.

When will I be able to break someone's skull?

Vincent smiles wryly.

"Speak only when spoken to, Roman. Or have you forgotten all your father's lessons?"

I grit my teeth, but don't answer.

My father speaks.

"What exactly do you want, Vincent?"

"It's very simple. I want you to resign. Give up your title and leave me in charge. If you do, I will spare you and your family.”

I let out a chuckle.

"This is a joke, right?"

My father stares at me again. I sigh inwardly.

"We both know that's not going to happen, Vincent. How about we make another deal? Stop this farce, and I'll even let you live. You'll only be missing a few fingers by the end."

He smiles at the end of this statement. Anyone who didn't know the Don might think he was just joking. But he's dead serious. I've personally witnessed my father tearing off fingers with pliers.

He can be ruthless when angered, and Vincent’s betrayal is the biggest of them all. Considering they’ve known each other for most of their adult lives.

“You’re not taking me seriously,” Vincent says, frowning. “How about I let you know how fucking serious I am?”

It all happens so fast. Vincent pulls out his gun and aims it at the man closest to my father. Before I can reach mine, a pop cuts through the air. It’s loud. Loud enough to make my ears ring.

Everyone around me goes still, and it feels like an eternity before the gravity of the situation hits me. But it only takes a second or two before we’re all in action.

I pull the gun from the back of my shirt. The weight feels like an extra limb. It comforts me only slightly as I turn to face the man lying on the floor, blood seeping from his chest. I look at Miguel for a second. My cousin, my family, and he’s dead.

Something cold runs through my veins.

“Nobody’s moving,” I say, looking at Vincent.

The men surrounding him have their guns drawn, too. We’re outnumbered, and for that, I have my father to thank. He was determined to prove that Vincent wasn't a big enough threat.

I think part of him believed that his friend would eventually see the light. But he was wrong. And now he's going to go to hell.

Don is ready, gun in hand. His eyes are pitch black, rage washing over him. He is surrounded by four men, trying to protect him with their bodies. It's the kind of loyalty that can't be bought.

Some of the men are family, others are close enough to be considered that. They have sworn to protect us with their lives, and from the looks on their faces, they plan to do so.