The Devil's Brother

Carlos's POV

Marco Hernandez had always been a thorn in my flesh for as long as I could remember. And while I completely loathed my senior brother, I couldn't exactly blame him for turning out the way he did. He was the first born and first son, the heir to the Hernandez family empire. He'd been burdened with responsibility right from the second he was born, and that type of burden always had its effect.

Unlike Marco, I never really got to face the mafia life early on in my life. I was always the second option, insurance if anything ever happened to the golden boy. I stayed by my mother's side most of the time, learning basic things that the son of a mafia lord shouldn't concern himself with.

Marco hated that, he called me weak, bullied me every chance he got, and never failed to rub the fact that he was going to inherit everything in my face. I'd endured it all as a child, and whenever my mother interfered, she'd get beaten up by my father.

One day, Marco and I had gotten into a big fight. He had bullied me, but I hadn't sat down and taken it like always. Something had snapped in me that night, and I had picked up a knife and slashed my brother across the torso. My father had exploded, yelling that I planned to kill Marco in order to take his place. As always my mother had stepped up to defend me, and my father in his rage had hurled the blade in his hand at her. The weapon connected, landing squarely in her chest.

At that moment, I felt rage like no other. It was the moment my life changed completely, the very moment I realized that I had been living my life completely wrong. Marco had been right, I'd been weak. I stood there, powerless to do anything for my mother while she bled to death. I could only cry while the people responsible for her death pretended like nothing had happened.

But that hadn't been the end of everything. Two years later, I would go on to murder my father and his concubine in their sleep, run away from home, and establish my own group from the slums.

Marco had inherited our father's gang, he had power and influence beyond my reach at the moment, but that didn't mean I'd crumble and yield at the sight of him.

"Elena, this is Marco Hernandez, my elder brother." I introduced him to the lady beside me who still couldn't get over the fact that I had a senior brother. Her eyes kept flickering between me and Marco, so much that I had to remind her of the rules I had laid down for her at the car.

"She's a beauty, this one. I heard you bought her off the hands of that washed up man. Is he dead yet?"

I felt Elena tense by my side, rage radiating from every pore on her skin. She hated it, the fact that she had been bought, that her father just stood there and let it happen.

"Calm yourself, you mustn't act out of line." I reminded her under my breath. It didn't help, but she didn't act out of line either. She just stood there, staring daggers at Marco who merely had a mocking smile spread across his lips.

"Who is she?" I asked, finger pointed at the lady by his side. "Are you really that desperate, Marco?"

Marco chuckled dryly, then pulled the lady by his side closer to his chest. "Desperate? I'm not the one who bought myself a wife at an auction sale."

"She's Diana Ross, I'm sure you don't need any more than that."

Of course I didn't, but it was surprising to me. Why would Marco settle for someone whose family wasn't part of the elite. He was the reason things hadn't gone through with me and Raquel, so why didn't he settle with her then? The Vargas family would have been the ideal choice to align himself with. What sort of game was he playing here?

I kept my expression carefully neutral, but the questions burned hotter than the sting from Raquel's slap earlier. What sort of game was he playing here? Marco has never been the one to play the long game, the golden boy who weighed every alliance like it was gold. The Vargas family was perfect for him, connections, Raquel's father had been pushing for the marriage for years. So why Diana Ross? A girl whose family barely scraped by in the lower ranks of the syndicate? It didn't add up, and in our world, nothing that didn't add up was ever innocent.

Marco's eyes gleamed with that familiar mocking light. He knew I was calculating, and he loved it. "You look like you've seen a ghost, little brother. Or is it just jealousy? Diana here is loyal. She doesn't come with the baggage of a father who thinks he can double-cross me."

Diana smiled politely, but I saw the nervousness in her eyes. She knew exactly where she stood, arm candy for the night, nothing more. Smart woman. She kept quiet.

Elena's grip on my arm tightened until her nails bit through the fabric of my tuxedo jacket. I could feel the rage rolling off her in waves, the way Marco had called her father "washed up" had struck bone. She hated being reminded of the auction, hated that the whole room now knew she'd been sold like property. Part of me wanted to let her loose just to watch the fireworks, but the rest of me knew better.

I leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear, voice low enough for only her. "Remember the rules, Elena. Calm yourself. You mustn't act out of line."

She didn't speak. She didn't pull away. But her body stayed coiled like a spring, green eyes locked on Marco with pure venom. I liked that fire. It made the blood in my veins run hotter, made me wonder how long I could keep playing the patient game before I dragged her into a dark corner and tasted exactly how angry she could get.

Marco noticed. His smirk sharpened as he looked her up and down, slow and deliberate, the way a man looks at something he wants to break. "She's got spirit. I like that. Reminds me of Mother before Father taught her her place. Tell me, little brother, does she scream when you remind her who owns her?"

The mention of our mother hit like a blade between the ribs. Old memories flashed, her blood on the floor, my father's laugh, Marco standing there doing nothing. I wanted to let lose, fight Marco once more and find out who was stronger now.

But my rage was nothing compared to the lady beside me. Before Elena could react, I spoke, "Mother's place was protecting her sons. Something you never understood. As for my wife…" I pulled Elena closer, my hand sliding possessively around her waist, fingers brushing the gold chain I'd locked around her throat. "She screams only for me. And only when I allow it."

Diana shifted uncomfortably, clearly wishing she could disappear into the marble floor. Marco's laugh was dry, humorless.

He pulled Diana closer, his own claim obvious. "Enjoy the night, little brother. And enjoy your wife while you still can. Things are about to get… interesting."

With that, he turned, guiding Diana away into the crowd. I didn't release Elena. Not yet. I leaned down again, mouth against her ear, voice a low rumble only she could hear.

"You did well holding your tongue, wife. I'm proud of you." My fingers traced the edge of the chain at her throat. "But if Marco ever speaks to you like that again… I'll let you put the bullet in him yourself."

Elena turned her head just enough for our eyes to meet. The fury was still there, but she flashed me a half smile. "I'll be more than glad to."