Chapter 3: Veiled Vows: Chapter 3

“Thirteen trucks in total, over four billion bullets, sixteen hundred crates, and over twenty thousand guns. All destroyed.” Setting down the report onto the sleek, mahogany table we sit at, I slide it across to my father, Santino Gatti, and wait for the approval I know is coming.

This is good. This is more than good.

Santino has been craving a good hit against the Falzones for months now, and my half brother Alto has been coming up short. He’s not as ruthless as I am and wastes time going after small fries like actual businesses or people on the street. I know where to hurt Enzo Falzone the most, and I’m not bound by any code of ethics that keeps Alto in line.

I have one single goal, a single goal I’ve had for my entire life, and I will do everything to achieve it.

“Good,” Santino murmurs gruffly as he pours over the paperwork in front of him. “A hit like this will hurt.”

“And that’s not all.”

Alto, who sits across the table from me, chokes on his water. “There’s more?”

I glance smugly at him. “There’s always more.”

“What is it?” Santino holds out his hand expectantly.

“I found out where they’re getting their ammo made for so cheap.” Unfurling another sheet of paper, I make a show of smoothing it out to give Alto the full effect of how much better I am than him. Then I slide it across to Father. “They’ve hired a small collection of German armorers who recently arrived in the States and set up shop just outside New York. They’re pretty well hidden in some old apocalyptic bunker Enzo purchased eighteen months ago at a military auction. He covered his tracks pretty well, but he needs to invest in better guards. Ones who can hold their liquor.”

Santino’s face lights up with greedy glee as he reads the details scrawled across the paper, then it bunches under his fist as we lock eyes. “I want that bunker.”

“Our men are raiding it as we speak.”

“Good,” Santino says fiercely. “This is fantastic work, Roman.”

My father’s praise is made all the sweeter by Alto glaring daggers across the table at me, and he doesn’t even try to hide it this time. Ever since we were introduced, I knew Alto was going to be a problem. Not only do I have to work tooth and nail to prove myself to a father who didn’t know I existed until I was nineteen, but I have to fight to overshadow the one person who stands between me and inheriting this grand family.

Alto.

It’s not difficult, thankfully. His work effort pales in comparison to mine, and each victory I bring to the table often highlights Alto’s inadequacies. As it should.

The guy is an asshole.

“Alto?” Santino gathers the papers and folds them neatly. “Where is your report?”

The anger fades instantly from Alto’s eyes as he regards our father with the same sheepish look he always wears when following in my footsteps. “I have nothing to report, Dad. I’m still waiting on a few things.”

“How … disappointing.” Santino clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Tell me, what exactly is it you do again? Because it seems like you are just sitting on your ass while your brother is bringing me real results.”

“Half brother,” Alto mutters, shooting me a glare. “Father, what I have in the works will blow the Falzone family wide open, I assure you.”

“Assurances don’t bring me victory,” Santino replies. “Results do. Speaking of which, Roman?”

“Yes, Father.”

“You will attend the Mancini’s Gala.”

“What?!” Alto and I exclaim in unison, with extremely different tones. Alto is angered and shocked, while I am surprised and grateful. To attend a Mancini party is to be someone. Every invitation is personal and mandatory, and if you’re lucky to be allowed to attend, it means you have worth. They send invitations to each family that holds some kind of status, and it’s within the family’s interests to send people of the highest standing. Typically, only my father and Alto attend, leaving me to work even harder to gain the recognition I deserve. Work that’s finally paid off.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Santino says calmly. “You’ve brought this family forward in leaps and bounds this past year, which is more than can be said for you.” He shoots Alto a displeased look. “I want to put on the strongest front, and I can do that with both my sons at my side.”

“I’m coming too?” Alto begs for clarification.”

“Yes,” Santino replies, slightly irritated. “But only because I do not want to be questioned about where you are and why I’ve chosen not to bring you. But let me be very, very clear.” Rising out of his seat, Santino points one long finger at Alto. “You are on very thin ice. I do not have the patience to wait an eternity for your results.”

Alto nods, even as the nerves under his ear jump with his restrained anger. I make it worse by sighing loudly and smirking when he looks my way. Santino walks out shortly after, leaving my brother and I to pack away the reports we’ve spent the past two hours poring over.

“I don’t know what the fuck you are up to,” Alto growls between clenched teeth. “But you better watch your fucking step.”

“Is that a threat?” Despite not looking at him while I pack the folders back into their boxes, I keep my attention on him in my peripheral.

“Of course it’s a fucking threat,” he snarls. “Are you so thick that you need it spelled out for you?”

“Maybe you need to work on wording things better. Beating around the bush gets you nowhere, Alto. Is that what you’ve spent these past months doing?” I straighten up and snap the box closed. “No wonder Father is so disappointed in you.”

“You little fucker.” Alto attempts to surge over the table and grab me, but I sidestep him smoothly. “Don’t forget who the firstborn is, you little fuck. I’m the son he actually wanted. You’re just some fucking Japanese half blood that he took in out of pity because your whore of a mother died. You’re nothing, you hear me?!”

The years working for this family and scraping myself up from the dirt have taught me the importance of patience, but it takes every ounce of my strength to stop myself from leaping over the table and bashing Alto’s head in with a nearby vase. Each threat ignites a painful rage in my chest that I swallow down, but his words about my mother cut like blades.

“You should focus on that,” I say, wrestling to keep the anger out of my tone. “When this Japanese half blood takes over this family because my father sees my worth, the first thing I’m going to do is get rid of you.”

“In your fucking dreams.”

“I won’t kill you. I’ll break you until you’re nothing but a shell of wasted air, and then I’ll make you watch my reign. You’ll exist knowing that you’re nothing more than a slimy, racist piece of shit whose own father loved the son of a whore more than him.”

I swiftly exit the meeting room before Alto can respond, and what sounds like a chair smashes to splinters against the door half a second after I close it. Going back in and beating the ever-loving shit out of Alto would make me feel better. For years, he’s talked down to me like I’m nothing more than a roach caught on the bottom of his shoe. His upbringing as Santino’s only son gave him such a complex that my arrival sent him into a tailspin.

If he were smarter, he’d use those feelings to remain on top, but Alto is lazy and quick to temper. I, on the other hand, have a much bigger plan that requires me to remain the good guy. No matter how badly it strangles me from the inside.

Most men like Santino would kill their illegitimate children, but I was different. Different because I’d proved myself to be an invaluable assassin and asset long before I revealed he was my father. By then, I was deeply ingrained in a few of Santino’s plans, and he had no choice but to accept me. Through my hard work and dedication, he’s slowly brought me deeper and deeper into the family.

I’m the son he wishes he had. I’ve made sure of it.

And now I have an invitation to the Mancini party. Once I show my face there, I will be remembered by everyone.

It’s late and bed calls to me, but as I’m heading toward the stairs, my father appears out of his office and motions me inside with the curl of his hand. I follow him instantly and step into the deep red, plush office where he spends the majority of his time. When he’s not plotting how to crush Enzo Falzone, he’s trying to weasel in on Russian territory or stir up trouble with the Irish. My father isn’t capable of sitting back and doing nothing.

“This party,” he says as he stops next to his drinks table and pours two glasses of straight vodka. “I trust you’re up to date on the etiquette required at such an event.”

“Yes,” I reply, accepting a glass. “I know that every move and every word is under their scrutiny, and one wrong comment could see us executed within the day.”

“Exactly. Do you remember the Barrones?”

“No, sir.”

“Exactly.” He tips his glass at me, then takes a deep swing as he moves back to his desk. “You know, given the state of your upbringing, I’m surprised to see you adapting to things so well here.”

My heart skips a beat, and I fight to keep the pleasant smile on my face. “My upbringing?”

“Yes. Before you came here, you were basically a pig living in shit, correct? God knows what it was like having a mother like that to care for you, never mind all the …” He looks me over and winces. “Japanese women … the worst of the worst.”

The ridges of the glass cut into my palm, and anger simmers like bile at the base of my throat. It’s not the first time he’s been unkind about the absolute darling of a woman who raised me, but each time he insults her, it gets a little harder. She’s not even alive to defend herself.

“You’ve shown me how things should be,” I say tightly. “And I’m eternally grateful for that.”

“It’s nothing. It’s what any decent father would do.”

There’s nothing decent about Santino Gatti, but I keep the smile on my face even as I lie through my teeth. “You gave me a new chance at life, and I’ll continue to do everything I can to prove where my loyalty lies.” At the age of forty-one, I’ve been proving that for over twenty years, and only now does it start to bear fruit.

An invite to the party shows my father finally sees me as one of the family.

“We’re going to do great things, you and I.” He drinks deeply. “If only the same could be said for your brother.”

“Some people aren’t built for taking charge.” Taking the opportunity to sow seeds of distrust about my brother gets me one step closer to my real goal. “He tries, I see that. But he doesn’t make decisions like someone at war. We have to be soldiers and make really deep cuts into the enemy otherwise we’ll be at each other’s throats for eternity, and no one has time for that.”

“Exactly,” Santino smiles. “Excellent work with the Germans by the way. Try not to have them killed. I’d much rather they worked for us, but I’m less inclined to pay them.”

“Don’t worry, I already have information on their families.”

“Excellent.” For a moment, he looks genuinely proud to know me, and then he reaches his hand across his desk. “Sleep well, Roman, you’ve earned it,” he says as I shake his hand.

“Goodnight, Father.”

He waves me away and I leave the office, heading up to my bedroom while repeatedly flexing my hands into fists. Every word out of Santino’s mouth is another nail in his coffin. For decades I’ve taken his shit, his racist comments and insults about my darling mother. And each time he does, I bury it deep down until there’s nothing but darkness in my heart. It’s all a painful stepping stone to my real goal, the goal I’ve been clawing for ever since I left the Yakuza.

Becoming Santino’s most favored child puts me right in line for the throne.

Only then am I going to be able to destroy that man and everything he’s ever built.

Exactly like the bastard deserves.