Ricardo Page 3

  Ricardo’s gaze settled on Brando, the third oldest of his siblings. His brother was leaning against the wall, looking annoyed at having to attend the meeting. Unlike the rest of the family, who had brown hair and either violet or blue eyes, Brando had black hair and golden eyes. Even his features were different—too beautiful for a Santini. Instead, he looked like a D’Angelo, specifically their cousin Jagger, a man famous for his beauty, their resemblance uncanny.

  Brando sneered at Ricardo, the nasty curve of his lips telling Ricardo that the prick didn’t give a merda that Valentino was dead. His brother’s beauty was only on the outside, Brando’s soul an endless pit of hate.

  Noise came from the back of the house, heavy boots thudding across the floor. The twenty-nine-year-old twins entered a second later. Vinnie was dressed in leather pants and a muscle shirt, while Dominic was wearing a T-shirt and low riding jeans, his boxers saving everyone from getting an eyeful. He also had a cigarette hanging from his mouth, something that wasn’t allowed inside the main house. Ricardo indicated for him to put it out, which Dominic promptly did by rolling his tongue over it. He plucked it from his mouth and stuffed it into his back pocket, making Ricardo grimace in disgust. The twins were musicians in a hard rock band. They were both smart-mouthed and covered in tattoos, the two identical. Although Dominic’s fondness of piercings made it easier for people to tell them apart, especially the small bullring he wore. He was also scruffier, always giving the impression he’d just gotten out of bed.

  Ricardo’s eyes moved to his two sisters. The oldest one, Anna, was sitting next to her husband, while Bella was in her wheelchair, talking to Luciano, the last of the brothers in attendance. The two had become very close after a car accident had killed Luciano’s wife and stolen Bella’s ability to walk five years ago.

  Altogether, they were one hell of a family, the largest on the island. His mother had created a dynasty, her ten children all born within the space of ten years.

  Ricardo positioned himself in the center of the room, knowing any one of them could’ve died instead of Valentino, and worse, they could still be killed. It didn’t help that their enemies had more soldiers than they did, plus the Landi men were specially trained in combat, more than the average mafia soldier. It seemed like a suicidal mission to go up against such military might, but Ricardo knew he could defeat the Landi if he took control of his household—which he planned on doing. Tonight he was going to become the Don, taking the leadership off their ailing father, or more accurately, off their mother, who was the real head of the family.

  “We lost a brother tonight,” he said, sweeping his gaze over everyone. “He was a strong man who didn’t deserve to be murdered just because he shared our blood. I understand many of you don’t feel the grief I do over his passing, since you didn’t know him, but he was still one of us, whether our mother acknowledged him or not. Which means this killing wasn’t just an attack on him; it was an attack on the Santini as a whole. Therefore, we need to destroy the Landi, so this doesn’t happen again.”

  “Only Papà can give those orders,” Brando cut in.

  “He’s too ill to lead an assault, which is why I need to take over as the Don.”

  Brando sneered. “I knew you’d use this as an excuse to steal his title.”

  Ricardo leveled his brother with a stare. “I’m not stealing anything, I’m the rightful heir.”

  “He’s not dead,” Brando spat, “yet you’re acting like he is.”

  “He’s no longer capable of being the Don. He’s becoming more and more confused. Yesterday, he couldn’t even remember my name, and today he was too ill to get out of bed. He’s growing worse by the day. How is he supposed to head a war campaign in that condition?”

  “Regardless, any change in power needs to be discussed with our madre,” Brando said, referring to their mother.

  “She’ll railroad everyone into doing what she wants, which is sitting back and doing nothing, thinking that will protect us. But it won’t. Pedro Landi’s soldiers will start picking us off, or worse, he’ll bring the war to our doorstep. We must protect the women and children at all costs.”

  “You’re still not suitable to be Don, you’re too hotheaded,” Brando retorted, the prick the only one who constantly challenged him.

  “I’m still the best option, and if you want our famiglia to survive this war, I need to be in control.” He held up a hand to stop Brando from answering back. “Listen to me, brother, and listen good, I know you have ambitions on becoming the Don, but you’re not even second in line. So, stop posturing, and think with your head instead of your heart. You know I’m the right choice.”

  “According to you, and no matter what you say, I refuse to let you steal what belongs to Papà.”

  Ricardo strode towards Brando, who pushed off the wall, both of them stopping within an inch of each other. “You challenge me one more time,” Ricardo bit out, “and it won’t be the Landi taking you out.”

  Brando’s face hardened. “Are you threatening me?”

  “You bet I am, and I’ll throw your insolent ass to the fucking Landi if you don’t get in line right now.”

  Brando’s golden eyes flashed hellfire, then a sneer formed across his beautiful face. “Good luck on dealing with our madre when she finds out about this.” His sneer turned into a smirk. “Just allow me to be there when you break the news. I want to see you pushed off your fucking pedestal, you arrogant stronzo.”

  Ricardo moved his face close to Brando’s. “All you’ll be seeing is her capitulating to me, which you’ll also do, except I’ll make you grovel, you insolent merda.”

  “That will never happen.”

  “Mark my words, it will.” Not wasting any more time on the argumentative bastardo, Ricardo turned to the others, knowing they would support him, regardless of their mother’s wrath.

  “So, do we have an agreement, minus Brando, that I take over as Don?”

  Approval went around the room, although they all appeared worried, their mother a force to be reckoned with. But she was too controlling, more concerned with protecting them than allowing them to do their jobs. He was a frontline man, not someone who gave orders from the safety of his home, and she was soon going to learn that.

  “Then from here on in, I’m your Don,” Ricardo spoke loud, his voice resonating throughout the room. “And in regards to our madre, I will inform her on the change of power. Stay away from her for the next few days. You do not want to be caught in the crossfire when she learns what has happened—and what is going to happen.”

  “What do you have planned?” Brando piped up, his eyes now curious.

  “We strike the Landi where it causes the most damage. They may be trained combat fighters, but without their weapons they’ll be dead men walking against our firepower.”

  “What do you propose?” Brando asked, the fighter in him unable to resist. Brando didn’t deal with business; he dealt out death. He was a hitman, the number one killer in the family after Ricardo had given up the position in his twenties.

  “We will bomb their weaponry centers.” Ricardo’s gaze moved to the twins. “It’ll be your job to find the locations, Dominic, while Vinnie will light them up.” The twins nodded. He paused for a moment, knowing his next words would create an uproar. “We will also strike the Landi compound.”

  As predicted, cries went up, his family horrified at his words. He raised a hand, indicating for them to be quiet. He understood their concerns. An agreement had been struck between the main mafia families that no homes would be attacked. But it was all a farce, because four had been raided in the past month, the Landi responsible for half of them.

  His siblings continued to voice their disapproval, which he wasn’t going to stand for. They’d voted him in as the Don, so they were going to learn very fast what that meant: his word was law.

  “Quiet!” he hollered.

  They all went silent, though concern colored their eyes. They knew if they attacked the Landi com
pound, their home would be attacked in retaliation, but he wasn’t going to allow that to happen.

  “We won’t be attacking them outright,” he said. “I’ll be sending in assassins to infiltrate their household, taking out the vital members of the Landi—”

  “That’s still a huge risk,” Salvatore cut him off. “What if they find out and come after us. We have children and women we must think of.”

  “The spies I’ve lined up know their job and will do it very well. They will also plant evidence pointing at the Donatelli scum. Those bastardi started this war; it’s them who the Landi should be taking out, not us or the Rossos.”

  “You’re still risking the household,” Salvatore said, appearing unconvinced. “It’s an unspoken rule you do not attack where one sleeps.”

  “The Landi paid no heed to that rule when they destroyed the Rosso compound. They bombed the place, shooting whoever they came across.” His eyes moved to his sister’s husband—a Rosso. “How many of your famiglia were cut down in their home?”

  Pain filled Sergio’s dark eyes. “We got most of our famiglia out in time, but numerous soldiers fell that day, along with two of my cousins, my brother-in-law and,” his voice faltered, “my sister.” He breathed out, looking close to tears. “Those monsters shot her down. She was harmless, more concerned with being by her husband’s side than saving her own life. So, I support everything you say. I want those murderers to die in their beds while their house falls around them. They deserve no mercy.”

  “Agreed,” Ricardo said. “And our attack on the Landi isn’t just to save the Santini; it’s also to avenge what was done to your famiglia.”

  Sergio stood up and moved past his wife, embracing Ricardo for a moment. “I appreciate everything you’ve done. More would’ve died if you didn’t help get them out.”

  Ricardo patted Sergio’s back. “When you married Anna, your famiglia became ours, and we protect our own.”

  Sergio nodded at him, looking extremely emotional. Anna stood up and went to her husband, directing him back to the couch. She sat him down and wrapped her arms around him, Sergio burying his face into her hair.

  “Now, I must go,” Ricardo said. “I have to arrange for Valentino’s daughters to be brought here.”

  “You can’t bring them here,” Brando said. “You’ll be disrespecting our madre.”

  “She needs to acknowledge them as our father’s granddaughters and—”

  A soldier strode in, silencing Ricardo. The man was holding Ricardo’s ex-lover, Bianca D’Angelo.

  4

  Ricardo rushed for the soldier. “Is she alive?” he barked, demanding a yes.

  “Sí. She’s just unconscious. She’s been checked over. There are no critical injuries. A guard found her by the back fence during a routine check.”

  Ricardo breathed out in relief. “Give her to me¸” he said, holding out his arms.

  The soldier passed her over, laying her tattered form in his embrace.

  Ricardo went still, realization hitting him. She’d been traveling with his youngest brother. He turned to Salvatore. “When was Alessandro’s car supposed to arrive?”

  Worry crossed Salvatore’s face. “Two hours ago, but Alessandro’s always late, and with what happened to Valentino, he was forgotten.”

  Ricardo swore. “Phone the D’Angelos. See if they know where he is, and if they don’t, put more calls out. Meet me in my office in twenty minutes, while the rest of you will meet here tomorrow morning at nine.” He turned back to the soldier, ordering him to follow. Without another word, he strode across the room, carrying Bianca up the staircase. He stopped outside his bedroom door, realizing he couldn’t take her in there. There was proper etiquette, her integrity also needing protection.

  He moved to the neighboring door, his previous lover’s room. Strangely, Ricardo felt no grief over Ghita’s death—only fury, which he didn’t understand. She may have only been his lover for a short time, but he’d known her a lifetime, so he should’ve felt something other than anger. Maybe his upped medication was fucking with his emotions.

  Pushing it out of his mind, he glanced at the soldier. “She needs a nurse, get Lisa.”

  The soldier nodded and opened the door for Ricardo, closing it behind him as he entered the room, leaving him alone with Bianca. He laid her on the bed, the woman remaining unconscious, her long blonde hair now spread out over the pillow. He assessed her disheveled state. Her skin was scraped and dirty, while her blouse had been ripped open, most of the buttons missing. He peered closer at her bra-clad breasts, noticing red marks on the top of her left one, with bruising radiating out from it. It looked as though someone with large hands had gripped onto her breast, squeezing it hard.

  Ricardo’s jaw clenched, knowing that someone had sexually assaulted Bianca, and when he found the bastardo—he would make their death excruciating.

  He pulled a sheet over her, making sure she was covered. He didn’t want his soldiers walking in on her like this, because if they crossed the line, he would make them suffer. After the Donatelli sisters had been captured, he’d killed a soldier when he’d found out the man had raped the younger of the two. The soldier had screamed that he wasn’t the only one, which had angered Ricardo even more. His brothers had to hold him back from killing the others who’d taken part in the rape. He despised rapists; they repulsed him, made him sick to his stomach. Women were meant to be respected and held in high regard, not used for a man’s sordid desires.

  He willed himself not to lose his mind again, especially at a time like this. Even though his medication was strong, it didn’t totally eliminate his true nature, only toned it down. He had Intermittent Explosive Disorder, which caused uncontrollable bouts of rage, his outbursts often disproportionate to the situation. And right now, he needed to stay in control, so he could look after his family as well as Bianca, the poor woman having been through hell. He’d heard what her dead brute of a husband had done to her. The man had beaten her to a pulp, taking her to death’s door. It killed Ricardo knowing how much she’d been hurt, because the woman was a sweetheart, a tough as nails one, but a sweetheart nonetheless. And if he’d known what her husband had been doing, he would’ve walked into the D’Angelo household and taken her out of there, regardless of their Don’s reaction. But he’d had no clue, because she hadn’t been a part of his life for over twelve years, and the last time he’d seen her was a year ago. He remembered stopping at the sight of her across the market. She’d been looking at clothes outside a stall, her long blonde hair fluttering in the breeze. He even remembered what she was wearing: a flowery dress, the cut accentuating her beautiful figure. He’d wanted to go up to her, but he knew it wasn’t a good idea, especially since he couldn’t have her.

  He rose to his feet, knowing he couldn’t stare at her all night. He shouldn’t even be in the same room. He was a violent man, a murderer, and she didn’t deserve to be around someone as vicious as him. That was why he’d settled for Ghita, the woman as cutthroat as he was. His dead lover wouldn’t have batted an eyelid if he’d told her about how many deaths he was responsible for. But Bianca would, and he didn’t want to see her look at him with fear or hate.

  His mind went back to the hit he’d done the day Bianca had left him. He could still see the blood on his hands from the woman he’d murdered, the only woman he’d ever killed. Guilt wracked him, what he’d done unforgivable. His mother had ordered the hit, telling him the woman was a common prostitute, but when he’d gone to carry it out, he’d realized who the woman was: Valentino’s mother. He’d hesitated. That was when the woman had attacked him, knowing why he was there. He’d defended himself, stabbing her with the knife she’d tried to take from him. After she’d fallen, he returned home, covered in her blood. His mother had been the first to see him. She’d hugged him, declaring how proud she was. He’d allowed her to hold him, too stunned over killing his own brother’s mother. Then the next day, he’d found out that Valentino had killed another Mafioso
, thinking the man had been responsible for his mother’s death. That was why he would do anything for Valentino. He owed his brother that much, and his mother wasn’t going to stop him from honoring Valentino’s last wish.

  He headed for the door, intent on bringing Valentino’s daughters back home. Regardless of what his mother said, they were Santini now, and he would adopt them to make it happen, because there was no way he was allowing his mother to hurt those girls—no matter what.

  ***

  Before getting the girls, Ricardo checked in with Salvatore. His brother had phoned Frano D’Angelo, the Don surprised to find out what had happened to Bianca. Frano had in turn made a call to the Landi, the D’Angelos a Switzerland between the two warring parties. He’d found out the Landi had no part in Bianca’s attack. After instructing Salvatore on putting his feelers out to contact the Donatelli, he left to get Valentino’s girls, now anxious to get them home safely, the attacks on innocents happening more often.

  The teenage girls welcomed Ricardo when he went to collect them. They were seventeen and eighteen years old, Valentino having his daughters at an extremely young age. His Rosso wife had been ten years older than him, which had caused a scandal on the island.

  The girls hugged Ricardo without hesitation. It was probably because he looked like their papà, someone they would never see again. Even worse, they hadn’t been told about what had happened, leaving it to him to break the devastating news, which he would do tomorrow morning.

  He directed the girls to his car, getting them home without any trouble, no attacks or roadblocks on the way. They chatted excitedly with each other, probably thinking this was an adventure. Once they were safely behind the compound’s gates, he ushered them out of the car and inside the house.

  He stopped in the entrance at the sight of his mother. She was standing in the center of the marble foyer, glaring at him, her violet eyes filled with fire. The woman was fiercer than any man he knew, a tyrant in a dress. She was in her late fifties, although she didn’t look her age. Her face was smooth from plastic surgery, while her five-foot-ten physique rivaled the figures of women half her age.