Mafia Heir by L. Steele

7

Michael

After the men leave, the Don walks over to take the armchair at the head of the coffee table. I prowl over, pour some of the whiskey in a glass, and hand it to him. Then refresh my glass before I sink down onto the chaise.

I take a sip of my drink, watch as he brings the drink to his nose and sniffs it. "Twenty-four years aged?"

"Seventy-two," I retort.

He whistles, "Your tastes have matured, son."

"Yours haven’t."

He chuckles, "You always were a quick study, Michael. I knew you’d make a wonderful heir to take over my legacy some day."

"A legacy which I hope to clean of your taint as soon as I can."

"Some things," his grin broadens, "are etched into your skin. You can’t carve them out, for they are a part of you. They are burned into your soul, and whatever you try will only engrave them deeper into every cell of your body... Until they dominate your every thought, your every action dictated by the ghosts of your past." He stares at the scar on my throat, leaving me in no doubt of what he is referring to.

I take another sip of the whiskey, then yawn. "That what you came to tell me at," I stare at the watch on my wrist, "two in the morning?"

He straightens, wipes the smile off of his face, "I heard about the attack on you earlier today."

"You are not here because you are concerned."

"No," he concedes, "you are not that easy to take down." He takes a sip of his whiskey, leans forward to place it on the table. "The attack left you exposed. It makes you seem weak, no longer unassailable. It’s a red flag to every single figlio di puttana out there to come after you."

I tighten my fingers around my glass, then glance up at him, "If you have something to say, why don’t you just say it outright?"

"You need to pull your head out of your ass and find a wild card. One that will undo the damage to your reputation and confirm to the five families and to our rivals that you are the strongest and the most powerful…and the only contender to taking over as Don… After I am gone, that is."

"Trust me, I’ll have your seat within the next twelve months."

"Is that a threat?"

"A friendly warning." I allow my lips to curve, "You’d best ensure that your own position of power isn’t compromised in the meanwhile."

He stares at me, then throws his head back and laughs. "I taught you well, ragazzo mio." He murmurs, "You make me proud."

"You didn’t teach me a thing," I say through gritted teeth, "and you make me sick."

"Now, is that any way to talk to your padre."

"You ceased to be my father the day you took a hand to her."

His jaw hardens. "No one knows what’s going on in a marriage except a husband and wife."

"From where I was, there’s no doubt about what you were doing to her, you pezzo di merda."

A vein pops at his temple. He rises to his feet, "I came here to tell you that you need something out of the ordinary to salvage your reputation, and I may have just the thing to help you."

Fuck, if I hadn’t thought the same thing earlier. Fuck genetics that our thinking runs along the same lines. Fuck nature for playing the cruelest trick on me…in making me so like him. Fuck the past for ensuring that I hate him more than anything or anyone I have ever set my eyes on.

I tilt my head at him. "Is that right?" I drawl.

He nods, "The traitor who ratted out our operations to the cops in England... We have tracked down his daughter. Her location will be conveyed to you shortly. Don’t mess this chance up, Michelangelo."

He pivots and walks to the door and I call out, "Don Sovrano."

He pauses.

"I don’t know what you hope to achieve by sharing that piece of information, but I’ll never forgive you for what you did to her."

He stiffens, "Perhaps you need to look at yourself more closely, son. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree."

Turning, he walks out.