Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Literally fucking fire.
I’d deal with it later when I got home. Thinking I was headed in that direction, my phone rang catching my attention.
“Yeah,” I answered. This fucking device never stopped ringing.
“Meet me at the vineyard,” Luciano ordered on the other end of the line.
“Twenty minutes,” I retorted. “I need someone to clean up this mess at this motherfucker’s shop.”
“Text me the address, I’ll send someone.”
I hung up and sent him the coordinates of where I was.
This was my life, wherever and whenever I was needed nothing else mattered, not even my wife. La Familia came first. It was what I sacrificed in order to find my sister.
My life for hers.
Through tunneled vision, I made it out to my car and stepped in. Opening the center console, I grabbed a few pain pills that I kept in there for circumstances like these and swallowed them down whole with no water before starting the engine. Yanking my steering wheel to the left, I made an illegal U-turn on the road I was on, driving toward the industrial warehouse that stored one of Luciano’s finest wineries in Sicily.
I quickly learned El Capo didn’t half-ass anything that had his name attached to it. It was the best money could buy no matter what or who he had to kill to make sure his name remained at the top of the fucking food chain. I admired his tenacity at remaining number one.
Which only navigated me to this point in time.
Once I arrived at the secluded vineyard in the middle of nowhere, I parked my car and walked inside. It was dark as shit and I could barely see a foot in front of me, but when I stepped into the open area of the facility spotlights immediately turned on. Blinding my sight.
Raising my hand to my eyes, I shouted, “El Capo, you here?”
Within seconds, I saw a shadow sitting at the end of a rectangle table in the far corner of the warehouse.
“Papà,” I called out, instantly recognizing his dominant stature sitting there by himself.
“Have a seat, Crucifixio.”
Hesitantly, I nodded.
This was the first time since Adriana was kidnapped that my father and I were alone. We were usually with my mother or Lorenzo, sometimes with the five families. It was worse now since I didn’t live at home and had my own place with Sienna. A three thousand square foot ranch gifted by La Familia, as a wedding present.
When I was close to the table, he gestured to the seat directly across from him at the other end. To say I wasn’t surprised he was instructing me to take a seat at the head of the table would be an understatement.
I did as I was told, setting my hands out in front of me. Anticipating who the hell knows what. I answered to El Capo more than I did my father. Despite the fact he resurrected his life, he wasn’t leading the pack. He was still involved in every decision, but he wasn’t part of La Familia in that sense. He simply had their support.
You couldn’t just leave the mafia, when you’re in, you’re in for life. However, his role as El Diablo wasn’t the same anymore. He was older, wiser, paid his dues. Made men respected him, period. No longer having to prove himself to anyone. His mere presence commanded authority.
He didn’t beat around the bush, getting right to the point of our conservation. “What happened to your leg?”
“Casualty. I need a new main man.”
He gave me a curt nod, understanding my subtle explanation. “I’m not going to sit in front of you and tell you I wanted this life for you, Cruz. I did everything I could to keep this world away from you, your mother, and,” he paused, clearly thinking about Ari. “My daughter…but here we are. The moment you left your sister, the future of our family was forever changed, and all I can do now is make sure you’re protected to the best of my ability. I was born into this life, it was my legacy to fill my father’s shoes like the men before me who filled theirs.”
I listened to what he was sharing, unaware of where he was going with this.
“Martinez blood only knows violence and vengeance, and I faked my death to try and change the course of your heritage. In the end, the devil won regardless. Maybe it’s my punishment for the corrupt life I lived, for the men I murdered, for the families I destroyed.” He shook his head in what resembled resentment and shame. It was obvious he was consumed with his past in a way he never showed me before.
It was confusing, to say the least.
Why was he showing me his emotions?
“I wanted to make an honest father of myself,” he justified, breaking my thoughts. “An honorable husband, a man who could repent through the love and devotion of his family. I was wrong. I can’t change fate. The only thing I did was piss it off. The price of my sins is your soul to this world, and I have to live with the decisions I’ve made and pray that you’ll find peace one day. I’ve spent over two decades trying to find it myself only to lure you to the depths of Hell.”