Consumed by Desire: A Dark Mafia Romance

I can’t move a muscle. I’m frozen, utterly frozen. Gavino has no clue what he just did to me, but it’s like I’m locked in a tomb.

My brother died in a car bomb. He died at a meeting with Don Bruno, Casso’s father, and a Russian man. That Russian has to be Danil’s father. It’s the only thing that makes all these pieces fit together.

Only one person survived that meeting. Only one person walked away and lived to wreak hell and havoc on this city. No wonder Manuel’s casket was closed. No wonder Papa didn’t want to talk about what happened. A car bomb. A horrible car bomb.

My brother was blown to pieces.

It’s all been them from the start.

This can’t be right. This can’t be the full story. And yet it’s all I have, the first hint at what might’ve happened all those years ago. Manuel was at a meeting with Don Bruno and Danil’s father, and something happened. But what were they meeting about? What was worth dying over?

I finish the whiskey nice and slow. By the time my glass is empty, the ice is melted and it’s late, much too late, but my head’s spinning, dizzy with uncertainty, dizzy with implications.

Chapter 20

Casso

Fynn’s as motionless as a corpse. His chest rises and falls—but barely. I have to lean close to see it. The rest of the family is allowed in his room the next morning, though only briefly. Karah, Nico, Gavino, Elise, and Olivia all pile next to the hospital bed. The beep of machinery overlays the quiet stress and suffering that echoes off the bodies of my loved ones. If I could help make this easier on them, I would. If I could give myself up for Fynn, I would. But that’s the tragedy of life. We don’t get to make those decisions.

Olivia holds herself back from the group and hovers near the window. Sunlight filters through her hair, giving her a beautiful glow. The walls are light blue and off-white. Scuff marks mar the vinyl flooring. Everything’s tile, plastic, plaster. No real wood. Nothing hard to clean. Fynn looks painted-on, like he’s fake.

“Doctor says it’s a good sign that nothing went south last night,” Nico says, frowning at me. “He said it like there was a real chance of it happening.”

“Now we just have to wait. And that’s almost worse.” Karah gazes down at Fynn. “He looks smaller somehow. But that can’t be true, right?”

“Fynn’s strong,” Gavino says. He’s taking it hard—he and Fynn were closest of everyone. Sometimes I was jealous of them: Father never pushed my younger brothers as hard as he pushed me and they got the luxury of friendship. I was never afforded that. Only Nico and those jackals at school, but the jackals were never real companions, and Nico’s not blood family. Gavino looks hungover and strung out, like he spent the night drinking. He probably did, and I wouldn’t blame him.

There’s not much to do but wait. After everyone does their visiting, I let Olivia convince me to head home. Karah volunteers to stay with Fynn for the afternoon while I shower, clean up, get something to eat. Try to make myself human. “You’re the Don, brother,” Gavino says in the hall, squeezing my shoulder. He tries to put weight behind his words but nothing feels real right now. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or maybe it’s the crush of reality threatening to destroy me. “You can’t stay here all day. There’s work to do still.”

It infuriates me, but he’s right. The Famiglia asks, and it asks, and it asks, but it rarely gives back. That’s our fate.

Olivia fusses once we reach Villa Bruno. She makes sure I shower and sets out clean clothes for me to change into. She brings food from the kitchen and once I’m clean, she makes me sit down and eat it. I slump forward on the couch in the living room, poking at a plate of tamales. I can barely eat. I can barely do much of anything except close my eyes and picture my brother lying in a bed on life support barely alive and wrapped in a nest of wires like a spider’s victim. My strong, silent brother. He deserves so much more.

“You keep pacing,” I say, watching her stalk across the room and back again. “Sit down, you’re making me nervous.”

“I can’t sit right now. Too much energy.” She’s not looking at me. In fact, ever since she came back this morning, she’s barely glanced in my direction. I frown slightly and sit back, legs crossed. I feel like my brain’s made of sludge and nothing’s working right. I can barely think, let alone reason this out.

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing. Just worried about Fynn.”

“It’s not just that.” I tilt my head. I may be running on fumes but I can see through an obvious lie still. “You haven’t been able to look at me since you came back.”