Luca Vitiello (Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles 0.5)

Matteo stared down at the woman, knife in hand and his fucking boner still on display. I moved toward him and revealed the burnt skin over her hipbone.

“I really wish she would have waited for me to come before she tried to kill me,” he muttered.

I straightened, then grimaced. “Why don’t you pull up your pants? There’s no reason to present your junk anymore.”

He dragged his pants up his legs and fastened his belt, then he looked at me. “Thanks for saving my ass.” He gave me a smirk, but it was off. “Did you at least have your happy ending before your conquest tried to end you for good?”

I shook my head. “The Bratva almost got us. We both acted like fucking fools, letting those stupid whores lead us around by our dicks like randy teenagers.”

“We are randy teenagers,” Matteo joked as he sheathed his knife.

I glared down at the dead women.

“The other whore’s dead as well?” Matteo asked.

I nodded. “Broke her neck.”

“Your first two women,” he said with a hint of wariness, his eyes scanning my face, looking for God knew what. “You feel guilty?”

I regarded the blood staining the concrete and the lifeless eyes of the woman. Anger was the prevailing emotion in my body. Anger at myself for being an easy target, for thinking a pretty woman was no threat. And burning fury at the Bratva for trying to kill me—and worse, Matteo.

“No,” I said. “The only thing I regret is that I killed them before they could answer a few questions. Now we’ll have to hunt down a few Bratva assholes and get info out of them.”

Matteo picked up the syringe and I tensed, worried he could get some of the poison on his skin by accident. I had no doubt that whatever was in there would lead to an excruciating death. “We need to find out what’s in there.”

“First, we need to get rid of the two bodies before guests or the police find them.” I raised my phone to my ear, calling Cesare. “I need you at the Sphere. Fast.”

“All right. Give me ten minutes,” Cesare said, sounding as if I’d woken him.

Cesare was more my man than he was Father’s soldier, and I trusted him to keep his mouth shut when required. “Father won’t be happy about this,” I said.

Matteo gave me a curious look. “About us walking into a trap or that the Bratva tried to kill us?”

“The first, and maybe the second.”

“I’m growing tired of people trying to kill us,” Matteo muttered, his tone serious for once.

I took a deep breath. “That’s how it is. How it’ll always be. We can’t trust anyone but each other.”

Matteo shook his head. “Look at Father. He trusts no one. Not even Nina.”

He did well not to trust his wife considering the way he treated her. The marriages in our world rarely led to trust, much less love.CHAPTER 3LUCA, 20 YEARS OLDThe second we entered the elevator, the sound of music and laughter drifted down to us.

“Seems like this party might be worth our time,” Matteo said, checking his looks in the reflection of the doors. Except for our general facial features, we didn’t look alike. I was still the spitting image of my father, same cold gray eyes, same black hair, but I’d never wear it in that disgusting slicked-back way he did.

“That would be a plus, but the main reason we’re here is for connections.”

The apartment belonged to Senator Parker who was away on business with his wife. His son, Michael, used the chance to throw a party, inviting pretty much everyone who mattered in New York.

Michael waited in the open door when Matteo and I stepped out into the hallway. It was the first time I’d seen Parker Junior without a suit, since he was trying to follow in his father’s footsteps. He waved at us with a crooked smile, already drunk.

I nodded at him. For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to hug me like so many people tended to do with everyone, but then he thought better of it. Good for him. “So glad you could make it,” he slurred. “Grab a drink. I booked a few bartenders who can prepare any cocktail you want.”

The penthouse was packed with guests and the beat throbbed in my temples. Matteo and I wouldn’t drink much, if anything. We’d learned from our mistakes of the past, even if the present crowd didn’t pose a danger. Most of them would piss their pants if they knew half the things Matteo and I had done since we’d become Made Men. As it was, they only knew rumors. Officially, we were the heirs of businessman, real estate mogul, and club owner, Salvatore Vitiello.

The moment we entered, people began to whisper. It was always the same. Michael pointed at the bar and buffet, but I barely listened. My eyes were drawn to the dance floor, which had been set up in the center of the large open space that must have been the living room before the furniture had been removed for the party. Several girls who had been dancing with sons of other politicians were throwing glances our way.