Luca Vitiello (Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles 0.5)

In moments like this, it seemed a lifetime ago that I’d slept without Aria at my side.CHAPTER 21Cesare waited for Matteo and me in front of our warehouse. He’d called me ten minutes ago to tell me that the Russians had attacked the building.

“The Doc’s still trying to patch one of them together,” Cesare said, his dark eyes bloodshot as he led me inside the gym. The smell of blood and vomit drenched the air.

My eyes took in the scene before me. Blood covered the floor and the walls. It looked as if the Russians had sprayed it all over the place on purpose. I stalked past the dismembered bodies and toward Doc and his assistant, a young woman from a soldier family. I counted two dead men but, when I arrived beside the Doc, I was surprised that it weren’t three. I got down on my knees beside my soldier. He was a recent initiate, not even of age yet. I still remembered his induction about two years ago. I wasn’t sure what the Doc was trying to do, because little of his body was intact. The Russians had broken every single bone in his legs and arms from the look of it before they’d skinned his limbs and cut open his belly. “Nico,” I said firmly.

The boy’s swollen eyes focused on me briefly before they fluttered shut again. I glanced at Doc, who shook his head. “It hurts…” he cried.

“I know,” I said, touching his shoulder lightly. He shuddered, blood trickling out of his mouth.

Doc showed me five fingers. Five minutes of agony.

I pulled my knife, then leaned down. “I’ll tell your family how bravely you fought. They will be proud of you, Nico.”

He gave a small nod. I put my hand down on his ribcage and rested the tip of my knife below it. Then, with one hard shove, I drove my blade into his heart. Slowly, I pulled my knife out and stood, drenched in the blood of my soldier. A wave of anger crashed down on me. Too young to die.

Matteo stepped up beside me, shaking his head. “The Bratva will bleed for this.”

They would bleed and suffer like my men had.

“Give me the addresses of the families,” I told Cesare. I tried to tell the families of my soldiers personally when one of ours died. They deserved to be told by their Capo, the man they fought and died for, but my father didn’t give a flying fuck about any of them, so I went in his stead.

The boy’s family was last. The door to their apartment opened before I got the chance to knock. A woman in her late thirties stood in the doorway and, beside her, a younger girl. Her husband had died two years ago, I remembered her now, and her son Nico had taken the oath shortly after.

She let out a cry upon seeing me. She knew why I was here. She remembered the last time I’d come to visit.

I moved closer and she shook her head desperately, wailing. Another child, a boy, appeared behind her. He was thirteen or fourteen, not older. When he saw me, his eyes widened and then his face, too, transformed with horrified realization.

His mother rushed toward me, her face twisted with despair as she began pummeling me with her fists. “No! Not Nico. Not him too.”

Her two children were frozen. I allowed her to hit me, but soon her son grabbed her arms and pulled her away. “Mom, calm down. Please.”

She didn’t. Words of consolation weren’t in my nature. “Your son fought bravely.”

She gave a weak nod. The boy looked at me, trying to appear like a man even with tears in his eyes. “I’ll take the oath to provide for my family.”

I pulled my wallet and handed him ten thousand dollars for the funeral and the next few weeks. “In two years. Until then, the Famiglia will provide for you.”

If my father disapproved of my decisions, he should act like a Capo. Until then, I’d handle things the way I wanted. The boy led his mother back into their apartment, and I turned around and left. Afterward, I returned to the warehouse to help my men wash off the blood.I felt like I’d been run over by a truck. Anger and frustration crowded my chest when I stepped into the penthouse. Romero got up from where he sat on the bar stool, the only source of light his phone screen. “How many?” he asked.

“Three,” I said, already walking past him. I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I wanted to wash off the grime and blood and get some sleep. If my body allowed me to find sleep at all tonight.

The bling of the elevator told me that Romero had left, and I made my way up the stairs. It was past midnight, so I was surprised to find Aria still up, reading a book.