Finding Beauty in the Darkness
My brothers and I are spaced two years apart. Me, the eldest at thirty-two years old, Mario at thirty, and Nico is the youngest at twenty-eight. Our poor mother had her hands full raising three boys growing up in the organization while trying to be the perfect mob boss’s wife, but she knew from the beginning what she was getting herself into. She was working in one of the bordellos my father owned in Italy before he sold them and moved here. According to her, he saved her life and in return, she keeps her ears covered, eyes closed, and cheek turned pretending my father is the perfect husband. When the truth is, while he might be the perfect boss and businessman, he is a horrible fucking husband by normal standards. I don’t doubt he loves my mother in his own fucked up way, but he has no idea how to be faithful, and she chooses to let it all go and accept him the way he is because he makes sure she’s taken care of the only way he knows how.
My mother wants for nothing when it comes to materialistic possessions. She belongs to country clubs and takes vacations whenever she wants to. But it’s all given to make up for the fact that my father’s only true loyalty is to the Valentino organization. While she’s busy being the perfect wife at their home in Summerlin, a community in between the bordello and Vegas, he’s out running the organization and getting his dick wet all over Vegas. Her life is put at risk every day, and everywhere she goes, she’s accompanied by bodyguards—we all are. It’s always been our way of life, and I don’t know any other way.
Which is why I made the decision early on to never get married. My mom claims I’m being dramatic. She says I’m still young and will change my mind one day, but when I see the emptiness in her eyes she’s in denial of, I know I’m making the right decision. I could never do that to someone. The people we bring into our lives are always at risk. My grandmother was shot going to the corner market in Italy by another organization. My mother has been in life threatening situations too many times to count. I would never want someone I love to be in harm’s way for choosing to be with me. Just because it’s the life I was born into doesn’t mean I’m going to willingly bring someone else into this life.
Besides, why would I want to settle on one piece of ass forever when I can have any woman I want, any time I want? Who wants to eat the same food every day? It’s human nature to want variety. My dad chose to get married so he could have a family, but instead of spending his life being the man my mom deserves, he’s spent their entire marriage cheating on her. I’d rather stay single and not have to remain faithful to any one woman or be responsible for her wellbeing. I’ll leave it up to my brothers to pass down the Valentino name.
I grab my jacket from the back of my chair, throw it on, and head to the holding cell to deal with the senator. Caesar—one of my bodyguards—joins me on my way down the hall. “I saw her, Boss. She’s pretty fucked up.” My fists tighten at my sides as I stalk toward the holding cell. I’m going to kill this motherfucker.
It’s as if he reads my mind. “You know you can’t kill him.” Caesar grabs ahold of my shoulder, pulling me back before I open the door.
“What do you mean I can’t kill him?” I’ll be damned if this piece of shit lives to hurt another fucking woman.
“This shit needs to be handled properly. He’s the senator and running for reelection, and he owes you a shit ton of money.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the money!”
“You make him disappear and questions will be raised. You don’t want that attention, especially while you’re in the middle of negotiations with the Lorenzo family.” He’s right about that. I have enough cops in my pocket to make shit go away if need be, but I’d be pushing my luck if shit goes down with the Lorenzos. We’re in the middle of renegotiating the terms of our agreement and they aren’t exactly known for compromising.
I swing the door open to find Rome—another one of my enforcers—standing over Senator Weston Hightower. Weston’s fists are raised and bound together with a steel chain that’s hooked in the ceiling. For a man in his late fifties, he’s in decent shape. Gray hair trimmed neatly, probably from the stress of trying to keep control of a state which can’t be controlled. He’s shirtless and there are several nail markings covering his chest. The entire room is nothing but concrete and is completely empty.