Lorenzo Beretta (Unseen Underground 1)

“I’m sure.”

I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter now. The doors swung open, the music started to play, and I took a step forward with my dad next to me. My legs felt like Jell-O, my breaths becoming pants, but I kept moving one foot in front of the other.

The pews were full to the brim, and there were even a few people standing at the edge of the church to witness this event. An event that meant more than just two people creating an unbreakable union. That was what I’d been told. I was making history. I was making a difference. I was helping The Family.

But at what cost? What was the price that I was going to have to pay? My freedom? My choices? What would happen after this? I was two steps away from the man waiting at the altar.

Two steps away from my life no longer being mine.

FOUR WEEKS EARLIER

CHAPTER 1

LORENZO

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back as she took as much of me in her mouth as she could. It wasn’t the best blow job I’d ever had, but it would be enough to erase the tension in my body—tension that had been building up from the moment my dad told me I had to attend this function with him. I fuckin’ hated these things. I despised being surrounded by rich assholes who thought they were better than everyone else.

As the oldest child, it was my job to set an example, to show a united front with the Beretta family. From a young age, I’d known what my role would be, and I was okay with that, but it didn’t mean I hadn’t envied my brother and sister, who had lived completely different lives than me.

My younger brother didn’t have to answer to our father in the same way I did. He didn’t have to learn the ins and outs of the business—both legal and illegal. He didn’t have to train in several martial arts, and he didn’t have to have the perfect aim while shooting a gun. But it was nothing compared to my sister and the protection from all the bad things surrounding us.

They’d lived a childhood that I hadn’t.

They hadn’t witnessed what was behind the curtain.

I had. I was shown exactly what our family was at a young age. I’d watched my father torture a man for lying to him. I’d been seven, and the screams of pain had woken me up. That was the first time I’d listened to someone begging for their life. Somewhere along the way I’d lost count, and the person causing the pain had turned from my father to me. I’d become his project, his work of art that he’d molded into shape.

I gritted my teeth as her tongue lapped around the head of my cock, and I tried to push all of my thoughts aside. I needed this, even if it was subpar. So, I took control. I weaved my hand into her hair, opened my eyes, and forced my cock down her throat as far as it would go. Shock flashed across her face as her gag reflex kicked in, but I didn’t care. This wasn’t about her—it was never about the women. It was about me.

“Fuck.” My muscles tensed as I exploded into her mouth, and as soon as I was done, I pushed her off, then zipped up my slacks.

“That was so…”

I blocked the rest of her sentence out, not wanting to listen to her grating voice. It was too high for my liking—too sickly sweet. I inhaled a deep breath, getting a lungful of her cheap perfume, and snarled at the smell. I didn’t want her around me. She’d served her purpose, so as soon as we pulled up outside the art museum, where the function was being held, I told her, “You can go now.”

“What? Lorenzo, I thought I was attending with you?”

I pushed out of the limousine and adjusted my suit jacket and tie. “You thought wrong.” I didn’t turn back to look at her as I strode over to the steps lined with red material. A smirk lifted on my lips at the color. It was appropriate for the Beretta family.

People milled outside with clipboards and headsets, but I didn’t look at any of them. I was here for my father, nothing else. If I had my way, I’d never attend another one of these fuckin’ things again. But Father said it was to keep the connection with the world everyone could see. Protection for the underground business only a select few people knew about.

Sure, they knew we were Mafia, but that didn’t mean they knew exactly what we did. The feds had tried to take us down countless times. Once, they even tried to frame my father for a crime he didn’t commit, but they were unsuccessful, and it would remain that way as long as we kept the peace.

“Good evening, Mr. Beretta,” a soft voice said from beside me. I raised a brow and moved my gaze to the woman in a slinky black dress with a headset placed over her perfectly straight hair. “I’ll escort you to your table.”

I didn’t grace her with a response, not that I needed to. Her arm brushed against mine as she led me into the vast entrance full of drapes covering most of the artwork. I scoffed. What was the point in using an art museum for a function if you were then going to cover up the art?

The woman pointed. “Your father is just over there.”

I tilted my head at her in a half nod, then stalked toward my dad. He was sitting at the table next to my mom, and they both looked perfectly put together. I could never remember a time when they didn’t. Outw

ardly they always presented the perfect picture, but those closest to them knew how much my mom hated this life and how much my dad loved it. He lived for the blood soaked onto his hands.

“Lorenzo.” Ma’s voice was a mere sigh of relief. She knew how much I didn’t want to come to these things. Sometimes I bailed to try and show that I couldn’t be controlled, but the older I got, the more I realized I needed to be here.

“Hey, Ma.” I dipped down and placed a kiss on her cheek. “You look beautiful, as always.”

She rolled her eyes, but you couldn’t misinterpret the smile pulling at her lips. “And you look handsome, my son.” She smoothed out the lapel of my jacket and indicated the seat next to my father. It was a silent command, one I listened to without any thought.