Morally Blasphemous: A Dark Mafia Romance (Morally Questionable Book 2)

by Veronica Lancet

  My eyes widely roam about, wondering what's about to happen. The man carrying me throws me on the floor and they both leave.

  I bring my knees close to my chest and link my hands over them, slowly rocking myself. It's not over. I know, with everything in me, that it's not over. I'm here for a reason.

  I don't know how much time passes, but suddenly the door to the room opens. Father comes inside, dragging mother by her hair.

  "There he is."

  Her eyes are blank as she looks at me. She doesn't react. Father's fingers tighten in her scalp, and even then, her face doesn't betray the pain she must be feeling.

  "Now, son. I'll teach you how to treat a faithless whore." He purses his lips for a second. "It just happens that she's your mother. Are you going to interfere again?" He looks straight at me as he asks this.

  I can't help but shake my head. Again... and again.

  "Good... Good. Why don't we put that to the test?" He flings mother to the floor and slowly rolls his sleeves up.

  "First, you never want to stain your clothes." He explains with an evil smile as he grabs a large cross from mother's altar.

  "Blasphemy..." My mother finally utters as she stares at the cross in father's hand.

  He gives her a bored look, waving the cross around before hurling it onto her face with the flat side. Mother flinches in pain, and I can already see the blood falling down her face. As if that's not enough, father grabs her collar, and in one movement he rips the material from her body. Her scarred back is full on display, and he doesn't waste any time in aiming the cross onto her back time after time, until her cries become screams.

  "See that, boy?" He turns to me, and I can only watch, stuck as I am in my useless body. I'm rocking even faster, and tears roll down my face as I watch the bloody scene in front of me.

  "Liliana, dear." Father makes a tsk sound. "This is a lesson for your boy. Why don't you behave?" He grabs her by the neck and tosses her towards the altar. Mother stumbles and her hands catch onto the altar table for support.

  "Yes. Just like that." Father hums in approval. He casually strolls over and gripping her nape, he forces her face down on the altar. Using one hand, father lifts her skirt and stuffs it around her hips. Somehow I know I'm not supposed to see this.

  Mother is... bare.

  But I'm stuck. I rock even faster, my sobs caught in my throat.

  Father unzips his pants, and he turns to me. His hand is gripped around his penis.

  "Watch and learn, boy. This is how you treat a whore." There is so much venom in his voice...

  He turns around and mounts mother from behind. There's only a pained sound coming from mother's mouth, but father is quick to push her face down onto the altar.

  He keeps moving over her, grunting every time.

  I don't want to watch this.

  I don't want to see this.

  But I can't move.

  I keep rocking.

  At some point, I think I must have zoned out, because I hear father say a few more unintelligible things before leaving.

  I try to focus... Mother is breathing hard as she drags her body to the floor.

  "You... it's all your fault." She keeps repeating, dragging her knees up and imitating my posture.

  "Monster!" She says as she rocks herself, just as I was moments before.

  "I'm sorry." The words are barely audible, but I say them anyway.

  I am sorry... and yet I couldn't do anything to help her.

  Weak.

  I'm too weak.

  Chapter Six

  PRESENT-DAY,

  "YOU'RE NOT WHAT I expected." The elderly man in front of me says, dragging a big gulp of smoke from his cheroot.

  "And what did you expect?" I raise an eyebrow at him.

  "A coward." He simply states.

  "What makes you think I'm not one?"

  "You're here. Unarmed. No army of bodyguards." He smiles, showing big yellow teeth.

  "Should I have brought any?"

  "Perhaps." He takes another drag and motions me towards a chair.

  "Call me Francesco." He nods at me. I take the seat across from him.

  Francesco had been my brother's underboss and trusted right hand. And he was among the only ones to join the ranks after father's death. I'd read the report. Valentino had helped Francesco and his family, bringing them from Italy to the States and promising a better future for his children. Francesco had sworn fealty to my brother and had quickly climbed the ranks to become a most trusted asset. After a week at the Lastra house, I'd realized that things were more dire than I'd expected. The finances were a mess, and over the years someone had been siphoning money from almost all accounts. Valentino, in his quest for revenge, hadn't seemed to care that much to keep up with the business. His sole focus had been Jimenez.

  I'd immediately guessed that the problem lies with father's men. Aside from Francesco and the young soldiers, all the important men in the famiglia were among father's inner circle. Which is also why I'd come to meet Francesco. If I want to make a change within the famiglia, it has to start from the inside.

  "Francesco. I think you know why I'm here." I add, pulling some sheets of paper from my briefcase. I compiled all the evidence of irregular activity I'd found. He takes them and peruses them slowly, narrowing his eyes now and then.

  "So?" He finally says after he puts the sheets down.

  "I thought you'd have some insight."

  He scowls at me.

  "And why did you think that?"

  "Because I'm told you don't play very well with the others." I respond. Francesco regards me silently for a second.

  "And who told you that?"

  "I can't reveal that." I shrug. A lot of the information had come from Vlad. His relationship with Valentino had been tighter than I'd realized. I don't know exactly what Vlad's endgame is, but I've learned that the information he provides, while correct, is never complete. He likes to toy with people like that—give them crumbs and hope they'd figure it out. But I'll take what I can. It wasn't hard to paint a picture of the last ten years of business. But now, I need to choose my battles carefully. Gain footing within the famiglia, solve the shipment crisis, and then get rid of the rotten apples. Theoretically an easy feat. But we're talking about old mafia men. Gangsters who'd most likely lived through the heyday of the five families and had survived both enemies and the police. I had to approach this strategically. And the first step is to find myself people I can trust.

  "What I can reveal, however," I continue, "is that things are going to change."

  "Change?" Francesco snorts. "You think your brother didn't try that?"

  "Not enough. I won't pretend to know how Tino ran things around here, since I didn't witness it myself. But what I do know, is what those reports are telling me. The business is almost in the ground, and factions have developed within the famiglia. Factions that would no doubt love to see me out of my position now. Let's be frank here. Tino must have faced this as well. Those people who were my father's biggest supporters are still around. And they aren't satisfied with their lot."

  Francesco grunts. Taking another drag of his cheroot, he replies.

  "Valentino didn't manage to do what you're hinting at in ten years. What makes you think you can do it now?"

  "My brother was distracted. Romina's death weighed heavily on his shoulders, and his attention was not on the famiglia. I'm not. But more than that, I have something that Tino did not."

  "And what's that?" He raises an eyebrow at me.

  "Knowledge about the inner circle. That... and enough distaste for their kind that I will not fail. The question is... will you join me?"

  "What makes you think I'm not with them?" His eyes study me closely, but my face gives nothing away. Father may have been a monster, but he trained me well.

  "You're not." I push forward another document. He picks it up and frowns at the contents.

  "This..." His voice is full of disbelief.

  "Your
son is free to do as he pleases now." I explain. Nicolo and his associates had been trying to get blackmail material on Francesco for a long time. He thought he'd finally succeeded when Francesco's teenage son had been caught by the police in a stabbing gone wrong.

  "But how?"

  "I'm a lawyer. I also worked with the D.A. Your son's case was fabricated. It was just a matter of untangling the web of evidence."

  I can already tell I have him. I stand up to leave, but not before I hear him say.

  "Grazie, capo."

  I nod and take my leave.

  One ally.

  It's a start.

  THE PREPARATIONS HAVE already started for the meeting with the famiglia. I'd decided for an ostentatious banquet that should mark the beginning of my leadership. I'd never wanted to be in this position because I know what I have to do to make sure I keep everyone in line.

  Respect in the famiglia is earned. But that would take time. So for now, I'll settle for fear.

  The last ten years will be completely erased. It will be like I never really left. Maybe it's my fate to have to do something I loathe with my entire being, but to keep on doing it.

  I take in the masterpiece in front of me, all previous worries wiped from my mind. I hear Amelia gasp as she enters the ballroom, her hand going to her mouth.

  "Now, Amelia." I put my hand up. "Please take all our guests in the drawing room. And when the attendance list is full, you can guide them here."

  Her face is white, but she slowly nods at me.

  It's almost an hour later that the doors to the ballroom open. I'm propped on the wall opposite the doors, champagne flute in hand, watching.

  The men trickle in, all dressed in tuxedos. The first batch comes in and stops at the sight. I see a few men swallow anxiously before moving forward. It goes on like this until the last person has made it inside.

  "Good evening, gentleman!" I incline my head and raise my glass.

  "What's the meaning of this?" My uncle, Nicolo, steps forward.

  "Well, it is as you can see. My gift to the famiglia."

  All the men are staring at the north-facing wall, and the carnage depicted on it. I'm rather proud of this work, maybe because this time it is personal.

  There are two rows of decapitated human heads nailed to the wall. The two rows meet at a junction to form a T. I am sure everyone in the room is aware of what this T means. Traditore. Traitor.

  There are six heads since I could only find definitive evidence to punish six people for their crimes against the famiglia. But they were six made men governed by omerta—they didn't talk. Initially, I'd thought to get the rest of the names out of them by means of torture. Sometimes I forget that not everyone reacts to torture the same. These men hadn't.

  Pity.

  My job will be much more difficult. But at least now the rest of the famiglia knows I'm not playing games.

  "Please, everyone, take a seat." There are three rows of tables in the room, all of them carefully prepared in advance. They also have name tags. This isn't only a show of strength, it's also a study. By seating them strategically, I can observe the interactions between different members. It should be fun.

  There is some shuffling as the men are looking for their names on the chairs, but shortly everyone is seated.

  "In front of you, you will find evidence of the crimes committed by the traitors. This is my gift to you all. As the new capo, I can promise that there will be no rotten apples. In fact, the lucky six are only the first in a long list of people who have been exploiting the resources of the famiglia for their own gain."

  "So where are the rest then? You don't know who they are, do you?" A fat man laughs at the end of the table. I give him a sharp look, followed by a smile.

  "Oh, I do... I really do." And as I say this, I let my gaze roam around the room, sparing a glance to every individual. "But I'm just waiting."

  "For what?" My uncle barks.

  "For them to trip."

  People are already uneasy. It helps that the room is filled with hidden cameras. Body language will be telling.

  "But enough of the morbid talk." I continue. "Let us enjoy a peaceful dinner before talking business."

  At my signal, select staff enter the ballroom with the first course and start serving the tables.

  Small talk ensues. From my spot at the top of the table, I observe.

  Some men keep glancing at the decapitated heads. Others try very hard not to. But then there are those that are completely unbothered by the bloody mess on the wall, and I know it's those I need to look out for.

  Starting with my uncle Nicolo. Because of his position as Consigliere—position that unfortunately he still holds—he is seated next to me.

  "I must confess it was unexpected that you took the leadership." Nicolo starts. I tilt my head and looking wholly unbothered, I answer.

  "I would assume so, given that you expected the role to go to you." I smile. He does the same. Both our mouths are straining to portray the opposite of what we're feeling.

  "It was a natural assumption... with you leaving the famiglia. Do you really think they will accept you? You've shown yourself unreliable before. Maybe you didn't precisely betray the famiglia, but you left it."

  "And now I'm back."

  He laughs.

  "You think this little stunt of yours will get you anything? Sure, the cowards are going to recoil in fear, but is that what you want?"

  "No... I want to do a clean-up. It's simple. In order for the famiglia to thrive, we need some rules."

  "And you're the one to make them?"

  "I'm here, aren't I?"

  "Not for long."

  Nicolo challenges me with his gaze, and I don't back down.

  "Hmm... I wonder. Maybe we should keep this conversation for after dinner. I'm sure others will be interested in what I have to say..." I trail off, and I watch my uncle grimace.

  He's right in one aspect, I don't really care for cowards. But usually, a coward is also a traitor by extension. The severed heads were just the appetizer; a small reminder that I too am a made man. After dinner, I must remind them that that is not all I am.

  Nicolo switches his focus to the other people at his side, and our conversation is dropped. At least one thing's clear now. He is after power, and he thinks he is entitled to it.

  The courses come and go, and the men become more relaxed. Maybe it's also because alcohol flows freely.

  It's soon time to discuss business, and where better than in the basement. The men are reticent when they hear the destination, but already ruddy from alcohol, they bring their cigars and we move the party to the basement.

  They probably expect yet another bloody crime scene, but I already cleaned that up when I had some people dispose of the headless bodies.

  The basement is split into a few chambers, the biggest one almost the size of the ballroom. I'd arranged for it to be decorated for a loyalty ceremony. We need to make this thing official.

  There are two guards standing at the end of the room, where I promptly take my place. Francesco is already there, and he gives me a nod of approval.

  "Gentlemen, shall we begin?" I ask as I take a seat in front of them. I give Francesco a look and he takes the floor.

  "Before we discuss anything of importance, every one of you will be required to swear loyalty to Marcello Lastra as your new capo. I'm sure you were already expecting this." He looks around at the myriad of faces. Some men scoff, others seem rather interested, while others emanate pure malice.

  Nicolo is the one who steps forward and, as expected, states his challenge.

  "How can we trust a kid," he sneers. "Especially one that left the famiglia behind. He may be the direct heir, but how can we trust that he won't bail again?"

  There's a lot of hushed tones discussing; some in agreement, some raising questions.

  "Are you saying you are better fit, uncle?" I look him straight in his eyes and he tips his head back in arrogance.

&nb
sp; "Why not?"

  I smile. It's not as if I was not expecting this.

  "Then it seems we are at an impasse. Tell me, uncle, are you officially challenging me?"

  His eyes widen as he understands where I am going with this. He cannot back down, however, since he's already made a claim.

  "I believe you are."

  "I am." He immediately adds. I smirk.

  "Francesco, tell me the rules again?"

  "The challenged can choose the type of challenge." Francesco adds so that everyone in the room can hear. There are hums of approval, some of them may be too eager. If they want a spectacle... well, they will have one.

  I raise to my feet, casually walking towards Nicolo.

  "So what? Fists, swords, pistols?" Nicolo looks at me and smirks.

  "Chess." I enjoy the look on his face when he hears that. His smile slowly falls and he frowns. The other men around are baffled as well.

  "Chess? You're joking."

  "It's my right as the challenged to choose the challenge. Does it have to be a type of combat, or violent?" I turn to Francesco and I ask.

  "No. It can be anything." He replies.

  Everyone is quiet.

  I motion to Francesco and he brings over a chessboard, placing it on a table in the corner of the room.

  With my hand, I motion Nicolo to follow. He looks like he wants to argue with my suggestion, but he must realize by now that he's fallen into my trap. And there's no return.

  "But what would chess say about the new capo?" He sputters in a last attempt to divert attention.

  "Then tell me," I begin, crossing my arms in front of me, "why would a capo need any fighting skills when he has his soldiers? Better yet, wouldn't you say," I turn and address the rest of the men. "that a good capo should be smart enough to strategically weigh his moves... almost like on a chessboard."

  Nicolo's face falls, and I can tell I've won the argument in the eyes of the other men as well.

  We sit down in front of the chessboard, and after arranging the pieces, the game begins.

  It doesn't take long for me to win. After I capture his Queen, it's only a matter of a couple movements until his King is cornered. It's something I counted on when I thought about this encounter. Nicolo might be smart and cunning, but he is the type of person who belittles any type of intellectual pursuits—including chess. I'd narrowed down on his weakness, and I'd just made sure he was the one to challenge me. I knew he'd expect some type of corporeal challenge, like sparring or shooting, both of which he excels at. He's not much older than Valentino had been, his body fit and in shape. But he'd been overconfident. I'd just played on his hubris... and won.