Ruthless Empire: A Dark Mafia Collection

by Seth Eden

Maybe because her hardy exterior concealed her inner vulnerability, feelings long asleep within me were being awakened every time I went around her. And she had noticed. I didn’t know if this was a good thing or not.

  “Tara, it’s me. Can you pick up?” she spoke into the line, and I held my breath. Alessandro had tapped this phone, recording every word she uttered. “Please pick up.” She paused for a beat. “I’m going to be away from home and out of touch for a while. I quit my job with the Bentons and need some time to reflect. Don’t worry about me, though. Take care of yourself.”

  She ended the call without one word about us.

  I closed my eyes in relief. She’d cleared the first hurdle. Christ.

  I could swear my heart had climbed out of my rib cage to take up residence in my throat. An odd sensation to say the least. It took two full minutes for my heart to settle back down and my pulse to return to normal. Only then was I able to put on the façade of nonchalance. “Feel better now?”

  “A little bit. I wish she would’ve picked up, though. I’d hoped to hear her voice.”

  “Next time,” I assured her, and though she’d been looking at her knees during the call, now she focused on me.

  “There’s going to be a next time?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  Her whiskey brown eyes gazed into mine. We stood about five feet apart, and I felt this yearning to close the distance. As if of their own accord, my feet took a step forward. Then another. Her spicy cinnamon essence reached out to me like a siren call, encouraging me to move faster. And amazingly, she didn’t move away.

  We were within inches of one another when an outburst of noise echoed from upstairs, the reports of multiple gunshots. I stopped and jerked my head to gape at the closed door; my baby girl was on the third floor. Pulling my nine-millimeter from my waistband, I thundered up the stairwell, the bleachy taste of terror coating my tongue.

  It wasn’t until I sprinted across the length of the kitchen that I registered that Molly had followed me out of the room. I tossed her an assessing glance.

  “Hey, we’re supposed to be a team now, right?” she provided, and I didn’t take the time to inquire about her motives. I had to make certain my daughter was safe.

  With Molly in my wake, I hurried past our now unused formal dining room with my mother’s monstrosity of an oak table and ran full tilt toward our master staircase. The staircase led to the upper floors and lay just inside of the main entrance to the house. As I entered the marble-tiled foyer, I heard voices.

  Catching a flash of movement, I slowed to investigate it. Aiming my weapon, I turned a blind corner. What I found as I crossed the threshold was a nightmare of epic proportions.

  At least twenty men had infiltrated our mansion, and most of them had their weapons trained on me.

  Recognition dawned as my gazed flitted over them. The Bianchi family. They were a rival mafia family who controlled a section of the city we’d agreed decades before to avoid. Preserving separate territories and respecting those boundaries ensured a fair cut of the funds across the board, and we all worked to maintain the delicate balance of power.

  They’d managed to either restrain or incapacitate each of my brothers.

  Knocked out, Marco rested against the balustrade, his leg pumping copious amounts of blood onto the priceless oriental rug beneath him. Alessandro was slumped unconscious at the foot of the stairs, and Gabriel, looking as pissed as I’d ever seen him, struggled within the arms of two men more than twice his size.

  The sight that brought all my senses to a screeching halt, though, was the one of my father. He lay spread eagle on the mat inside the front double doors, a bullet hole visible at his temple. His eyes were open but fixed, the pool of blood beneath his skull staining more and more of the white marble floor.

  Angelo Varasso was dead.

  “Ah, the Crown Prince makes an appearance.” This came from Donovan Bianchi, the patriarch of their clan.

  “You fucking son of a bitch!” I shouted at him, feeling the frosty tendrils of shock needling its way through my bones like the tremors of an earthquake.

  “No,” Donovan boomed, his voice nearly as enraged as mine as he pointed at my father. “That’s the son of a bitch.”

  “What’re you…”

  But he didn’t allow me to finish my question. “Angelo double-crossed us. He’s been sending runners into our midst, siphoning funds from the establishments we’ve had control over for more than thirty years.”

  “Lies,” Gabriel yelled, but Donovan didn’t offer him so much as a glance.

  As incensed and horrified as I was, the image of Anna’s big blue eyes slipped into my brain. I had to keep all the violence centralized here on the first floor. I had to keep all this as far from her as I could manage. And the only way to do that was to keep the leader of the Bianchi clan talking.

  “My father is… was a respected mafia leader. We’ve been at peace with your family since before he was born. Why would he risk a fight with you after all this time? Why would he destabilize the entirety of Philadelphia over a few measly bucks?”

  “It was more than a few measly bucks, as you so elegantly put it. Our accountants have discovered this has been going on for some time. Our coffers are millions of dollars short. Hundreds of millions, in fact. As to why? My guess is the old man got greedy. Selfish. And such a thing cannot be ignored.”

  “And you can prove this how?” I asked.

  “Records. We run a tight ship. We noticed the discrepancy early on and started to make an effort to track it down. Once we discovered who was at fault, we came over here to take care of it.”

  My ears were ringing with the suddenness of what had happened, and for the first time I felt a presence at my back. Not a threat, but Molly. I realized she’d been here almost as long as me, her hands up in surrender, her eyes goggling at the spectacle before us.

  “You’ve started a war. We swear to have our retribution,” Gabriel bellowed out again, so much agony in his voice it made my own breath hitch.

  “Muzzle your bastard before we muzzle him for you,” Donovan said spitefully, his eyes hard, but then he relented slightly. “We found no evidence that any of you are complicit in this. I will send you our records. We’re not looking for a war, only for justice. And for now, this’ll do.”

  He yanked his head towards the door, telling his men to clear out. Shoving Gabriel into a nearby closet, they barricaded him in, then dispersed. Moments later, the only ones left standing in the room were me and Molly.

  I heard my half-brother banging his fists against the closet door and demanding to be let out, but I couldn’t focus on him. I couldn’t focus on my other brothers or even on preparing my father’s body. The only person I had any bandwidth available for was Anna.

  Without a word, I rushed up the two flights of stairs to the nursery. Nanny Greta stood in one corner, tears running silently down her face as she swung my daughter gently back and forth. There was blood on Greta’s arm, on the breast of her apron, and on Anna’s dress. My beautiful baby girl’s eyes were closed. It looked as if the nanny had just gotten her to nod off.

  But I couldn’t tell if Anna was breathing or not.

  My own breathing became frenetic. Erratic. I grew dizzy from the lack of enough oxygen and nearly stumbled as I traversed the plush carpet.

  Distantly, I felt my throat closing and my lungs compressing as I hyperventilated, but it didn’t matter. I had to ask. I had to know one way or the other. “Is… Is she…”

  Then, my daughter opened her eyes and looked right into mine. The pure blueness of her gaze dazzled me. “Da… Da… Daddy.”

  Spots swimming before my vision, I wrapped my arms around my baby and dropped to my knees. Burying my face in the softness of her blankets, the stone barrier around my heart cracked wide open, and I broke, body and soul, into a thousand pieces.

  9

  Molly

  As jarring as it had been to watch the aftermath of such a v
iolent scene of death and destruction downstairs, in a way this was worse.

  Luca had collapsed in the middle of this lacy white bedroom at the top of the stairs weeping as he cradled a baby in his lap. And this wasn’t the quiet type of crying where a tear or two slipped down his cheeks, either. His agony shook his entire frame as he released gasping sobs that echoed off the walls and throughout the large room.

  “She is all right. She is all right,” the woman in the apron kept saying again and again in a voice accented in Italian, kneeling beside him and rubbing his quaking back. The little girl had started to wail, reacting to his distress. Unable to speak, he gestured toward the woman’s chest, and for the first time, I saw the red stain. “I scraped my arm when I heard the shots, that is all. Your daughter is fine.”

  Other than a fleeting glimpse at me, the woman—I couldn’t tell if she was another member of their family or a nanny—paid me no mind whatsoever. Her silver hair had escaped its bun and she fixed it before wiping her own tears away, muttering something in Italian. She scampered into the attached bathroom and came out with a wet washcloth, holding it to Luca’s forehead and cupping his face like a mother would.

  “Time to begin calming down now, child of light. Breathe with me, nice and slow. Anna won’t settle down until you do.”

  He nodded, leaning into her, letting her offer him solace. Suddenly, I felt guilty for being a bystander to all this. His back remained to the door, and I was fairly certain he had no idea I’d seen him during such a private moment.

  After several excruciating minutes passed, he slowly regained control. “Dad’s dead,” he whispered.

  The nanny gasped and crossed herself. “Dio mio.”

  “Marco’s injured and Alessandro might be, too. Check on them for me?”

  “Of course.” She got to her feet and opened a cupboard, pulling out what looked to be a first aid kit and a box of facial tissue. Yanking a few tissues free, she handed them to Luca before dropping the box at his feet. As he cleaned up, she bustled past me through the door and disappeared.

  The baby—his baby—continued to whimper, and he shifted her higher into his arms, setting her gingerly against his shoulder. “Shhhh,” he intoned, as he patted her back and rocked her to and fro. “Daddy didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  Once she quieted, he spoke again, raising the volume of his now hoarse voice, “Would you like to meet my daughter, Molly Greene?”

  Startled, I opened my mouth, but I didn’t know what to say.

  With extreme care, he rolled up to his knees and into a standing position. He pivoted around. If he felt any reservations about me bearing witness to his breakdown, he hid it well. His exquisite features were swollen, but the mask he’d always put between us was gone now. Maybe he’d decided the energy required to keep it in place was no longer worth the effort.

  “Anna, this is Molly Greene. She’s going to be working with us. Molly, this is Anna Lorena Varasso, my little girl.”

  I’d never imagined the man I’d spent this harrowing day with to be a father. It boggled my mind, frankly. He seemed to be in no hurry to go back downstairs or to leave this room at all. I thought of the aproned woman and wondered about the baby’s mother. But then as I considered his expression and everything else I’d just seen, the answer became glaringly obvious.

  She wasn’t there. She’d either abandoned them, or she must not be alive.

  This explained his layered complexity in a way that nothing else possibly could. It explained why he’d been staring at the ceiling as we’d raced up from the basement. He hadn’t only been concentrating on finding whoever had invaded his home, he’d been apprehensive about his daughter’s safety.

  Luca Varasso was a single parent.

  Damn.

  “Hi, Anna.” This close, especially with their faces beside one another’s, I could easily detect the resemblance. So many of her features were the same as his. There could be no doubt that they shared significant amounts of DNA. In fact, the only holdouts were her bright blue eyes. Her teeny little fist encircled her father’s thumb, a ferocious hold. I caressed her petal soft cheek. “Nice to make your acquaintance.”

  My gaze then met his. I felt the need to touch him, too. To comfort him. Slowly, I lifted my hand and pressed it carefully to the side of his face. He closed his eyes, seemingly welcoming the contact. “She’s perfect, Luca.”

  “I think so.”

  When he opened his eyes, I let my hand drop back to my side. “Well, I’m going to chalk up this day to one of my top ten worst ever,” I told him, falling back on my habit of joking my way through grievous difficulties. “How about you?”

  He released a gusty little chuckle. A real, authentic expression of humor. Wow. “It’s right up there.”

  Then he looked at me, his bloodshot eyes no longer cold, curving his lips slightly upward. A smile, a glimpse at the man behind the mobster. The dark angel who suddenly seemed more angel and less dark.

  When Anna fell asleep in his arms, he walked with her down a single flight of stairs to the second floor. “Come with me and I’ll show you where you’ll be staying,” he said.

  “I’m not staying in the basement anymore?”

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” He stopped outside an open doorway, padding inside. I followed, watching as he clicked on a nightlight in the shape of a daisy. “She loved daisies,” he murmured, and I wondered if he’d intended to say that out loud.

  I also didn’t miss the fact that whoever “she” was, he’d used the past tense when describing her.

  With the utmost of care, he placed Anna in her wooden crib. Above the baby’s head spun a mobile. Daisies again. I couldn’t help smiling at it. The only illumination in the room came from the nightlight, but I was able to tell that the room was spacious with a seating area and a king-sized sleigh bed. Was this where Luca slept?

  He headed back the way we came in. “You’ll be there.” He indicated a door at the end of the hall. “It’s meant for guests, so it has its own restroom.”

  I entered a space that was nicer than anywhere I’d ever lived, including my current home.

  “Are you going to lock me in?” I asked him, half kidding, but he regarded me seriously, coming in and flicking on a small lamp.

  “Do I need to?”

  I knew my chances of sneaking out were probably somewhere between zero and less than zero. So much had happened in such a short amount of time. My brain had trouble processing it all. I’d seen and experienced so many horrific events that I knew I probably wouldn’t be able to sleep for a month.

  “Don’t think I’m up to anything Shawshank related tonight.”

  This earned me another miniscule curve of his lips. Two smiles in a row. A record. “Our housekeeper Francesca keeps an assortment of extra clothes and linens in these rooms. I’ll have her get you whatever you might want. I would prefer you to stay here in your room until I come for you tomorrow.”

  I nodded, sitting on the bed. Unlike my own mattress which had springs sticking out uncomfortably no matter how I laid on it, this felt like lounging on a cloud.

  Luca crossed to my doorway, his frame becoming a silhouette as the light from the corridor lit him from behind.

  “Good night, Molly Greene.” Then, he was gone.

  I stretched out on the luxurious duvet cover, my exhausted mind swirling my thoughts together like an eggbeater. I’d been sure I’d be far too wound up to even come close to drifting off, but when I shut my gritty eyes to give them a moment or two of rest, that’s exactly what I did.

  10

  Luca

  My brothers and I sat at the massive oak table in the dining room, all of us reacting to the weight of our father’s murder differently. Greta had patched up the wound on Marco’s leg, using her nursing skills like she had numerous times before, her job made easier by the fact that the bullet went all the way through.

  My brother wore a venomous expression on his face, sweating from the pain, his
fists clenching and unclenching on the surface of the table. Alessandro had a knot on the side of his skull the size of grapefruit, but physically at least, he was no worse for wear. Gabriel seethed with his wrath, his fury an invisible specter hovering overhead. It combined with ours to fill the room.

  For a moment, none of us spoke. We were all on edge, all strung as tightly as bows. Greta had called our usual team to respectfully take care of my father, preparing his body for burial. It felt bizarre to glance at the head of the table and not see him sitting there. To me, the day had a nebulous quality to it, like everything that had transpired was the result of a psychedelic dream.

  Tired to the bone, I straightened in my chair, settling the mantle of leadership on my shoulders. I’d always known this would happen someday. I’d been groomed to become the patriarch of the Varasso family since birth. As a child, I’d enjoyed pretending that I was my father, telling people what to do and being shown deference.

  But facing the reality of it now felt incredibly daunting. Angelo Varasso had always seemed to exist as this larger than life figure, the ruler of his empire. Untouchable, iron-willed, and undefeatable. Deep down part of me had believed that he was more than human, that he was somehow above the triviality of the rest of us mere mortals.

  That he would never actually succumb to the frailty of death.

  The bald fact of the matter was despite all the training and attention I’d received, I didn’t feel ready. I wouldn’t turn thirty for three more months. I thought I’d have a few more decades before I’d have to step fully into his role. I’d never expected to have to take over so young.

  Ironic when I thought about how ancient I felt at the moment.

  For a second, I allowed myself the luxury of imagining I’d been born into an alternate reality. A different family. One not affiliated with the mafia or criminal activity of any kind.

  One where I could have chosen my lot in life.

  One where I’d have gone to school rather than being meticulously tutored in not just reading, writing and arithmetic but the extensive use of firearms and other weapons, as well. One where I could have been anything from an astronaut to a real estate agent to a mechanic.