“Doesn’t sound like it. How about we both go on stage?”
“I don’t know what you sing.”
“We can do some covers. Do you know any rock songs?”
“I can sing all of Avenged Sevenfold’s music; they’re my favorite.”
“Ha! They’re Brando’s, too.”
“I like Five Finger Death Punch as well.”
“Another of Brando’s favorites. You sure you two aren’t twins?”
Jagger laughed. “He’s ten years older than me.”
“Still, you two are eerily similar.”
“Jagger’s not an a-hole like Brando,” D piped up.
Jagger laughed again. “I assure you, I’m a stronzo too.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Anyway, you better get on stage, Vinnie. Your fans are getting restless again.”
“Looks like they’re your fans too now.” Vinnie passed the acoustic guitar to D and grabbed Jagger’s arm, yanking him back onto the stage.
The crowd started screaming and chanting Vinnie’s name. Vinnie let go of Jagger’s arm and pulled the microphone off its stand, hollering into it for the crowd to be quiet. They went silent; all of them looking expectantly at him, though a number of the women’s eyes were locked onto Jagger, the man beyond beautiful.
Vinnie placed an arm around Jagger’s shoulders. “This is my—”
Jagger snatched the microphone out of Vinnie’s hand. “Brother.”
Vinnie frowned.
Jagger continued, “I’m filling in for Dominic tonight since he’s unable to be here. Vinnie will be singing the originals, while I’ll help out with some covers since I don’t know his set. Is that all right?”
The crowd cheered and clapped.
“Well, I’ll be sure to tell Dominic you didn’t miss him.”
A group of women started screaming, “No!”
“I’m kidding!” Jagger laughed. “Plus, Dominic would put a hit on me if I did.”
The crowd started laughing.
D’s attention moved to Vinnie, who was still looking at Jagger with a frown. Vinnie went to say something, but Jagger yelled into the microphone, “Let’s start off with Dear God by Avenged Sevenfold.” He turned to the band, double-checking if they knew it. The drummer yelled out, “Of course!”
Scowling, Vinnie walked over to the side of the stage and swiped up his electric guitar, looking unhappy with Jagger taking over. Oblivious to Vinnie’s reaction, Jagger yelled into the microphone, “Are you ready?!”
The crowd stomped their feet and yelled back, “Sì! Sì! Sì!”
“Then let’s getting rocking!” he hollered, appearing to be enjoying himself.
The band started playing, Vinnie taking the lead on his guitar. Jagger’s voice came over the speakers, sending a hush through the crowd. He sang like he was singing about someone in particular, a loved one he couldn’t be with; his voice riveting. There was too much weight behind his words and far too much pain for someone as young as he was to be singing like that.
After he’d finished, Vinnie walked over and swiped the microphone off Jagger. He flicked his hand at Jagger, indicating for him to leave. He was probably annoyed that Jagger was upstaging him, stealing his time in the limelight.
Jagger bowed to the crowd, appearing amused with Vinnie’s reaction. He then sauntered slowly over to D with a grin on his face, coming to a stop by her side. Vinnie started singing, the band behind him playing music to his original song.
Jagger leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. “I pissed him off, didn’t I?”
“Yeah,” D replied. “You shouldn’t have taken the first song. I think he wanted to command the stage since Dominic’s not here to hog it.”
“Well, he’s making up for it now. He’s really good.”
“He sure is.”
Jagger focused on her. “Are you his girlfriend?”
“I’m not sure what I am to him. By the way, why did you say you were Vincenzo’s brother? I thought you were just Brando’s.”
“We all share the same mother. She had an affair with my father.”
D’s eyes widened. “Holy cow, that woman’s a baby-making machine.”
Jagger grimaced, not appearing happy with her comment.
“It didn’t look like Vinnie knows,” she added.
“He hasn’t been told yet, though he will, along with everyone else.”
“Wouldn’t that cause a scandal?”
“I don’t give a merda what it causes. She abandoned me, so she can damn well take responsibility for what she did.”
“Why did she give you up and not Brando?”
“Because I’m unimportant,” he said, looking sad. “Tell Vinnie I don’t feel like singing anymore.” He turned and headed down the corridor, entering the room with the bed.
D returned her attention to Vinnie. There was no pain in his tone like Jagger’s, just a perfect voice. She glanced back down the corridor, Jagger having unsettled her. There was something about the man that made her feel deeply uncomfortable, an underlying edge to how he spoke and looked at people. Her mind went to Ivy’s ex; someone who’d given her the same vibe.
‘Sasha acts like a cornered animal, looking unsure whether to attack or run,’ D had said.
Ivy’s face saddened. ‘There’s a reason for that: he’s been abused.’
‘We all have.’
‘Not like him. We were only taken to Hell’s gates, while he was dragged inside. And he’s still there. You can see it in his eyes. He may walk around this world like everyone else, but he’s not really here.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘If you don’t understand what I’m saying, then you haven’t gotten to know someone who has truly suffered.’
‘I’ve suffered.’
‘Not like Sasha. You have respites, where his pain is eternal.’
D hadn’t understood what Ivy had meant back then, thinking she was just being soft on Sasha, but now, after hearing the haunting way Jagger sung, the deep sadness in his voice, and seeing the sorrow in his golden eyes ... for the first time, she had an inkling of what Ivy had meant.
D turned back to watch Vinnie sing, wondering what had happened to his brother, because without a doubt, someone had hurt Jagger beyond repair.
24
Brando slid his gun into his holster and did up his jacket, the soldiers and fans further up the alleyway unaware he’d been watching them, ready to shoot if needed. Although Miko should’ve called for a few more soldiers, he’d still done everything to protect Vinnie from the crazy fangirls. But Vinnie ... he’d walked blindly around the corner, unarmed and without a clue what could’ve been waiting for him on the other side, other than what Miko had told him. A rival family’s soldiers could’ve greeted him instead of fans, because Brando still didn’t trust Miko. Ricardo also felt the same way, which was why he’d yanked Brando aside not long after the meeting, ordering him to tail Miko. Brando hadn’t realized the bodyguard role was a test for the soldier, making sure that Miko was trustworthy. And if Miko had failed the test, Brando had been given the order to kill him.
Brando strolled back around the nightclub, confident that Vinnie would remain inside after his close call with the overly enthusiastic fans. Plus, music was pumping loud from the club, sounding like Vinnie had started his set.
Brando came to a sudden halt at the front of the club as a shriek split the air.
“That’s him!” a female screamed, pointing in Brando’s direction.
Brando looked over his shoulder, wondering who had captured their attention. No one was there. He turned back, jolting as a group of women rushed him. They crowded around Brando, thrusting pens out at him to take, all of them jostling to get his attention.
“Can I have your autograph?” the closest woman said, staring at him with wide eyes.
“Why?” Brando asked, perplexed.
“Because you’re fantastic.”
A grin split his face. “I know.” He took her pen and sign
ed the notebook she handed him, highly amused as other women pleaded for his signature, a few of the closer ones touching him. He had no idea why they were doing it out in the open. Normally, chicks took sly gropes in the club, not outwardly doing it in front of a line of people.
He handed back the woman’s pen and notebook, getting a high-pitched, “Grazie!” in return. Another pen was thrust in his face, the dyed blonde owner squeezing in between the other women to get to him. She looked like she wanted to lick every inch of his body, her tongue practically hanging out of her mouth.
“What do you want me to sign?” he asked, the woman not holding a notebook.
“These.” She grabbed the top of her hot-pink dress and yanked it down, exposing her large breasts.
Brando grinned wide. “Very nice.” He scrawled his name across her fake tits, enjoying the view.
“Up close, you look older,” she said.
He raised his gaze. “Is that a put down?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No, you’re still beautiful, and you have such an amazing voice.”
“I know.” He handed back the pen.
The woman took it and looked down at her tits. “Why did you sign Brando Santini?”
“It’s my name.”
“But, I thought it was Jagger D’Angelo.”
“Jagger’s my baby brother,” he said, now understanding the women’s reactions.
“Oh. I thought—”
“—that I was him.”
She nodded, pulling her dress back over her tits.
“I’m ten years older.”
“You don’t look it, plus I was quite far from the stage.”
“Well, grazie. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You’re very welcome.” She gave him a stunning smile, turning her ordinary face into a very attractive one. “Can I have your number, too?” she asked, thrusting out her pen again.
“Sorry, I’m taken.”
Her eyes moved to his hand. “You’re not married.”
“Still taken.”
Another woman piped up, her voice high-pitched, “You can’t be that taken. I saw you fucking in the club last night, while last week I saw you with someone else.”
“Because I’m a bastardo. Now, ladies, please move, I need to get to my car,” he said, happy his work was finished for the night. Miko had proven his worth, which hopefully meant he didn’t have to tail him anymore, because he was getting sick of it.
The women stepped aside for him. As he walked past, he jumped, one of them pinching his ass. He turned around, seeing the high-pitched woman winking at him.
He laughed, then headed for his car, a soldier holding the door open for him. He climbed in and turned to the window. Several women were jostling to look through it. He shook his head, highly amused he’d been mistaken for Jagger, and even more amused they were still treating him like he was famous.
He wound down the window, his eyes going to the high-pitched female. “Why were you after my brother’s signature?”
She smiled at the attention. “He was singing inside before.”
Brando’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”
She nodded. “He has an incredible voice. It gave me the chills. Can you sing too?”
“Yeah, but I prefer to fuck.”
She leaned her forearms on the windowsill. “You can fuck me any day.”
“I only want to fuck one woman.”
“Me.”
“Sorry, love, but it’s not you.”
She pouted. “Lucky bitch.”
“She’s certainly a bitch.”
“Can I at least have one kiss?”
“Sure.”
He leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. The woman grabbed his face and planted a hard kiss on his lips.
Brando yanked his head free. The woman turned and high-fived her friends, some of them blowing him kisses.
Shaking his head, he wound up the window. “Take me home,” he said to the driver, glad he wasn’t famous.
***
Everything was quiet, the household probably all in bed. Brando headed down the passage that led to Ivy’s room, stopping as Alessandro exited a neighboring one, holding his shirt in his hand. His brother’s dark hair was mussed up instead of its normal spiky-style, while his skin was flushed and covered with a sheen of sweat, making his tattoos appear shiny.
A grin spread across Alessandro’s face. “Nice shade, Brando. Red really suits you.”
“What?”
“You’ve got lipstick on.”
Brando wiped his mouth. “Some chick almost ate my lips off.”
“I thought you were interested in Ivy.”
“Trust me, the kiss wasn’t reciprocal. I got mobbed by Jagger’s groupies outside the nightclub. They thought I was him.”
“They must need glasses, because you’re way older.”
“Well, thanks for the ego boost, ass-hat.”
Alessandro grinned wider. “Why were they after Jagger?”
“He sang at the club.”
Alessandro’s eyebrows shot up. “And Vinnie let him?”
“Must’ve.”
“Well, don’t tell Dominic, he’s pissed off enough as it is. He wouldn’t stop playing his damn drums earlier. He left the studio doors and windows wide open so everyone could hear. He’s such a bitch when he’s sulking.” Alessandro pointed to the left of Brando’s mouth. “You missed a bit of lipstick.”
Brando wiped it. “All gone?”
“Yeah, now I’m gone.” Alessandro grabbed the door handle on the other side of Ivy’s room.
“Christ, Alessandro. You were just in Sae Ra’s and her friend’s room.”
“I wore them out and I’m still horny.”
“You’re going to cause merda if you keep doing this to the Vipers.”
Alessandro let go of the handle. “I told them all upfront I don’t do relationships. It’s not my fault they expect more.”
“Can’t you just hit the clubs?”
“I can, but this is easier, plus the Vipers are hot as hell.” He grabbed the door handle again. “And right now, I want to be the meat in a Viper sandwich.”
“Which ones are in there?”
“The Swede and the German.”
“Well, don’t complain when Sae Ra finds out. I think that one’s claimed you.”
Alessandro grimaced. “No one’s got any claim over me.” He pushed open the door, disappearing into the room.
Brando turned to Ivy’s door, wondering whether she was sleeping or with her sister. The last time he saw her she’d been sitting by Menna’s bedside, talking softly to Salvatore while Menna slept.
He opened the door and peered inside. The beds were empty, looking like they hadn’t been slept in. He closed the door and headed for the room Menna was recovering in. He poked his head inside it, spotting the occupants all asleep. Menna was on the bed, while Salvatore was slumped uncomfortably in a chair, his tall frame making it look like it belonged to a child. At the other end of the bed, Ivy was also slumped in a seat, her neck at an odd angle.
Brando tiptoed into the room and slipped his arms under Ivy, picking her up. She moaned, making him go still, worried that she would object to him holding her. But instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck, muttering in Arabic, Brando knowing the language. He smiled, finding it sweet as Ivy asked him whether he wanted to play a game with her. It sounded like she was talking to her father, the woman obviously caught up in a dream.
He carried her out of the room, closing the door with his heel. He walked down the passage, across the lounge, and into her room, laying her down on one of the single beds. He slipped her shoes off and pulled the bedcovers over her, stilling as she stirred in her sleep. She muttered more things about her father, sounding like she loved the man dearly. He wondered where her father was now.
She muttered something else, this time sounding like she was talking to her mother. He turned to leave, stopping as she cried out. He spun around, f
inding her holding her arms over her head, crying, “No!”
He walked around the bed and lowered her arms. “You’re dreaming, Ivy.”
She opened her eyes and jolted, yelling, “Don’t touch me!”
He held up his hands. “I’m sorry—”
“Get out!”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Get out!”
“Okay!” Annoyed, he headed for the door, muttering, “The next time you’re slumped awkwardly in your seat, fuck you, you can get a fucking sore neck.” He slammed her door shut and headed for his own room, now in a foul mood, the woman turning a good night into a bad one.
***
Ivy inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to get her shaking under control, the dream she’d had having turned nasty. She’d been so happy, wanting it to go on forever. It had originally been about her father, then her mother had appeared in his place, looking frightened. Within seconds the Black Russian was stabbing her mother in the chest, then her, Ivy having morphed into her own mother. Brando had woken her right at that moment, and instead of seeing him, she’d seen the Black Russian, her half-asleep state and the darkness confusing her.
She swore, knowing she needed to apologize and explain what had happened, especially since he’d sounded hurt. She pushed off Menna’s bed and headed out of the room, the place eerily quiet. She climbed the staircase to Brando’s room, seeing light emanating from under his door. Not wanting to wake the rest of the household, she slipped inside without knocking. It was empty, only the light and the running water from the shower suggesting he was here. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, waiting for Brando to emerge from the bathroom.
A few minutes later, he appeared with a towel wrapped around his hips. He jolted at the sight of her. “What are you doing in my room?”
“I’ve come to apologize.”
“For what? I entered your room without permission ... like you’ve entered mine.”
“I didn’t mean to shout at you; I was dreaming. I thought you were the Black Russian.”
“Apology accepted, now leave.”
She pushed away from the door and walked towards him. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I would like to start over again.”
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