“Uhh…” He rocked back on his feet and then sloppily threw a right hook.
Breaker moved out of the way and shoved him to the floor then sighed. “See? What good is an army if they’ve never learned how to throw a punch?”
“Maybe if they’d had parents who taught them…” Tank said, all passive-aggressively next to us.
I glared. “Point made.”
He held up his hands. “Just saying…”
“We’ll train them,” I said like it was just that simple, earning irritated looks from all the guys. “What? We can’t train here, I mean obviously, but we can train at the spot, turn it from party central to, mafia base.”
“Ash?” Junior looked to him. “What do you think?”
“I think once the parents find out we did this, we may need to hide out for a few days anyway.” He sighed. “Until then, let’s get everyone out of here before Nixon calls all of the bosses, and we have a blood bath. Best to tell them to their faces than to tell them to—”
The sound of the basement door opening was our only clue.
And then footsteps.
Several.
They were hard.
Purposeful.
Angry.
And slow.
Junior shoved me behind him while Ash did the same to the girls. The De Langes looked ready to shit themselves—as they should, and they stood in the very back. I mean it wasn’t like we were going to be able to hide much, plus you could smell the fear, it had this metallic shimmer in the air that seemed to somehow make it harder to breathe the closer the footsteps got.
My dad was first. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his black pants almost casual looking, as his eyes flashed in my direction.
Part of me almost laughed, because if he thought this was pissed, then well, just ask me who I had in my mouth last night.
Or was that morning?
Junior cleared his throat ahead of me.
Phoenix was next. I knew he had flown back. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked at us with such disappointment and rage, I could feel Junior flinch beside me.
Tex and Sergio filed in behind them.
And then Dante and Chase flanked each of their sides. It was a little alarming that Andrei had also shown up with Vic, one of Chase’s number one men, and what was even more alarming?
My grandpa Frank stood with them, and next to him, my uncle Luca Nicolasi, who we hadn’t seen in at least a decade. He’d gone into hiding years ago along with my Grandpa Frank, but at least I knew Grandpa was still around; he sent me cards on my birthday even though he’d disappeared.
“So, this is a fun family reunion,” Breaker said under his breath.
I shot him a look. “Could you not be you right now?”
He winked. “What can they do? Shoot us?”
“Yes,” Junior and Asher said in unison, not making me feel at all better about the anger directed at us.
The funeral for Claire was to take place in one more day.
And I had to wonder—would our caskets be joining hers?
“Serena!” My dad barked my name so loudly that I jumped in place.
But I didn’t move.
I lifted my chin in defiance. “Yes?”
“Come here now.”
I gave him a sad smile. “I can’t do that.”
“You’d make me shoot through you, then?” he asked innocently.
“If that’s what it takes,” I said in a strong voice. “But I’m not standing here to play human shield; I just have to defer to someone else right now.”
“Defer. To. Someone. Else,” he repeated slowly. “And who is this someone else?”
“Me.” Asher took a step forward, and the ripple of shock that went through the group of men would have been hilarious had they not all been armed.
Chase’s eyes were wild. “What the hell have you done?”
“What you didn’t,” he snapped. “I offered them a choice.”
Chase roared, “You have no idea—” and then stopped himself. “No idea what sort of betrayal this is. Bringing that filth into Nixon’s home! Into the safety of these walls, you had no right to even ask them to join the ranks! That right goes to the boss! And that line is officially dead!”
“You can’t kill blood that still flows,” Junior spoke up. “Trust me; I’ve tried.”
A shadow crossed Phoenix’s face, but Junior kept talking. “Right, Dad? You can’t forget who you are, whose you are, no matter how many times you fucking change your name.”
“Enough!” Chase snapped.
“You want us to be our own people, but only if we follow your rules. Well…” Ash shrugged. “Your rules suck. So, we created our own. We’ll stay loyal to the Family, to our bloodlines, to all of our bloodlines.”
“All of them,” Junior echoed and then in a move I did not see coming, he grabbed the tip of his tagger and dug into his forearm, red blood slid in streams down his arm as he made slash after slash, and then the knife clattered to the floor.
I gasped as he pulled his shirt off and wiped the blood away.
He’d marred his perfect skin.
He’d created a bloody scar of the Phoenix.
The De Lange crest.
Phoenix took a step closer and then another, until he stood in front of Junior, gripped his forearm, and jerked him forward.
I’d never been so terrified in my entire life as Phoenix touched his forehead to his son, and then kissed each of his cheeks and whispered, “You’re right.”
We exhaled as he eyed each of our faces and then shook his head. “I’m gone for two weeks…” He turned around. “All this under your roof, Nixon?”
“He was too busy getting his wife naked,” Dante said under his breath.
“I just have one question.” Phoenix dropped Junior’s arm. “Whose idea was this?
Oh, shit was about to very much hit the fan as Ash took a step forward and said in a commanding voice. “They all swore their fealty. Every last one…” He eyed his father and narrowed his gaze. “To me.”
Chase charged forward but was stopped by Nixon and Dante.
“How dare you!” Chase roared. “YOU KNOW what they did to us! YOU KNOW!”
“Chase—” Tex shoved him back. “Get ahold of yourself.”
But the damage was done, wasn’t it?
The trust between father and son… broken.
All because Ash’s heart wasn’t his own anymore—he was burying it into the cold hard ground. He had nothing left to lose.
So, he chose to get revenge the only way he knew how.
Embracing the enemy and rising to power in a way that would make it impossible for the bosses to challenge.
Because they wouldn’t kill their only heirs.
Not when they needed us so desperately.
Not when we were one and not divided.
“The sins of our fathers,” Ash spoke evenly. “Are no longer on our shoulders. We rebuke them. We won’t make your mistakes, so don’t ask us to, because it just forces us to say no to your faces. You want us to fight for blood.” He pointed at Junior. “Well, congratulations, we just fought for it.”
Slowly, Junior and Ash started walking forward; the bosses parted, most of them with smirks on their faces or looks of pride.
In fact, they all looked quite pleased with themselves, which was confusing, everyone except Chase.
No, he had murder in his eyes, and for a split second I wondered if there would be a blood bath since his only job for a while had been to hunt De Langes and kill them, since he’d been singlehandedly responsible for cleansing their family line after his deceased wife’s betrayal.
But Tex held him firm, whispering something under his breath that made Chase still.
And then he whispered something else. “Leader.”
Chase squeezed his eyes shut as a grimace crossed his face, and then with a firm nod in Ash’s direction, he let them pass.
Along with the entire mass of De Lange kids, who
were trembling from the encounter.
We took them up to the theater room and closed the door. My hands were shaking as I quickly went over to Junior and wrapped my arms around him.
Asher cleared his throat, and I immediately jumped back. “What?”
“Not in public.” His eyes searched mine. “We’re already on thin ice. If they find out about you guys, it may just tip the scale.”
I wanted to tell him to go to hell, but I couldn’t. Not anymore. So I whispered, “I understand.” And tried to keep the tears at bay.
Tears of pride that Junior had stood up for his family, for his blood, no matter how evil.
And tears of stress that he could have so easily been taken from me, in a heartbeat, in a few seconds, gone.
“You should get something for that,” I said, pointing at his forearm, it hadn’t stopped bleeding and was scary accurate when it came to the family crest. “Come on.”
There was a bathroom that led to the hall but also had a door to the theater room, I grabbed his hand and pulled him into that bathroom, then made sure to close and lock both doors.
Before I could turn around, Junior had me in his arms, lifting me onto the sink, getting blood all over my black skirt and the top of my thighs.
He kissed me while he bled.
His mouth claimed me over and over again as his anger and desperation violently clashed.
With a grunt, he tugged my thighs open. “I need you.”
“You have me. You always have me. Whenever you need me,” I pulled back, lips swollen. “After all, I live to serve my king.” Slowly, very slowly, I opened my thighs wide as he walked between them, pulling me against his hard length. He was so hot and ready; I reached for his trousers only to have him shove me back against the mirror, looking like an angry god as his wild eyes locked on mine.
King and Queen.
Pleasure and Pain.
Had there ever been a love like ours, I wondered? Saint and sinner, Heaven and Hell.
We were every extreme and everything in between.
And I wouldn’t want it any other way.
His fingers slid up my thigh and gripped my underwear. When he gave an aggressive tug, they became nothing but scrap in his bloody hands. Really, I needed to just stop wearing them if he’d keep finding so much pleasure in destroying them.
I leaned back and directed a lazy gaze in his direction. “All yours.”
“Yes.” His eyes flashed as he gripped me by the knees and pulled me forward. “All mine.”
“Greedy.” I let out a breathless moan as his lips found my neck, between bites and kisses, I was squirming for more of him, and then with one swift movement, he freed himself and impaled me on his cock.
He swallowed my cry with his mouth and thrust deep. I gripped his head with my hands while we watched each other, no words were said, only actions, only the jerky movements of my body as he claimed me.
That and the murmur from the other side of the door that sounded like my dad, as he said, “Let them do what they want, Chase.”
Junior clapped a hand over my mouth while I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to stay quiet, and I probably would have been able to, but Junior refused to stop moving if anything his thrusts grew wilder. In one movement, he was out of me, pressing me face forward on the door, my palms flush against it while my dad talked with Chase.
“They’re strong,” Chase said, almost annoyed. “Stronger than we were.”
“We made them that way.” Phoenix joined in.
A muffled cry escaped from between my lips as Junior pounded into me while I was mere feet from the bosses, mere feet from my dad, while the heir to the Nicolasi throne claimed me as his.
“You hear them?” Junior whispered, pulling me lightly back by my hair as his lips found my neck. “Remember whose you are… remember who you serve.”
“You, you,” I whimpered in a soft whisper.
“You stopped being Nixon Abandonato’s daughter the minute you let me into your soul, the minute I tasted you—now, you’re mine. And one day.” He thrust into me harder as pleasure squeezed me so tight, I couldn’t breathe. “One day, he’ll know just how dirty his princess got. Because while you’re letting the Nicolasi King give you release—you’re simultaneously letting the De Lange Fallen give you pleasure. You get both. Good and bad. Monster and man and one day, he’ll know. It’s me who holds your allegiance, your body, your heart,” My release was crashing all over me as he finally whispered. “Your soul.”
“Yes.” Out of breath, I rested my forehead against the door and sighed. “Yes.”
The voices disappeared.
Junior held me close, still pulsing inside me. Still making me want to move my hips.
And as I looked down, I realized his bloodied forearm was pressed against my chest, against my heart.
And in a hushed voice, I said, “The Phoenix has risen.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Junior
Nixon’s place had officially become the place to crash. I think some of the cousins were petrified that if they went home, their moms would lay into them over what had happened with the De Langes, my mom included.
Because if you think a mob boss is scary, then you really don’t want to piss off one of the moms.
I shuddered.
I remember my ma telling me that if I got a girl pregnant out of wedlock, she’d actually stab a fork into one of my balls, make it look like an accident, then serve it to me like a meatball.
I was fourteen.
To this day, spaghetti and meatballs make me want to hurl, which she so lovingly used to serve every single time I had a so-called date in junior high or high school.
Joke was on her since all those girls were just a way to get Serena to wake the hell up, and when that did happen, we used the girls as a way to cover up the fact that we were the ones sleeping together.
It worked until my ma asked why I never touched any of them at dinner. I used the meatball as explanation enough.
It was nearing midnight, and we’d sent the De Langes back to the campus along with one of the SUVs and enough suits to keep them safe, so they didn’t shit themselves during the twenty-minute ride.
It was a very real possibility with how many of them were shaking during our amateur movie night, another way to try to calm them the hell down.
And when that didn’t work, we gave them wine.
I was waiting to sneak into Serena’s room and knew Nixon was a night owl, so while I waited for the guy to finally give it a rest in his office, I jogged down the stairs and decided to work out for a bit.
Nixon wasn’t in his office, though; he was in the ring, and Asher was on the ground bleeding under him.
“The hell?” I roared. “Did you kill him?”
Nixon frowned over at me, sweat dripping down his muscled stomach. “Why would I kill him?”
“Because of today? Look if you’re that pissed to just single us out then—”
Asher raised a taped hand into the air. “Asked him. Wrote… eulogy.”
“Shit.” I grabbed one of the water bottles and tossed it to Nixon and watched as Asher groaned and moved to a sitting position. Blood dripped from his chin and somehow from his right ear. “You look like hell.”
“That’s what happens when you ask someone scarier than you to fight,” Ash grumbled. “I said ‘make me forget,’ not ‘kill me please.’”
“Yeah, I get those phrases confused often.” Nixon flashed a smile. “I think my work here is done. Don’t stay up too late. We have the funeral tomorrow, and don’t either of you show up drunk.”
“We would never,” I lied and then smirked.
Nixon just stared me down and then reached out and grabbed my forearm; I’d let the scar scab as it should.
“Your dad rose from the ashes,” Nixon sighed. “Then burned his entire family back into the cold dead ground only to have his son, his heir, resurrect the very evil we tried to keep out. I hope for your sake, you two know what yo
u’re doing.”
I pulled my arm away and shrugged. “We’re doing the right thing, and we’re doing the only thing we know how. Putting more De Langes into the ground doesn’t keep you any more safe Nixon—it just steals more pieces of your soul, pieces that none of us really have extra of. If someone crosses us, we know what to do, but until then, the sins of the father…” I didn’t finish, but something flashed in his eyes, something that made me want to throw a punch.
“The sins of the father,” he repeated, giving me another strange non-Nixon like stare. “And do you admittedly take after him more or your mother?”
“What do you think?” I snapped.
“He’s all Phoenix,” Asher grumbled from the floor. “Down to the way he fucks.”
I knew it slipped before Ash could stop it.
And I knew in that moment that I flinched like I couldn’t stop it, which just proved what Ash said as truth—which meant I now looked guilty in front of my girlfriend’s father.
The air stilled, took on a tangible chill.
“Something you need to tell me, Junior?” Nixon leaned in until I could smell the blood and sweat from his skin.
I lifted my chin and ground out a. “No, sir.”
His blue eyes narrowed into tiny slits as he pressed a hand to my shoulder. “You sure about that?”
“Yes,” I lied. “I’m sure.”
“Okay, then.” His eyes flickered to my other arm. “Funny how you have a De Lange crest on one forearm and my trust on your other.” His teeth gritted together in a sneer. “Don’t break it.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I snapped.
“Whoa, whoa.” Ash stood on wobbly feet. “It’s been a long day. Nixon just beat my ass, so his testosterone can probably be smelled from upstairs.” He gave a gentle shove toward his uncle then joked. “Want me to kick his ass for you, Nixon?”
I snorted. “Like you could.”
Nixon finally smiled and then stepped out of the ring and grabbed his shirt. “Remember what I said, guys.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I called after him, trying to sound like I wasn’t ready to bang my head against the closest sharp object.
“Really, Ash?” I hissed once Nixon was gone. “You just had to say that?”
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