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Beta'd by HollettLA.
Thank you all for following the story! I hope you all enjoy the third installment, the conclusion of the Storm Series. Thanks for reading, reviewing - I can't thank you all enough.
I'd like to give a shout out to Alice Smith and Pampers26! Thanks for reading! I hope you both continue to enjoy it. 'Cause...I have a lot more story to tell!
:-)
Are you guys ready for the slow burn? I know sometimes it feels like you only get 1/2 the story. Rest assured, you'll get every single piece of it! Just please be patient!
Oh, and please remember my rules: No E/B cheating, and a HEA ALWAYS!
Enjoy
"Riders on the Storm"
Chapter Nine: Talk is Cheap
Sonny POV
After I woke up from my nap, my mother sent me to the store for a bunch of shit. I didn't mind going. It's not like I could ever do this when I was kid: roam the streets alone, run errands, do things my friends did for their moms. I could never do anything that was literally for my mother. Now I can, and so I do. I cherish Sundays—although today is Saturday and only feels like a Sunday—the afternoons I can spend with the whole family.
And today had a bittersweet feel to it.
Soon, Kylie wouldn't be here.
"Damn." I sucked my teeth, taking the groceries out of my Mercedes.
"Mr. Cullen?" someone asked.
I wasn't alarmed because it was a chick's voice.
"Mr. Cullen is my father." I smiled, but then I saw her. It was Dame's little boo from last night—the young one. "How can I help you?"
She was cute, bundled from head-to-toe in jeans and a baggy sweater. "Is, is Damion home?"
I thought about that. I was sure he was, but I still hadn't seen him since last night. "I don't know—I'm just arriving," I lied.
"Oh." She rocked back on her heels. "Can you give him this?" She handed me a folded piece of paper.
I looked down to see doodles of hearts and circles and clouds. "Awww. I bet he's going to love this." I held it up, and I was dying to read it.
And then, since I knew he wouldn't give it to her, I asked, "Did you want his phone number?"
Her eyes lit up and she nodded. "That'd be awesome. We didn't get the chance to exchange numbers. Um…do you have a pen?"
I always have a pen, and I scribbled his digits quickly for her on her palm. "Don't smudge it."
She stared at her hand. "Mine is in the note." She pointed.
"Okay . . . He's really busy with school nowadays—"
"Me, too," she said.
"Right . . . Anyway, if he doesn't pick up, it's always best to call as many times until he does."
"I thought guys didn't like that?" She frowned.
I thought I was caught. "Damion's not like regular boys, now is he?" I grinned.
She sighed. "He's not—he's all man." This little chick looked like she was suddenly in heat.
"Whoa . . . Well, I'll give this to him, and you call him—later. Call him later."
"What's your name? I know you're the big one—I mean, oldest."
"Santino."
"Wow…And your car is really nice, too." She tried to peek inside.
I rolled my eyes under my sunglasses. "Take care."
When I entered the house, everything was back to normal. My father was in his office with my uncle. By now I was hanging around to see when they'd call for us. Kylie was watching a movie in the den, and my mother was cooking dinner with my aunt in the kitchen.
None of my cousins were here, so I guessed my aunt and uncle's presence was for Carlisle to confer with Dad. I expected Eddie to at least tag along, but he's sleeping over a friend's house tonight.
"Where's Damion?" I asked.
There was a crash, and Alex dropped the salad bowl. "You scared me." She held her chest.
"My bad," I said.
"You're awfully jumpy today." Mom shook her head, cleaning up around her.
"I am so, so sorry." She grabbed my mother's hand.
"It's just lettuce," Mom laughed. "I think I saw him out back." She looked to me and then to Alex. "Let's crack open some wine. I'm still celebrating."
"I could use a drink." Alex looked relieved.
When I entered the backyard, I was surprised to see my brother, or rather the state he was in. I'm not even sure if he sobered up from last night, but he was nursing a beer, wearing the same bloodied clothes. Someone should have made his ass shower already. What the fuck was I? His mother?
"Dude, what's your damage?" I sat in the neighboring lounge chair.
He shook his head, which made his hair practically stand up. Damion looked like a bum-cartoon character, Jimmy Neutron on crack.
"Come on . . . You got me good last night." I sat back. "But while I drove, I thought about what you said . . . I drove around and tried to kill time. After we left, I chilled with Dad until he calmed down. Then when the morning came, I had no choice. He was ready to call everyone and actively search for her."
"You did the right thing."
"You have a hangover?" I asked, flicking the glass beer bottle.
"No, yeah—Dad said this'll help, cat fur or something," he whispered.
"It's called hair of the dog," I laughed. "Cat fur."
"I'm not a drinker, nor do I do drugs." He adjusted his shades, letting out a breathy chuckle. "I feel—I don't know how I feel. Have you ever done something, and then regretted it after?"
I nodded. "That's guilt—remorse. You finally have some?"
"But it was amazing and you wanna do it again, even though now you totally know it was wrong, and you were totally buggin' before it happened?" He spoke too fast. I couldn't understand him, and that's weird for someone who barely says a word.
"What?" I laughed. "Did'ju get fresh with whatsherface across the street? I'm not judging you. Whatever you did, she liked it."
"Christ . . . I can't do this. Tell Dad I had a panic attack—which might just happen in a few minutes." He held his heart. "I can't even go inside. Why am I so fucking paranoid—"
"Since when do you panic?" I felt for him, I truly did, but what the fuck could Damion have done? Especially with a chick? When it comes to icing fuckers and life in general, he's like an idiot savant—skates through smoothly without a care. But women? He can't function around them. "She's legal. You won't get in trouble—"
"I didn't fuck that little girl!" He practically screamed.
"Fuck...relax."
He groaned. "If Mom hadn't sprayed me with the hose, I might have, but—"
I threw my head back and laughed. "She got you?"
He gulped some more beer. "Just tell Dad forget it. I won't—won't interfere again. I won't do anything that has to do with the thing. Capisce?" He left the chair and was about to go inside before he just hopped the fence.
"Dame!" I shouted and then ran after him. He sounded insane right now, even for Damion.
He was walking up the block wearing a pair of slippers.
"How are you getting back to the city?" I sprinted and caught up to him. "Talk to me."
"Just tell Dad—"
I placed my hands on his biceps. "I can't just tell Dad anything. He knows you've done some shit. Shit a made member of the fam should have carried out. I was wrong for giving you those jobs, but no one was supposed to find out. I'll take the blame—"
"No," he said. "I did all those things." He blew out a breath. "Dad, I can handle. We spoke earlier . . ."
We started walking back to the house. We were quiet for a bit while my mind reeled.
"Then what is it?" I asked, hopping over that same fence, still very confused. For things to go back to how they were before the mess of Kylie's wedding, and now this?
He slowly did the same, swinging his leg over to jump down. "I did something last night." He broke out into this huge smile, and then he smacked his own face.
I just stood there and stared at him in disbelief. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"If I tell you, you'll kick my ass, but I know I can tell you because, no matter how much you'll hate me, you don't want me dead."
I nodded along, hoping and praying I'd be understanding. "Okay."
"You love me."
"Most days," I admitted. "What is it?" A bit pissed, I smacked the back of his head.
He shrugged away from me and took off his jacket. "I'm all sweaty."
"You smell, too." I stood in front of him fast. "Your nine—no one knows I got you one."
He handed it to me, and I put it under a potted plant. "Grab it later . . . but spit it out."
"When you dropped me off, I didn't go to the bar right away. . . I-uh-I went to Uncle Carlisle's house—"
"No," I said, my stomach dropping to my knees.
He smiled. "Yeah."
"Oh God, no." I pulled my own hair, and I wasn't angry. I think I was in shock. "You—you with—and her?"
He nodded, swallowing loudly. "Don't say shit."
"Fuck." My mind was blank. I didn't feel like beating the fuck out of him, and I had no idea how to make him feel better. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Like you never wanted to—"
"I was twelve!" I shouted. "She was the only chick who wasn't related, who—"
"Shut up!" He was pulling his own hair again, and now I knew why it was like that. "Anyone hears you talking like that, they'll know who we're talking about, idiot."
"I'm an idiot?" I pointed to myself.
"Please . . . who cares? Right?" He snorted. "Carlisle's out doing whatever he wants."
I grabbed his arm. "He worships her. She's all he talks about. Once again, just because you see one side, one aspect, don't fucking assume. He chills at the club on occasion, but that's all he does is chill. He was telling me last night about how tonight, after they left here, he was taking her away on vacation. He just kept talking—so excited."
He shook his head. "Anthony told me all this crap . . . People don't change. Do you even remember Aunt Esme? 'Cause I—I don't think I do, which is odd. She—" he placed two fingers in his mouth, pulling an air trigger, "when I was like eight, right?"
I shrugged, not wanting to think about that shit.
"He's a womanizer. Fuck him," Dame laughed.
"Dad and I are with him five or six days a week. Don't you think we'd know—that I'd know what I'm talking about? What the fuck was Alex telling you?" I asked, keeping my tone low.
He didn't say anything for a beat too long.
"Did she seduce you?" I found that highly unlikely, but I had to ask.
His brows went up and then they came down. That fuck was going to lie to me, but thought better. "She's just been unhappy—never said that much about . . . what Carlisle does, but . . . I just assumed."
"You're a moron." I spat.
"I wanted to make her happy." He frowned. "I care for her, but I'm not in love, in love with her. I realize that now."
"Thank fuck for that." I took a seat again. "Sit."
He plopped down, and he just kept shaking his head like he was a bobblehead doll.
I blew out a large breath, pushing my hair back to tame it. "So…?"
"So?" He widened his eyes.
"What'd you do, kiss?" I asked.
He threw his head back and laughed. "What do you think I'm talking about?"
I bit my lip, hoping he didn't actually fuck her. "Well?"
"Well, what? I used the condom I had . . . and then I came in her mouth—"
I gasped like some pussy bitch, but then recovered enough to knock him out the chair. "Talkin' about mouths—watch yours!" Regardless of Alex looking the way she does, and despite what she might have done with my brother—she's still my aunt, my mother's best friend.
That nut was laughing and holding his face. "Thanks…I needed that."
"Get up." The agitation rose to my chest. "Fight me—not with your words, punk-ass."
"No . . . I should just kill myself."
I kicked him in the ass anyway for saying that shit. "Get up."
"What are you doing?" Mom shouted.
When I turned, she was on the porch, gazing down at us. "I—"
"Stop beating on your brother! You're going to be freaking thirty in a few years—my God."
"Mom—"
"What's up?" Dad was behind her. "What's he doing on the floor?" He pointed.
I held my forehead, now wondering why I even bother to come home anymore. To the outside world, I'm an adult, but to my family—me, my brother and I—we're still kids. "His mouth earned him one." I shrugged.
"Get up!" Dad hollered down to Dame. "Beat his ass. Don't just fucking—Didn't I raise you better? Fight him!"
Carlisle followed them out, and all three of them stood above us. "Leave him alone. Dame's not the aggressive type."
"Why are you defending him?" I asked our uncle.
"Word." Dad stared him down. "Sometimes people need a beat down. You should know."
Carlisle laughed. "You feelin' froggy, Ed? I will fight you back."
"Stop!" Mom stiffened, screaming where she was.
Dad, Carlisle, and I started laughing at her.
"Dinner's almost ready." Mom went back into the house.
I kicked at Damion's foot. He looked more like road kill. "Get up. I won't hit you."
He lay flat, like he was about to make a dirt angel. "What did I do?"
"What happened?" Dad and Carlisle were still on the porch. "You—yeah, you!" Dad pointed down to Dame. "Go take a shower. You fucking stink. You're not sitting at my table like that."
Damion wore a pout as he sat up.
"Don't look at me like that."
Damion fixed his face. You see? We're still treated like children. Nevertheless, neither Dame nor I said a word until Dad and Carlisle went back in.
"What now?" I asked.
"How am I supposed to get through dinner, and then a sit-down . . ."
I smiled. "You made your bed, bro. But seriously . . . even if youse two hadn't—whatever—you'd still sit at that table with your head down. What's different now?"
"I can't stop looking at her. The face she made when she came—fuck!"
I got him again. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay." He crawled into the chair again, and in this moment he actually resembled a child. It made me feel bad for him. Whatever happened . . . he probably had no control. It's not like he's ever around women in that capacity, except Julie. Then again, I never really understood their arrangement anyway. I bet he acts like a fifteen year old, fumbling around a pussy for the first time.
"How was it? For real?" I hit his knee.
"I did everything you said. I was persistent, I was a little bit of a dick, and she never said no, but now I think back…I don't know if she was afraid of me. I mean, she reacted—I think she did." He grabbed his forgotten beer and guzzled it down.
"What…you don't know if she came, or…?"
Damion stared at the ground and didn't answer me.
"You can usually tell..." I looked to him. "They can moan and scream, but if it's over the top? They're usually faking it. You can feel it on your cock. It's subtle . . . but unless their shit is as wide as the Lincoln Tunnel—"
"Christ. I know all that . . . I lied," he whispered.
"What?" I was confused.
"We didn't fuck…I kissed her, forced her to kiss me, and then she pulled a gun on me…She said no a bunch of times." He chucked the longneck across the yard. "Fuck."
"Youse two didn't…?"
"No," he said. "I wanted the crap kicked out of me, but you were too calm. I feel horrible. I can't not look at her … and I can't face her. I thought—I thought she was into me, but now…I can see how I frightened her."
I pursed my lips, trying to make sense of this. "She said no?"
"I just keep getting images and flashbacks, and most of it is like…seen through a drunken fog?" He looked to me.
I winced, not wanting to think about that shit either. "Put it out of your head. God forbid this came out, Unc would be out for blood—yours."
"I know," he whispered. "But it was awesome. I remember how I felt, regardless of how she felt, and it was magic—"
I smacked the back of his head again. "I'm sorry. Magic? Grow the fuck up. She's been fucking and warding off losers like you since before you were born."
He shrugged. "I know she's into me. She's just scared . . . And now, she might actually hate me—probably thought I was going to rape her." He groaned, holding his head.
"First of all, no is no."
"I know that."
"You obviously don't," I said. "No is no, not she says no, but I bet she's leaking like a faucet, so fuck it. Wise up."
"It was only a kiss. Overall, I was in control." He pointed to himself. "Me. I wanted something, and I took it." He nodded, looking down.
"I hope something good comes from this. I hope you come into your own more. I hope you start—I don't know. Maybe she is magic, and now you suddenly have a set of balls," I laughed.
"You know I got balls, bro." He smirked. "You're just hatin' because I did something you've always wanted to. Even if you deny it until the day you die, you know I'm right. When I was twelve, I was in love with Megan Fox, and I'd still go through hell or high water to hit that shit today—after masturbating about it for years. How much you wanna bet she's what's up with the penchant you have for older women—"
"Dame—"
"You know I'm right. Let me talk."
I gritted my teeth and waited for him to finish.
"I mean," he got real close and was in my ear, "you better hope it's because of Alex. Otherwise, that older women shit is about Mom. You ever heard of an Oedipus Complex? When you talk about filling Dad's shoes . . . how in depth are you talking?"
I pushed him away from me as something became very clear. "You did this because of Bianca."
He grinned, shrugging his shoulders. "You'll never know, now will you?"
I yanked him back to me. "Maybe I'm jealous—just a bit because of some pubescent fantasy, but I'm not heartless. You didn't know Bianca, and neither did I. She was fair game, and you probably just tore this family apart—even if it was just a kiss, a petty hookup."
He pushed me off of him. "Stop. Now you're really—"
I nudged him again. "I'm what? Now I'm really what?" I cupped my ear. "You won't hit me because you can't. It takes little muscle to pull a trigger, and I've always fought your battles." I stood to my full height, waiting for him to do something. "You don't know how to fight . . . So, you kissed someone other than Julie's ugly ass. You brave now?" I was trying to hit every button I could while his beady eyes glared into mine.
"Brave? Well, I sure as fuck ain't scared of you." He smiled.
"You should be." I nodded.
He shook his head. "You'll hit me, knock me down a notch because you're physically stronger. You'll always make sure I'm below you, so you'll come out on top, and that's okay. But in the long run," he started to fix my shirt and smooth my sleeves, "it doesn't make you better. It doesn't make you smarter. It only makes you feel good. I'll be your punching bag, keep my mouth shut while you reach for the stars, or is it the throne?" He raised a brow.
"Fuck you." It didn't seem like he understood me at all.
"You trying to teach me a lesson on how to fight? Is that it?" It finally dawned on him. "I do fight. Nothing stops me from going after the things I want. I may not talk much, but fuck. If I want something, I go get it—I take it, while you sit there and wait for someone to hand it to you. That's the difference between you and me, and you'd never be anywhere if it weren't for me—"
"Here we go!" I threw my hands in the air. "I was sucker punched, would've killed that fucker with my bare hands if I had to, and you forget—how you have so much money, how you're able to buy a suit like this." I gestured to him. "It's fucked now, but . . . Bottom line, we've helped each other out, but you're only where you are because of me. You essentially didn't do shit for me."
"What's this really about?" Dad asked, and it sounded like he was behind me.
I groaned.
"You didn't see him?" Dame asked. "I knew the second he came out here."
"Good for you," I said, turning for the door.
My brother speaks in riddles, and what he says is mostly lies. Out of all the shit he's said so far, I had no idea what was true. I just didn't give a fuck anymore. He spends his whole life lurking in the shadows, and now that he's come out from the darkness, I don't like what I see. I had more respect for him when I thought he was silent and deadly. Now he just sounds like a whiny moron. He's acting immature, and he brings nothing to the table—money making-wise—besides being able to fire a gun.
"You want him involved?" I asked my father, opening the screen. "Put him with Nunzio. He can get closer to Bianca." I looked back to my brother, knowing I just did him a favor, or gave him another choice of bride.
The way this fucked up family works . . .
We did everything in our power to get Kylie's wedding canceled, but Nunzio will practically put a price on Bianca's head. It'd be a match made in heaven, and I know my brother's just dying to get it over with—be settled down and married, especially before he starts his residency—wherever that might be. I don't even think it matters who it is. He'll learn to love whoever.
After all, he has a heart made of stone, yet manages to love everyone.
"Don't walk away." Dad stopped me. "This—it seems like more than just youse bullshitting and arguing."
I was content not to say a word about it. What Damion did was done—in the past already—and there wasn't shit he could do about it now.
"All right." Dad was ready to be referee. "After dinner we're going to talk, but settle this shit now as brothers. If you wanna be partners—"
"Whoa, you're mixing two different things." Thinking about Dame as a brother and an associate, a true associate, just didn't mix well for me. "You wanna talk about this now? All of it?"
"Yeah, sure." Dad scratched his nose. "Let's get this shit over with."
I cringed, the agitation eating at me. "No, I don't want us to be partners…I've never even heard of that. He wants to do what he does . . . He can do whatever. I'll do what I do, and that's it."
"You really don't want him on your crew? Joe's gone. He's gonna be running with his father now. You won't look after him—"
"I don't need anyone looking out for me," Damion said.
Dad and I ignored him, facing each other. "He's not involved like that. I give him a name, and he does what he does. He doesn't meet with any friends of ours. He doesn't make any outside money. He's not connected to anyone but me."
"I'm more of a…behind-the-scenes assassin." Damion smiled at Dad.
Our father couldn't see the humor in his words. "You have no idea how serious this is, do you? You think it's all a game?" He advanced toward Dame. "When life gets a little humdrum—I don't know—you don a costume, and then go all vigilante like a superhero?"
I got between them. "That's my fault. He doesn't know anything. He doesn't know the rules—"
"Who have you told?" Dad asked. "Have you gone and ran your mouth to Miss Doom and Gloom?"
"Who?" my brother asked, while I laughed. "Dad, Julie's not goth or whatever. She's into punk, there's a difference." Damion shook his head. "And fuck no. She don't know."
Dad nodded. "If you don't know dick about it, you have no business being involved." He looked to me. "I thought you took him under your wing or something."
"Nope," I said. "I looked out for him . . ."
"But Georgie knows."
I nodded. "As my right hand man, Georgie knows some shit."
"He iced a made guy from another family. By right, I can't have his back unless he—himself—is a made guy." He pointed to Dame.
"Yeah, but no one's ever going to find out. Who knows about this?" I stared at our father. "You making it more of an issue than it needs to be is what's broadcasting his actions. More people know now—"
"Watch it." Dad put his finger in my face.
"What?" Damion asked.
"They were hits I was supposed to carry out," I said. "People know not to fuck with me. But…no one will find out. Georgie knows, so what? He'd never repeat it."
"You can't have my back? So…if this got out, if someone told Boston…they could kill me and there'd be nothing you can do about it? By right, anyway? 'Cause they'd be correct and you'd be wrong?" Damion asked.
Dad nodded. "But you're my son. If we had to go to war, or I had to defend you with my life, no one's touching you." He leaned over to kiss Dame's head, and I smiled.
I was sure my little brother wanted die anyway—being kissed by Daddy.
"We're not going to war," I laughed, my father always thinking the worst. "The hit was sanctioned by Antonio no matter who carried it out."
A few months back, a couple of guys came down from Boston with the intent to get backing on this overseas importing/exporting bullshit. They had their own docks in their bays, but some shit would be coming through New York.
They'd need to pay us for the privilege.
I was a dick, and the deal went through. I got them to pay us three figures more than what Dad was asking. It was a good day, and so we celebrated—drinks at Eclipse and whatnot.
The same night one of the guys they called Nicki got physical with one of the girls.
Taking clients into the private rooms isn't unheard of. My father swears that shit didn't fly back when he ran the club. And it wasn't my intent to make it the way it is now, either.
But it keeps the clientele coming back for more, and so I turn a blind eye. None of the dancers are required to do any of it. I wouldn't even say they were turning tricks at the club. They dance for tips . . . and a few do other things for bigger tips—one hand washes the other.
The new girl, Layla—who calls herself Fantasia—wasn't down to fool around. There is such a thing as going to the back for a private dance and that's it. It's what Nicki asked for, and Layla went along with it—knowing the group were my special guests.
Whether they sneak away for sex acts or not, security is always close by. The private rooms aren't that private, and a guard is always right outside the door.
When Layla said no, she didn't have the opportunity to ring the buzzer—alert someone. Nicki beat the fuck out of her, raped her, tore her up. Momo found her hours later curled in a ball, hiding in the room out of sight, and our out-of-town guests had already hit the road.
She told me who did it, but only after I promised her—swore to Christ that the animal wouldn't get to do it again. It was heartbreaking for me. I don't know Layla outside of her being my employee, but I couldn't let her go to the cops—I had to keep her quiet; meanwhile, she was the victim.
Layla should have been able to do whatever she wanted—needed to help her peace of mind. But her alerting authorities would put us all in the hot seat, and then I'd have to make her disappear.
One of the doctors we have on the payroll fixed her up. I even slipped him a few more bucks so he'd stay with her overnight. Layla slept in my office until she was ready to go home.
I took her home because she'd bonded with me somehow. She was frantic and wouldn't let me leave. I went along with it. We picked up her son from her aunt's house—a cute two-year-old named Jason—and then I helped her get settled in. Her apartment was a dump, but then she's young—just turned twenty-one a week before she'd started working at Eclipse. All of that pulled on my heartstrings, and I swore I'd see to it that she was taken care of. Especially since I didn't expect her to come back to work any time soon.
I didn't know what to do. I knew what I wanted to do—go to Boston and clip that fucker. I had no qualms doing it my-motherfucking-self. That's where Dame's wrong about me.
If I have a valid reason . . .
Regardless of what I wanted to do, I had to go about it another way. Aro and I drove up to Boston together. We sat down with Antonio Matuella and his guys, yet Nicki was nowhere to be found. Now, when we all chilled together, their titles were kept on the hush. I knew who the top guy was, who I was speaking with, but the rest? They came down with this entourage like we were going to start something, needing a bunch of heads to come to a bullshit sit-down.
It turned out that Nicki was a low-man. He wasn't anybody, and rather than Antonio having his back, he gave us his blessing.
That shit was unheard of. Even if I wanted him dead, Layla was just a dancer. She wasn't anyone's relative, or connected to anyone at all. So, what Nicki did shouldn't affect our dealings at all.
When we sat down with Antonio, we were only looking for more money—restitution for disrespecting my place of business, pay-off money for Layla.
Nicki wasn't worth the price we were asking, and Antonio didn't want any beef with New York.
Not in so many words, we got the go-ahead.
My imagination ran wild—thinking of all the ways he could die. One of them involved Layla—I thought she could get her own revenge since we wouldn't let her go to the cops.
But Damion caught the ass-end of a conversation.
Damion became so worked up after hearing about Layla.
Damion begged me for the job—another opportunity.
He was to go up there, do it, and then come right back, and he did it. All of which makes his Alex story seem unreal. My brother's a sick fuck, this I know, but crossing a line—that line? It just didn't make any sense. He has a lot of respect for women, more so for the females in this family. He adores women, so hearing that he hurt one? It didn't sit well with me.
"Regardless of if you know the rules or not, you've earned it. You've taken care of . . . how many contracts?" Dad asked.
"Seven." Dame and I said in unison.
"You can get your button . . . but only if you work directly under your brother."
Dame and I looked to each other, and it got even more uncomfortable when Carlisle came out.
"What's the verdict?" Unc put his arm around my brother. "You were always such a cuddly kid." He got a kiss on the head from Carlisle, too, which was just weird.
"Yeah, that's me." Dame smiled. "Cuddly." That fucker winked at me.
"Can you believe these two?" Carlisle beamed at my father.
"I'm not proud of either one of them." Dad snorted. "This one lied to that one—saying it was okay to do what he did, and now I'm in a tight spot." He spoke of us like we weren't even here.
"I apologize. I take full responsibility, but Georgie—"
"You're going to take care of Georgie." Dad spat out through clenched teeth. "He knows about your brother . . . he's done."
"Now my crew's two guys short? Oh, but you'll give me Dame, which will equal half of Georgie or Joe? He's got nothing going." I jerked my thumb. "You know how it goes…" My guys kick up to me, so I can kick up…It'll be tight. That fucks with my wallet.
"Georgie's done. How you make your bank isn't my concern." Dad looked away from me.
"Georgie runs the brokerage. He's too valuable to me and to you." I held my forehead in disbelief. "If Dame's on my crew, he's gotta take the Series 7. All of which will set him up with a new day job. He goes to school—"
"No way," Damion said.
Dad nodded but didn't say anything. He stared at the ground with his hands on his hips.
"Give me a solution, and I'll bring you Georgie's fucking head. It's not about him personally," I sighed. "If it was…it wouldn't be an issue."
"Maybe I can chill at the brokerage—"
I smiled at my father. "You're serious?"
He nodded. "What else am I really doing during the day? I can have my meetings there, pretend they're clients. What's Georgie do? Tell the minions which stocks to push?" He shrugged. "You tell me and I'll tell them."
"You'd still have to take the test—"
"What about your mother? She likes stocks and shit, and it's all sort of legit." Dad and Carlisle nodded at each other. "She has no interest in the salon. This might be good for her. She can do it part time."
"Mom? Are you serious? The key word being 'sort of', and I need full-time. Not to mention that she'd be a huge liability. Once she found out what we were doing . . . She'd turn it legit and then try to turn a profit." I snorted.
"That's—" Carlisle pointed at me, nodding rapidly. "That'll happen."
"Can you think of anyone off the top of your head?" Dad asked.
"No other connected guys work at the storefront that I can promote to run the fucking thing. They're kids—fresh out of college. We scooped them up fast…the job market isn't good for them, so instead of working on Wall Street they're on Mulberry." I shrugged.
"How does this work?" My father was genuinely interested.
"I know a couple guys from the big firms. They—sometimes they have, uh, premonitions, so to speak—"
"Insider trading," Carlisle said.
I ignored him. "And sometimes we throw out a junk stock for pennies. They add up. Those fuckers at the brokerage know who runs shit, and they're too scared not to push what we sell—although we don't make them." I bought the storefront next to La Bella Italia two years ago, and it's been a moneymaker ever since.
"Put Anthony in there," Carlisle said.
"Doesn't he have school?" I asked.
"He's not doing too well, but he'll graduate anyway . . . and he has no idea what to do with himself. Maybe he'll dig it, and it'll push him in the right direction. Don't worry about him with a test . . . I'll find a way for him to pass without him even taking it. It'll work out. You just have to tell him what to do."
"Okay." I had no problem with that, but I still didn't like it. "Maybe Georgie can—"
Dad's finger was in my face fast. "I don't wanna hear that fucker's name anymore—especially not from your mouth. You got that?"
There wasn't anything I could do but agree. "Aro—"
"Fuck Aro. That's what I just said, and that's what you're going to do."
"Yeah." I shrugged. "No problem."
"And Dame can . . . You can figure out how he'll be of use to you. I don't know." Dad rubbed his face.
"Georgie's going to die because of me?" Damion asked.
"His death is more on your brother's hands for being careless."
"Thanks." I was sarcastic.
"I don't even want to be that involved." Dame walked over to Dad.
"It's either all of it or none of it, son." Our father was being really sweet to Damion, actually conversing with him instead of about him.
"I just started my third year of medical school. Do you know how busy I'm going to be this year? I'll be doing clinical rotations most of the time. I'll be in the actual hospital. Dad, I'm not going to have any time to run with a crew—I haven't even picked a specialty, and the best residencies aren't even in New York." He ranted. "I have my sights set on Hopkins."
Dad blinked, like he had no idea what Damion was saying, or maybe he just didn't care.
"Listen, Dame just wants a license to kill—"
"Sonny!"
I ignored my brother. "Call a spade a spade . . . I hardly understand it. To me, whacking fuckers makes more sense when there's a goal to be achieved behind it—retribution of some sort."
"Very true," Carlisle said.
"How 'bout if I just fucking felt like it?" Damion shouted.
"Who the fuck you screaming at like that?" Dad stared at him. "Go sit down."
Damion turned around only to come back. "Everyone's always judging me, and I'm tired of being—being quiet." I had no idea what show he was performing now.
"You're still high," Dad laughed, gesturing for him to continue. "The floor is yours."
"I'm not high anymore," Dame whispered. "Maybe." That made a lot of sense.
"You guys smoked?" I asked, disappointed.
"Yeah, that shit you gave me," Dad said.
"You got any more?" Carlisle asked.
"I can make a call." I nodded.
"Hello!" The child stomped his foot.
"Just hop in and fucking talk. This isn't a forum, or a classroom." My father shook his head, but I could tell he was mildly amused. "You don't need to raise your hand."
"While it's great for you and Sonny, I do not aspire to be the next Don of New York. I did what I did . . . it's over now. I just won't do anything else. This is too much, and I don't want it."
Dad laughed. "You don't have a choice now. You made your decision the moment you pulled a fucking trigger."
"Ed, come on. Don't force him to do it, be involved. He made a mistake…thought he was tough shit. I don't know." Carlisle patted Dame's back.
"When you're done learning how to save lives, you're working for me. I own your ass, and you're going to make this up to me. You don't have to be a made guy…for now. Your brother and I will clean up this mess… and then, if you even think about stepping foot in that club—Eclipse, Midnight Sun, or Twilight—any place where friends of ours chill? You better think again. All of it or none of it." He wiped his hands clean. "You're not to be around any of our associates."
"I respect that," Damion whispered.
"And you're going into General Surgery," Dad finished.
"What?" Now Damion didn't look so calm.
"Dame," Carlisle was going to explain. "We have doctors on the payroll. You'll be one of them. Which—roughly translated means—you'll be on call all the time. We need something, we get hurt, you're our guy." He chuckled. "And I mean anyone who's involved with the thing can call you at any time. Sometimes things happen, and we can't go to the emergency room."
"No fucking way!" Damion shouted. "That's bullshit. You just don't want me to leave New York."
"I made my decision." Dad turned, going back into the house.
"Give him some time," Carlisle told Dame. "He just found out last night. It's shocking the fuck out of him. You were always the good one."
"It wasn't a big deal. I don't—"
"You don't understand," Carlisle laughed. "When your father looks at you, it's like he's looking in a mirror—in more ways than one. And he's never come to grips with his own reasoning of why he's done the things he's done. He sees himself in you, and he doesn't want that for you."
"Dad'll calm down." I nodded.
Meanwhile, our father seemed relatively calm already. Frustrated at the circumstances or not, he was sugarcoating everything for Dame, from what he said to the decisions he's made. Maybe the Skip can put on a front for Carlisle and Damion, but – deep down – he doesn't want Dame involved at all.
By not giving my brother a choice, he was pushing Dame away.
Whether Damion realizes it or not, our father just played him.
"I'm not a little kid. I'll own my mistakes. I'll take care of Georgie myself. That'll make us all square," Damion said, drawing one in the air. "I'll do it right fucking now, and then I'll walk away. This isn't the career move I wanted to make."
"Why'd you do it then? If you weren't trying to prove something to your father?" our uncle asked.
Damion slowly blew out a breath. "I wanted to . . . and I could."
"But why?" Carlisle waved him on.
Damion shrugged. "Stop being so nice to me!" Oh, the guilt was really getting to him. It doesn't add up—his "behind-the-scenes assassin" status and the punk in front of me now. Whatever happened last night fucked with his head big time.
"What'd I do?" Carlisle wore a face.
"Nothing…You just—" Damion stared our uncle down.
"Yes?" Unc leaned into Dame. "Go on."
My brother averted his gaze and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Nothing. I'm sorry."
Carlisle laughed, massaging his shoulder. "You handled yourself well. You're a good kid. Even if you think you want it now . . . you won't in a few years. What's good for your father, Sonny, and me might not be good for you. Understand?"
"Yeah . . . Thanks."
"I didn't have a choice—it was never something I wanted." He scrubbed his face with his hand. "Keep your nose in those books…" Carlisle went on and on about how school was more important than anything else in the world right now.
Watching him being so nice to my brother was aggravating, no longer amusing. I felt badly for my uncle—being played by Dame like that and at that level of humiliation. Dad was misleading, but it was for his own good. This was just fucked up—very hate-filled to me for some reason—on my brother's part.
My uncle's a good guy. Whether he used to be a horrible husband/boyfriend or not, he's always loved us kids—would do anything for us, his niece and nephews included.
"I'm just saying . . . don't be upset about this is all. It's a godsend. Maybe you don't see it now, but soon you will." Carlisle gave Dame a half-hug.
"Thank you, Uncle Carlisle."
He winked, pinching Dame's cheek with his knuckles. "If you ever need to talk, my door is always open."
I pushed my hair back, still annoyed. "I'm going inside… And take a shower!" I hollered back to Dame.
To Be Continued . . . In Sonny's POV.
He's got a long day ahead of him.
And soon, we'll meet Amelia. Can't wait to hear all the hatin'. LOL. I'm kidding. It just seems you guys don't like any other females except Bella.
Thank you for reading.
Please leave me your thoughts.