“Gotta say, Carmy, power looks fuckin’ good on you.”
My older brother smirks, watching me from the front steps of the house I grew up in as I kick the stand into position and slip off my bike.
The Barone house—if we’re calling twenty-thousand-square-foot gothic French Renaissance mansions on 5th Avenue across the street from Central Park houses these days—looms above us like a villain’s lair from a Disney fairytale.
I fucking love this place.
I pull off the helmet and lock it in the back saddle before I turn to look at my brother, then up at the house he now lives in with Lyra.
“I mean, I’m glad you’re Don and everything now—never wanted it anyway, so—”
“You were never going to get it,” he says dryly. “So don’t play psychology games with me. I know them all. Besides, I think we’re all painfully aware just how far you bent over backward to make damn sure you’d never have to take Pop’s throne.”
Guilty, your honor, on all charges.
Honestly, I have way too much fun fucking with Carmine. Mostly because I know pretty much nobody but Lyra and I—okay, Dante and Bianca too—can without worrying we’ll never wake up again.
I mime mock scandal as I drop my jaw and press a hand to my chest. “Carmy, are you suggesting that I deliberately went out of my way to avoid taking on a job that comes with huge amounts of responsibility, stress, and danger, with pretty much zero perks? I am shocked, dear brother. Shocked and, honestly, a little appalled. Very appalled, actual—”
“Yeah, because neck tattoos, a vibrant dating life, racing motorcycles like you want to die, and getting your dick pierced are all usually hallmarks of the staid, strong and resolute types that sit on the throne of multi-generation mafia families,” Carmine adds dryly.
“Well, since you’ve got this all figured out so well, I think you should go ahead and keep the job.”
Carmine grins. “Fuck you.”
“Fuck you too. How’s the house that you unceremoniously kicked me out of?”
My brother sighs, rolling his eyes as he shoves his fingers through his hair. “Much quieter now, thanks.”
I grin. None of that is true. Well, the part about the ink, bikes, girls, and dick piercing is.
What? I’m the second-born son of a mafia don. Carmine was always going to be king. And that means I get to ride shotgun and enjoy the trip.
It’s the part after that which is bullshit, though. No one ‘kicked me out’ of the house. Dad moved out to Long Island a couple of months ago, after his heart scare, when he officially retired and Carmine became the new don. Which, yes, meant Carmy moved into this massive seat-of-power joint with Lyra.
But I’d moved out of this place and into my loft in SoHo years ago. I swing by now and again for meetings, or for Sunday family dinners—which, sadly, occur somewhat less frequently with Dad out on Long Island. But business-wise, I do most of mine out of Dad’s old office uptown.
“You coming in, or what?” Carmine grunts.
“Yeah, gimme a sec.”
I start to stick a cigarette between my lips.
“Nico…”
I glance up to see Carmine scowling and shaking his head. “Ditch the smoke, man. You know Pop hates it.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, the generation that smoked on airplanes and during fucking doctor’s visits and ate dinner off lead plates has an issue with this?”
Carmine rolls his eyes yet again.
“You know, I can move back in any time,” I grin at him.
“Cool, yeah, that’s not happening.”
I chuckle, tucking the cigarette back in the pack and bounding up the stairs to hug my brother. He claps me on the back before we turn and head inside, nodding briefly to Vic and Rocco, the two mountainous motherfuckers standing guard today.
“Oh, hey.” I stop Carmine with a hand on his chest before we step around the corner into the living room where I can hear the laughing voices of my family. “When’s the surprise coming?”
Carmine grins.
Today’s visit has nothing to do with the family business. Our dad, Vito, is turning sixty-three. And the “surprise” is a 450 horsepower cherry red 1969 Chevelle that Carmine and I had fully restored for him.
We grew up hearing stories about the one exactly like it that Dad had back in the proverbial day. But that one got shot to shit and then torched in a gangland war the Italians had with the Puerto Ricans in the early 80s.
“Sitting on a flatbed around the corner,” my brother murmurs in a low, conspiratorial voice. “Soon as everyone’s here, they’re dropping it off out front.”
“He’s going to lose his shit,” I grin.
Carmine nods. “Well, Bianca claims she went above and beyond this year for a birthday present, too, so we’ll see.”
“Above and beyond her usual ‘coupon for a daddy-daughter date’, which Dad pays for? Sounds like a low fucking bar.”
Carmine chuckles deeply as we both head around the corner into the fray.
“Nico!”
Tempest, one of my top two favorite sisters-in-law, rushes over and gives me a big hug. When she pulls away, her husband, my other brother Dante, comes over and grabs me in a big bear hug.
We’re, as Dad likes to say, a family of strays. Although, if we’re getting technical, only Carmine and I are the original package. Dante and Bianca are the upgrades that came later. Their dad, Bruno Sartorre, was dad’s personal tailor, friend, and one of his top confidants. So, when he and their mom passed away young, Bianca, Dante, and their older sister Claudia came to live with us.
The lapsed Catholic in me taps my chest in a vague cross when I think of that last name. Claudia was taken far too young, a victim of violence at the hands of men she trusted.
Even thinking about it today still gets my blood boiling. But at least Dante tracked down every single one of them and made them pay.
Very slowly, and extremely painfully. Dante’s good people.
He also runs Club Venom, which is the place in New York for the city’s most connected, influential, and powerful, especially if they have…deviant tastes.
That’s a nice way of saying Club Venom is a sex club. But…you know…classy as fuck, and super exclusive.
“Car here yet?” Dante mutters into my ear.
I shake my head. “Carmine’s got it coming after we’re all here.”
“Cannot wait to see that baby,” he groans.
I chuckle. “So, what’d you guys get him?”
“The house.”
I frown. “House?”
Dante smirks, and my brows shoot way up.
“Fuck me, your house? In Long Island?”
It’s not like Vito doesn’t have money—the man probably has more of it than the rest of us combined. But he’s been loving staying out there at Dante and Tempest’s place these last few months—loves the house, loves the pool, loves the fact that it’s ocean-facing.
Definitely loves the fact that he can blast Sinatra as loud as he wants and sunbathe in the nude without the neighbors complaining.
Dante chuckles. “I mean, we’re never there. The city’s our home now, probably for a long time. And man, he fuckin’ loves it out there, so…”
“Well, shit,” I sigh. “I went Dutch on a car, and you go and get him a fucking mansion in the Hamptons. Fuck you very much.”
Dante chuckles, clapping me on the back. “We’ll add your name to the bottom of the card.”
“Dick.”
I’m pulled away from Dante’s smug grin by Lyra, also one of my top two favorite sisters-in-law, who gives me a big hug.
For a second, as I hug her back, it flashes through my mind that she’s also one of Naomi’s best friends, along with Bianca.
Fuck.
Just like that, I’m right back where I was at the Black Court the other night…my entire thought process consumed by that fucking girl.
But before I descend too far, the other door to the room bangs open, and the man himself strides out, a bottle of wine from the infamous Barone cellars in the basement in each of his hands.
“There he is!” Vito grins widely, putting the bottles down on a side table and striding over to me. I hug him fiercely, clapping him on the back before I pull away.
“sixty-three, huh?”
“Who’da thought I’d make it this far, huh?” he chuckles.
“I’ve got you down for a hundred and nine, myself,” I shrug. “You’d better get going on a good calisthenics routine if I’m going to get paid.”
Dad roars with laugher and hugs me again before he turns to everyone else. “So, everybody hungry?”
For dad’s cooking? I literally never thought I’d say this when he first took it up as a hobby a year or so ago, but always.
When he first started—ohhh, it was bad. Actually, bad would have been a sizable improvement. Dad’s first forays into being Emeril Lagasse resulted in food so bad you were legitimately at risk of expiring face-down in your Cacio y Pepe.
Mercifully, Bianca’s husband Kratos—who can cook like a motherfucker—took him under his wing and gave him some serious pointers.
As if on cue, the front door bangs open.
“Sorry we’re late!” Bianca yells as she stampedes into the room like the little ball of energy that she is.
“Princess!” Dad crows, meeting her halfway across the room and flinging his arms around—hands down, no question, and I’m totally cool with it—his favorite kid.
“Happy birthday, Dad,” she grins, squeezing him tightly.
Behind her, Kratos ducks his head slightly to avoid hitting it as he steps into the room, his massive frame filling the doorway. Dad pulls away from our sister to beam at his son-in-law, pulling him into a tight hug and giving him a firm clap on the back.
“Happy birthday, Vito,” Kratos rumbles with a big grin.
Dad steps back, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Okay, we’re all here. Let’s eat.”
Three full courses and cake later, I’m fucking stuffed. But that doesn’t stop me from grinning, laughing, and getting to my feet to clap when Vito incredulously opens the card from Dante and Tempest, saying they’re giving him the house he’s been living in for the last few months.
He keeps saying “It’s too fuckin’ much! It’s too fuckin’ much!” over and over again as he hugs them both tightly.
Great, that’s the act Carmine and I have to follow. At least we didn’t show up with dinner coupons like Bianca probably did.
I glance at my brother and he nods, grinning, his arm snaking around Lyra’s waist as she perches on his lap.
“Hey, Pop,” he clears his throat. “Nico and I got you something, too.”
He pulls the little gift-wrapped box out of his pocket and slides it across the dinner table. Vito looks at it curiously before he picks it up and shakes it, making Tempest crack up.
“Vito, just open it!”
“All right! All right! Jeez, the patience on this one—”
“None,” Dante sighs with a deep chuckle. “Literally none.”
Tempest playfully hits him before he leans down to kiss her.
That’s when I realize I’m the only loser here without a date. Well, Dad’s flying solo, too, but…c’mon.
I shake that thought away as Dad tears the wrapping paper off and pulls the lid off the box. His brows knit for a second as he looks down into it.
“What are these keys for?”
I grin. “Maybe we should go outside and see.”
He looks up at me, then at Carmine, his brows raised and a curious look on his face. “What are you two up to?” he chuckles, wagging a finger at us.
“C’mon and see for yourself, Pop,” Carmine grins as we all get up from the table.
We head to the front door, I swing it open, and Bianca escorts Dad outside.
“Holy fuck!” he chokes the second he steps outside. His hand flies to the railing to steady himself. “Are you fucking kiddin’ me?!”
Carmine and I glance at each other and fist bump behind Dad’s back as he howls with delight.
“That’s my car!” he roars, laughing. “Holy shit, that’s my exact car!”
“Happy birthday, Dad,” I say, wrapping an arm over his shoulders and patting his chest.
He turns to both of us, incredulous. “I… I don’t even know what to say…”
“Say you’ll take it for a spin right now,” Carmine chuckles.
Dad beams. “You know what? I think I might—”
“Uh, before you do?”
We turn to see Bianca and Kratos still standing in the doorway, both of them with these weird, doofus-looking smiles on their faces.
“Bet she went all out with dinner AND movie coupons,” Carmine snickers into my ear before Lyra elbows him to shut it.
“Dad, I…well, we…got you something kind of special. It hasn’t arrived yet, but, well… We wanted to at least tell you what it’s going to be today.”
Dad chuckles as he walks over to her. “Sweetheart, I don’t care if it’s an empty box. I love ya.”
Kratos clears his throat awkwardly. “Yeah, it’s, uh, not empty.”
Bianca’s face heats as she chews on her lip. Dad frowns in puzzlement.
“What is it, princess?”
“Dad?” She glances at Kratos. Kratos glances at her. Then they both look at Vito.
“You’re going to be a grandpa.”
They say it at the same time, and for half a second, the whole fucking stoop goes pin-drop silent.
Half a second after that, it erupts.
Vito is losing his mind, tears in his eyes as he swoops Bianca up in a huge hug. He turns to Kratos next, all but sobbing into the big guy’s chest before he pulls away, only to lose it all over again.
“I’m gonna be a grandpa!” He whirls to yell it to all of 5th Avenue. “I’m gonna be a fuckin’ grandpa!!”
Lyra and Tempest freak out, rushing to Bianca and hugging and screaming and all of that. Dante grins, shaking Kratos’ hand firmly before he brings him in for a hug.
“Well holy fucking shit,” Carmine chuckles, shaking his head as he hugs our brother-in-law. “Got one past the goalie, huh?”
“You really want to hear the gory details?” Kratos grunts with a warning tone.
“Nope.”
I laugh as I shove past Carmine to take my turn hugging the giant of the family. “Congrats, man. That’s fucking amazing.”
I glance at Dante and Carmine.
“Shit… Guess that makes us uncles?”
“Uncle Sex Club, Uncle Pierced Dick, and Uncle Psycho,” Carmine groans, glancing back at Kratos. “Poor kid’s fucked.”
It all becomes a blur after that, all of us just camped out on the front steps of the house laughing. Tempest wants to know how far along my sister is. Lyra asks if she’s quitting the Zakharova for good. I ask how young is too young to give a kid motorcycle riding lessons and get thoroughly slapped.
Finally, Vito pulls Bianca in for another deep hug.
“I’ve been drinking, princess,” he chuckles. “How about you take the Chevelle out for its first spin?”
Bianca’s brows leap up to her hairline. “Wait, seriously?”
“Seriously,” Dad beams, handing her the keys. “Take it around the block or around the park. Show my grandkid how much fun they’re going to have with Pop-pop.”
Bianca squeals, hugging him tightly before she skips down the stairs with all of us behind.
The car is sweet. The guys at the restoration shop know our family well, and Kratos pulled some strings with some people he knows to get specialty original parts.
I watch, still grinning as Bianca bolts to the driver’s side door and sticks the key in the lock. She glances back at us with an ear-to-ear smile as she unlocks the car and swings the door open.
Several questions occur to me at once:
One—why is the car ticking.
Two—why am I being shoved violently to the side as Kratos hurls himself down the stairs straight at his wife.
Three—and this is the largest one—why is the whole world turning orange as an invisible truck slams into me, punching me and everyone around me back with the force of a wrecking ball.
But it’s when I see the fire, and feel the explosion, and hear the screaming, that it all falls horribly, viciously into place.
Oh, fuck.
