Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
The Vitale legacy began in Sicily, but during the Mafia crackdown, my great-grandfather set his heart on expansion. So he bought a vineyard, migrated to the Chianti countryside, and laundered his money through high-end tourism. After that, he took a piece of the pie in Milan’s finance, and with wealth came the power to capitalize on politics in Rome. For years, he carved out new territories all over Italy and formed alliances with the Ndrangheta and the Camorra. From there, he expanded into other European countries and eventually the United States. With no interest in fighting over territories on the East Coast, he sent my grandfather to conquer the West Coast.
That was how it came to be that my grandfather made his own alliance with the Stavros family patriarch. Together, along with the Morettis, they settled Black Stag Island and built their empires in and around Seattle.
The Vitale legacy has passed down a wealth of properties across multiple continents. But this island is where I was made. It’s where I took my first breath, and it will be where I’ll take my last, if I can help it.
Nicky greets me on the dock with a silent nod, letting me know we’re in the clear. The guard shift change is happening as we meet, and only two of my most trusted men will know I’m here as I slip onto the Vitale estate. While I could opt for a more dramatic entrance, the timing isn’t right, and I have other plans to reveal my rightful ascension to the throne.
Nicky escorts me to the waiting golf cart and takes the wheel while I sit beside him, gun resting on my thigh. I’ve planned this visit carefully, but I won’t leave anything up to chance. I learned the hard way never to get complacent, even on your own territory, surrounded by your own blood.
“Everything went smoothly with Abella’s father?” I ask.
He nods. “He didn’t seem concerned, nor did he follow up with IVI to verify my credentials.”
I shoot him a sideways glance. “Is that sympathy I detect in your tone?”
“Never, boss.” He smirks. “I’m just saying, if I had a daughter with a target on her back, I’d sure as shit be doing my homework. Maurizio didn’t look like he gave a fuck.”
“Yes, well, that’s probably true,” I mutter under my breath. It’s a well-established fact that Maurizio Moretti is a slimy, selfish prick.
Right now, the more pressing issue is the fact that Nicky’s been on Abella’s detail for all of five seconds, and she’s already wrapping him around her finger. She has a way of doing that.
Ask anyone, and they’ll tell you Abella Moretti has a heart of gold. Generous, kind, empathetic, a nurturer. These are all words I’ve heard to describe her character. She participates in charity and shares produce from her garden. She volunteers her time and services to new members of the Society, and she helps Nonna make her giant vats of pasta sauce when everyone else bitches about it.
Every time someone tells me a story about her angelic nature, my palm twitches. Everyone loves her, including my own fucking family. Even Nonna, who will hold grudges until she dies. She's still not speaking to a brother who insulted her cooking twenty years ago. But she’s always had a soft spot for Abella. It seems to be a universal problem.
For that reason, I can’t fault Nicky for falling into the same trap. But it doesn’t mean I’m any less irritated by this development.
“Don’t let her fool you,” I tell him. “You can’t ever let your guard down around her.”
He shrugs and wisely decides to keep his thoughts to himself. “Okay, boss.”
I focus on the passing scenery, all familiar yet different somehow. Everywhere I look, there’s a memory now tainted by betrayal. Fire crawls through my veins as I recall every fleeting glance between Abella and Matteo, wondering when it started. When exactly did they decide to remove me from the equation?
I never saw it coming—but it’s a mistake I won’t make twice.
“Boss?” Nicky jerks his head toward a tree as we roll to a stop, and two familiar figures step out from beneath it.
“Mr. Vitale,” Maximo, the head guard, greets me as I exit the cart.
I nod at him before turning my attention to Uncle Sal.
“Angelo, let me get a look at this mug of yours.” He clutches my face in his meaty palms. “We’ve missed you, son.”
“Good to see you too, Sal.” I glance at the rear entrance to one of the caretaker’s cottages. “He’s here?”
A dark cloud passes over Sal’s face as he nods solemnly. “He hasn’t slept inside the villa since your mother died, God rest her soul.”
Both he and Maximo make the sign of the cross, and my jaw clenches. My mother passed away while I was in prison, from what my father insisted was a broken heart. Now, the same fate awaits him.