“We have a task to focus on and don’t have time to dwell in the past,” I clipped, ensuring silence in the remaining ride to our target.

Enzo parked a block away from the fabric building and went scouting the area with Rocco. My father disapproved of me taking part in attacks but I insisted. Still, I was rarely allowed to be at the forefront.

The moment Jacopo and I were alone, leaning against the car, he let out a sigh and smiled in a way that suggested he didn’t know why humans used the gesture but he’d adopted it. “Your father made me wait for a long time. Even my brother is already married, and I had to wait years for your sister. But she’ll make it worthwhile for me, I’m sure.” The smile turned darker, leering.

Rage boiled over, past my ironclad defenses. I rammed my elbow into his throat. My knife was right under my jacket. A jab was all it would take to save Ines from a cruel fate—a fate no woman deserved.

Challenge and fear flickered in Jacopo’s eyes. “You want to kill me because of a cunt?”

I tightened my hold. One slash and his blood would coat my hands. It would feel good, better than any kill before him. “Careful,” I said quietly. “This cunt is my sister, and you’d do well to remember that I will be your Capo in a few years. Show respect.”

“And I’ll be your Consigliere. It’s always been that way. Our fathers are friends. You can’t kill me.”

It was true. As long as my father lived, I couldn’t kill Jacopo, and even then it would be difficult to explain to my men. Scuderi was a name that carried power, that belonged to the Outfit. They were loyal. A good reason was necessary to dispose of one of them, and protecting my sister from marital rape and torture wouldn’t be considered one. The mere idea that Ines would have to suffer under Jacopo’s sadism made my blood boil.

I released him. All my life I’d worked to become Capo, to follow in my father’s footsteps. I was meant to rule over the Outfit, and I would. Nothing would stop my rise in power, least of all Jacopo Scuderi. I stepped back with a cold smile. “I won’t kill you, you are right.”

His smile turned more triumphant, certain in his inherited immunity. Steps rang out when Rocco and Enzo turned the corner, done scouting the area.

“All clear?” I asked.

They nodded, and I gave the sign to attack. As expected, we found six Bratva soldiers inside the fabric building, guarding their last drug delivery. We split up into pairs of two as we tried to eliminate our opponents as quickly and effectively as possible. Jacopo and I ended up in a smaller storage hall with three of the higher ranking Bratva soldiers, while Rocco and Enzo were busy dealing with the rest in the main storage.

When I’d struck down the first opponent, I advanced into the room and ducked behind a crate close to my next opponent. Jacopo stayed closer to the door, off to the left and dealt with enemy number three.

I could tell that my opponent was getting impatient and nervous. His aim was off and he kept raising his head to look toward the door for a way to escape. Would he really risk a dash for freedom? It was futile.

I aimed calmly, my arm steady as I waited for his next mistake. He finally raised his head again and I sent a bullet through the Bratva bastard’s head, sending his brain flying everywhere. He tumbled sideways to the ground, dropping his gun, a Russian model.

Jacopo was still in a shooting match with his opponent. My eyes were drawn to the Bratva gun. I tugged one of my leather gloves out of my jacket and slipped it on before I picked up the discarded gun. Then I raised my own Barretta and shot the last Bratva man with it. Jacopo whirled around with a triumphant grin, which died when he saw me pointing the Russian gun at him. “A marriage to you won’t be my sister’s fate.”

He jerked up his gun at the same time as I pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through his left eye, throwing his head back. His body fell backward. For a moment silence reigned around me, an eerie nothingness that resonated in my ears.

Betrayal.

I’d killed an Outfit soldier. A man who was loyal to the cause, to my father, to the Outfit.

A sharp intake of breath made my eyes dart toward the door, where Rocco Scuderi stood. One look at his expression and I knew he’d witnessed my murder of his brother. For several moments neither of us moved. I was still pointing the Russian gun at the place where Jacopo’s head had been.

Rocco’s face morphed from shock to… relief.

Rocco looked relieved, no, ecstatic to see his older brother dead. There had been no love between the two but this unguarded show of joy came as a surprise. I pointed my gun straight at Rocco’s skull but he hardly seemed to care. With wide eyes, he walked closer to his dead brother, a disturbing smile on his face. He spit on the corpse then kicked it hard several times.

I lowered my gun slowly, narrowing my eyes at the display of emotionality.

“See! See! You got what you deserve!” he raged, his head red and perspiring. “You got it!”

Breathing harshly, he turned around to me. My gun was leveled at his chest by now, as I was trying to decide if I could risk killing him as well. Rocco Scuderi wasn’t a good man, but he was as loyal as his brother, maybe even more so, and he didn’t share his brother’s sadism, at least he hadn’t openly displayed it until now.

Rocco’s gaze dropped to the gun in my hand, the Russian model that had ended his brother’s life, realizing it could end his as well. “I won’t tell anyone,” he said.

I moved closer to him, stepping over the dead Russian in the process. I didn’t take my eyes off Rocco. “You won’t?” I asked coldly. “Honor dictates that you tell your father the truth about who killed his heir, your vow binds you to reveal any betrayal of the Outfit to your Capo, my father.”

Rocco grimaced, his eyes shining with hatred. “For as long as I can remember, I wanted him dead. I would have killed him myself…” He shook his head. “I’m grateful that you did it. I’ll forever be grateful, Dante. I’ll take the secret to the grave with me, I swear it.”

“Why?” I stopped a few steps from him, the gun still trained on his heart.

“Because you gave me everything I ever wanted. Jacopo is dead, and I’ll be Consigliere.”

I tilted my head. “True. You’ll take over for your father eventually.”

Rocco frowned. “If he allows it. Jacopo was his favorite child.”

Jacopo’s brain decorated the bare concrete floor. “I can’t trust anyone with a secret of that proportion, you certainly understand.”

Rocco’s gaze became frantic. I could practically see his thoughts racing in his head. He took a step closer and I raised my gun higher. “Dante, I’m going to give my father poison, something that’s difficult to detect unless you’re looking for it specifically. Something that’ll make his end look like a heart attack. He’s had one before and it’s only natural for him to suffer another one after his heir, his favorite child is cruelly killed by a Bratva bastard. You’ll convince your father that I was devastated and that my father’s death was a natural cause and I’ll convince everyone the enemy killed my brother. That way I’m not the only one guarding a secret.”

Rocco had the potential to be a useful Consigliere, more so than Jacopo could ever have been. His father was only marginally better than Jacopo and too strongly entwined with my father. If I wanted a gradual power shift, I’d have to change the key players now. Killing Rocco would raise suspicions and leave me with Scuderi Senior to deal with for a decade or longer. I needed to diminish my father’s power now, in subtle but effective ways. “Wait a week or two. Let him die after the funeral.”