Page 40 of His Son's Brid
Silence in the car.
I should probably tell Viktor he's wrong—Luca and I are beyond that now; we're brothers, bonded by blood and history stronger than DNA ever could be.
But I don't. Because part of me is still bitter about those seven years. About what I lost. About what I could have had if I'd made different choices.
I shove the thought away.
We pull up to Luca's estate forty minutes after landing. It's massive—white stone, columns, the kind of wealth that comes from three generations of blood money. Guards at the gate check our credentials and wave us through.
Marco meets us at the entrance. I recognize him—head of Luca's security, former Spetsnaz, loyal as a dog.
"Axel Santego." He doesn't smile, but there's respect in his eyes. "Don Luca's been expecting you."
"Marco. Still keeping my friend alive?"
"Someone has to." He leads us through the foyer, down a hallway lined with expensive art. "He's in his study. Just you, boss. Your men can wait in the sitting room."
Viktor nods. He knows the drill. I follow Marco alone.
Luca's study is exactly what I expected—leather furniture, wall of books he's probably never read, a desk the size of a small car. And behind it, the man himself.
Don Luca.
He's aged since I last saw him. More grey in his hair, lines around his eyes. But he's still got that presence, that command that makes men nervous.
He looks up when I enter. For a second, neither of us moves.
Then he's around the desk, pulling me into a hug that's more tackle than embrace.
"You bastard," he says, slapping my back hard enough to bruise. "Seven years and you couldn't write more than twice?"
"Prison mail gets monitored. Didn't want to give the feds ammunition."
"Still." He pulls back, studies my face. "You look good. Considering."
"You look old."
He laughs. "Raising a daughter will do that to you." He gestures to the chairs. "Sit. Drink. Tell me what you've been up to since you got out."
We settle into the familiar rhythm. Him pouring whiskey—expensive, the kind you sip. Me accepting it even though I've never liked whiskey.
"Territory's stable," I tell him. "Dmitri tried to test me first week out. Made an example of him. No one's been stupid since."
"Good. You always were better at the violent side of our business than me." He takes a sip. "And Leo? How's your boy?"
"Leo's the reason I'm here," I say.
Luca's expression shifts. "Business or personal?"
"Both." I set down the whiskey. "I want to arrange a marriage. Between Leo and your daughter."
The silence stretches.
Luca leans back in his chair, studying me. "You're serious."
"Completely."
"Why?"
