Lucian Read Free

a Marcello was crossed. They were to keep their heads on straight, no matter what situation they came in contact with. Never were they to leave their home without a gun on hand. Cops were not to be talked to, associated with, or trusted.
    Lucian understood how to work and use his own handgun by the time he was twelve. At thirteen, he was disassembling and reassembling assault weapons. As a child, he knew the basement and attic weren’t places he was permitted to use or explore like any other room in the house because his father had a large collection of illegal guns in one, and kept multiple incoming and outgoing shipments of drug substance in the other.
    They weren’t good people. Lucian didn’t want to be, either.
    But he was proud of his family. It was just who they were.
    “Business on Sunday, Papà?” he asked, nodding at the clock.
    Antony scowled at his desk. “Wasn’t given much of a choice. Sit, we can talk now, I suppose. Just don’t tell Cecelia.”
    He did as he was told, resting his frame down into one of his father’s high-back business chairs that always sat across from his desk. “You want me to go and get Gio up?”
    “No, he’s likely too damn drunk still to understand the seriousness of this. I’ll talk to him after Mass.”
    Lucian sat up a little straighter in the chair. Those words didn’t bode well at all. “What’s going on?”
    “You know, I wish you’d quit marking up your skin with that awful ink, Lucian.”
    Smirking, Lucian shrugged. He had many tattoos. They were all important in their own way. His newest tattoo rested across his chest, from one collarbone to the other in elegant script. It read: This Thing of Ours . It was, essentially, La Cosa Nostra in English. Usually, his father peered over his tattoos with the disregard of a man who disliked ink, but he rarely said anything. This vocal disappointment was new.
    Giving his brother a cocked brow over his shoulder, Lucian wondered what in the hell was up with his father tonight. Dante had come to sit up on the couch as well, a seriousness darkening his otherwise friendly features. Not that Dante was particularly friendly with anyone outside of their family and business.
    “Is it pick on Lucian night, or what?” Lucian asked sarcastically.
    “At least you can cover them up, I suppose,” Antony said, ignoring his son’s remark. “If Gio gets another tattoo on his neck where I can see it when he’s wearing a dress shirt, I’m going to burn it off with a hot knife and blow torch. See how he likes the pain, then.”
    Lucian shivered, but hid it well enough. Antony did not make idle threats. Even if it was towards his sons.
    “I’ll keep the ink to a minimum,” Lucian said to appease his father.
    “You do that.”
    Or I’ll just keep my shirt on so you can’t see , he thought silently.
    “So, what’s up?”
    Antony finished off his glass of whiskey before speaking. “About ten after twelve tonight, there was a shootout between the authorities and the motorcycle gang The Sons of Hell I’ve been keeping an eye on.”
    Lucian’s interest was definitely peaked, now. “Oh?”
    “Outside my casino.”
    Damn.
    “That’s ridiculous.”
    Antony nodded shortly, anger clouding his face. “I don’t mind their business. I’ve let them do their nonsense on my territory because really, it’s not affecting me. They pay a healthy due to the Capos to keep their peace and place, just like every other drug or weapons dealer working inside my territory does. They follow my rules. I don’t fault them on that.”
    “But?” Lucian pressed, knowing it was coming.
    “But this is different,” Dante said from behind. “It puts us in a spotlight we don’t need right now. We do all of our business on the low, and the last thing we need to be, or even thought to be, is affiliated with a motorcycle gang famous for their bloodshed and drugs.”
    “Like we’re not?” Lucian asked.
    Antony chuckled. “At least we’re well-dressed