Vicious Minds (Children of Vice #4)(86)
Chapter 18
“Chaos is a friend of mine.”
~Bob Dylan
ETHAN - AGE 28
Chicago, Illinois
Monday, November 3rd
I might not have pulled the trigger myself, but I knew about and planned for Ivy’s death from the very day her name came to my mind. So why the hell was this old fool in front of me and not Calliope?
What is she up to? How much did her grandfather know? This wasn’t part of our plan for her or Gigi’s return. That was the reason I was shocked to find Gigi here already. Calliope hadn’t spoken to me of any change of plan, which meant something happened to make her change plans. I doubted she would have told her grandfather the truth, either. So she was using him too…but to what end? Why was he taking the blame for Ivy’s death instead of the Rocha cartel like we planned?
“Has anyone ever told you that you look like your grandfather?” he asked as he placed the cup down in front of himself.
“Orlando?” I leaned back in my chair at the head of the table. “No, no one has ever said that to me. Though I do often get told I look like my father.”
He chuckled and looked around the dining hall shaking his head. “Just like the Irish to take all the credit.”
“Apparently my parents’ marriage didn’t end this perpetual blood feud between the Irish and the Italians,” I replied, placing my coffee on the table. Watching him carefully I asked, “I wonder how they would feel if they knew all their hard work and sacrifice meant nothing.”
The corner of his mouth turned up and he pointed his finger at me. “Right there, that is your mother.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your demeanor, this conversation, that look in your eye…that’s your mother. The calm in the storm. The Irish don’t think like that. They are brutes, good at fighting, fucking, and drinking, but real genius, that is rare. Your grandfather Sedric was one of the rare ones…”
“And my father? He didn’t make the rare genius level?” He was insulting of half me and praising the other, so I didn’t feel either way. I’d met old men like him in both the Irish and Italians, holding on to past stereotypes of the other while uplifting themselves.
“Your father had your mother, but before her he was just like the rest of them. If your mother wanted, she could have taken control of it all. She had the genius, the foresight, the type of strength to conquer. Still today some people don’t realize it. She made it look easy; she was the first female Don of the Italian mafia. You’re a man: strong, smart, good-looking, rich, and dangerous. The position fell into your lap and that is not to take away from the fact that your job, your duty is impossibly difficult. It’s just to say the fact that you have lasted so long on your own is to your credit, but none of it will ever hold a candle to your mother.”
Fuck, this going to be long bloody speech.
“You sound like you were in love with her.” Which meant he didn’t realize she was still out there or else he wouldn’t dare talk like this, especially knowing my father would not let it slide.
“I was,” he admitted and leaned back in the chair. “But not romantically. I loved her like she was my daughter. Orlando and I grew up together. Whatever he needed I did without question because that is how it is meant to be and yet when it came to his daughter, Melody, I refused nine out of ten things he told me to do.”
“I’m surprised you’re still alive to talk about it.” I’d have killed him; I wouldn’t care if we grew up together or not. Tobias has been proof enough of that.
“He didn’t kill me because he wanted me to see how wrong I was about her. At first I thought she was just a child, a girl, leave her be. He’d have her woken up and thrown into the pool, he’d have men kidnap her and she’d have to escape herself, he pushed, no, tortured her…broke her until she was so strong, she was barely even human anymore. Nothing affected her and she took the power right out of his hands. Everyone who doubted her was cut down mercilessly. Her rivals, she knew when and how they would come, and before they could even make a move, they were dead. Your grandfather was right, and I was wrong. He made a Don who could not be questioned and could not be stopped…and then he regretted it and married her off to some Irish ass…he ruined her,” he huffed in anger, shaking his head.
“You believe my mother became weak? Unable to lead because she married my father?” For some reason that comment bothered me the most. How dare he insult her? There was nothing weak about my mother.
“Yes.” He nodded. “It wasn’t her fault. She was raised to love and trust no one but herself and then all of sudden she had a family…and in this life our greatest weakness will always be our families. Your mother was great. But she could have been greater had it not been for your grandfather. The Irish wouldn’t even exist. Just us. The Italians. I know, complex connections…I hurt your grandmother and she lost her unborn child. I’m akin to the devil in her eyes. Just like your grandfather Sedric, is the devil in mine. He took my mother, my brother, and two of my sons. That is what I was thinking of when I went after her, when I ran her off the road. My family was the only thing I saw and it is by God’s grace she is alive. Orlando ordered us to scare them, rough them up, but I was going to kill her. I was going leave the same gape in her neck that her husband left for my children, but I was stopped. And I never got the chance again because Orlando and Sedric began their little truce. I never got my vengeance—”