Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“Like you said, I don’t think, I know…I’m the son of the Devil.”
My father cocked his head to the side, giving a curt nod to the gun still in my hand. “Then prove it.”
“Cruz, this is ridiculous. He’s baiting you. Papá, what game are you playing right now?”
“I don’t play games, Adriana. I’m simply teaching your brother about what he’s making his business. It’s survival. It’s the difference between being King or bowing down to one. You’re a college graduate now. A man.” He moved aside, allowing Ambrosio to come into my sight. “Here’s your chance to earn your seat at my table.”
I stood there frozen, cemented to the floor that was caving beneath me. Time seemed to stand still as Ambrosio’s eyes bore into mine, which only started to unravel a deep resolve within my core. It didn’t help I could physically feel Adriana’s apprehension, beating its way into my body as she waited for his blood to flow over my hands.
My heart pounded against my chest, sweat pooled at my temples. The longer I stood there, the harder it was for me to pull the trigger. I could feel my father’s concentrated stare, burning a hole into the side of my face.
Ambrosio didn’t bat an eye. There was no fear in his expression. No worry in his composure. Nothing. Not one fucking reaction. I couldn’t help but wonder what made him that way.
Was it working for my father?
Has he seen too much?
Did he know I wouldn’t be able to do it?
The man was made of stone when he should have been crumbling to the ground. Begging for his life, or at least uttering his last words.
An apology.
A second chance.
Mercy.
Can I do this?
Do I have it in me? To take a life that doesn’t belong to me, all in the name of family.
From the second my gaze connected with Ambrosio’s, a profound sense of doubt and guilt tore through me. I was balancing on this tightrope that was my conscience.
Each time Ambrosio blinked, I imagined he had a family.
A wife.
A daughter.
A son.
A goddamn dog.
Overtaking the small space between us.
“Now or never, Crucifixio.”
His words were caving in on me. Dwelling in this dark hollow space of my heart and soul, I didn’t know I had until this moment, making me question absolutely everything.
Especially, whether I’m made for this hell…
I was crawling in my own skin, feeling a complete loss. My gut churned with indecisiveness, igniting an unfamiliar shiver to run down my spine, but just as fast as it came it was gone.
The Devil was on my shoulder.
My father.
Our father.
El Diablo.
I couldn’t control all the emotions, slamming me in the face. The unanswered what-ifs that spun around in my head with the current situation I found myself in. All at the will of my father.
As if reading my mind, he stepped out in front of me again. Placing himself in the line of my fire, blocking reality and Ambrosio from my view.
Adriana breathed out a huge sigh of relief when he stated, “Your mother would be proud.”
“And you?”
Slowly, he backed away, nodding for his men to follow.
I thought the words, “You want to be a Martinez?” would forever haunt me.
I was wrong.
With one last intense look in my direction, he declared the fate of my future.
“The Devil was an angel once, Crucifixio. And don’t you ever forget that.”
Chapter 3
—Cruz—
“What the fuck was that?” Adriana roared, slamming the door to my Ferrari.
“Relax.”
The red sportscar was a gift from my father for my twenty-first birthday. It wasn’t out of the norm for me to receive such an extravagant gift, especially from him. We lived in one of the wealthiest cities in all of Southern Italy, off the Amalfi Coast in the Province of Salerno. It wasn’t unusual for us to still live at home. It was common in Italy. Your parents provided for you until it was your turn to provide for your parents.
Family was everything.
The house we grew up in was a massive, gorgeous Mediterranean style home located on a cliff, overlooking the water. Money was never an issue for us. Whatever we wanted, we were given. No questions asked. Much to our mother’s disapproval, our father had always shown us the finer things in life.
Their upbringings were very different. In fact, complete opposite ends of the spectrum. She was poor and grew up in a foster home until she was eighteen-years-old. Her guardians didn’t hesitate to throw her out into the real world on her ass. As soon as they weren’t receiving a check from the government to provide a roof over her head, it was gone.
Despite the shitty hand she was dealt, our mother was resilient, a survivor. In her prime, she was a Prima Ballerina, one of the best from what we’d been told. She performed all over the world in sold-out theatres filled to the brim with people who were simply mesmerized by her skills and untouchable talent. Ballet may have owned her heart, but her soul had forever belonged to our father.