Chapter 41: forgiving.

LUCA

I’ve been staring at these documents—reading them over while weighing my options—for hours. It isn’t easy being the Don.

It involves a hell of a lot more paperwork than I would’ve ever assumed. Perhaps it’s because Cain left things in a fucking mess. I’d like to think I’ve chipped away at it, straightening shit out and strengthening the business overall.

I really can’t be certain.

The people who work for me seem to be a lot more optimistic than they were in the weeks leading up to Cain’s death. They appreciate having more direction, knowing that we’ve been maintaining and improving a sense of power that my predecessor had deteriorated.

It’ll help that I have plans on making a more intimate connection with Diablo Cardoso. It seems like the logical next step. He’s the one who backed me—who gave me the encouragement to end Cain’s life.

Besides that, I have nobody else that I’ve made any sort of connection with during my time working below Cain that I could use to forge a stronger relationship.

In all honesty, I don’t trust any of the other dons. Not even Diablo to the deepest extent. With the way he retaliated in memory of Marco, how could I? However, I trust him a hell of a lot more than someone like, say, Marchetti.

In fact, Marchetti was Cain’s sworn enemy. He did my bidding—killing Marco—simply because he wanted at Raven and Dove. He wanted to hit Cain where it hurt.

I can only assume that hatred would be passed down to me. Perhaps I’m incorrect in that assumption, but why would I think otherwise at this point? Especially when I’ve never met the man, and he could have knowledge about the fact that I was present when Dario—his man—was brutally murdered.

If I don’t cross Diablo, I truly believe we’ll have a good business relationship. He seems to respect me. Treat me as more of an equal. He appreciates what I have to say and isn’t afraid to ask me about what I think about things.

As long as he doesn’t find out about my involvement with Marco’s demise, I reckon we’ll be just fine.

I’ve invited him over today to catch up. I haven’t physically seen him since I found his ass hiding in Costa Rica and we’d made an agreement to meet after Cain’s death.

Eventually, someone knocks on my office door and Nero pokes his head in, “He’s here,” he informs me as if I didn’t see him on my cameras as his driver entered the driveway.

“Send him in.”

After a moment, Diablo enters and I greet him.

As Diablo saunters deeper into my office, I place my paperwork off to the side, pushing out my chair to stand and greet him. He nods approvingly as he admires the space before inquiring, “Did you renovate? After, y’know—” he makes a face, dragging a finger across the front of his neck.

I nod, glancing around at the far more modern decorations. “Yeah, got rid of pretty much everything.” But when my eyes scan over the shelving on the long wall, recalling the way I stuffed Raven’s knickers into her mouth and fucked her up against the surface while Cain and her fiancé were in the other room, I remember, “Everything but the bookshelf. I had it resurfaced.”

“It looks good. You’ve got way better taste than the last owner.”

I mean, I had to renovate the room. Not only was Cain’s blood all over the desk, flooring, and relative areas where he rested, but it had so many bad vibes and memories. Every time I stared at a certain spot on the flooring—at the spot where Cain stabbed his knife into Adiv’s throat—it’d cause horrible flashbacks to that night.

So, to aid in getting rid of that, I had someone come in and tear it all out. In the place where he took Adiv’s life, Raven suggested I place a decorative piece of furniture. She bought a beautiful vase and stuffed it full of similar lotuses to the ones that have since naturally grown where his body lays resting beside the pond.

However, I couldn’t stand that either. I’d still glance at the symbol of peace and love to my brother and that’s all I’d think of. I’d mentally picture his face—begging and pleading for help—as the life drained from his face.

Raven’s intentions were good, but it simply didn’t work. The trauma runs too deep.

“How have you been?” He questions, stopping near the chair across from me.

“Busy,” I answer because it’s the truth. I feel a bit uneasy because taking over Cain’s crown has resulted in me being thrown in the deep end. Not only am I trying to learn the ropes of everything, I have to dig us out of a hole so we don’t get completely obliterated.

“What’s next for the Moreno mafia?”

I run the tips of my fingers over the stubble on my jawline out of habit. “Strip clubs,” I admit.

He’s going to know whether I tell him or not. All the other families—the other dons—know exactly what each one is doing eventually.

I’ve been looking at one particular place that I’d like to purchase called Nueve de Espadas. It appears like a rather seedy joint, if I’m being totally honest. If I recall correctly, espadas means swords in Spanish and the owners have taken a rather phallic interpretation to it—fashioning nine oversized dicks on the outside of the building.

That’ll be one of the very first things I’ll change.

I don’t want this to be a business that degrades women and that sign seems to go against my intentions. I want this to be a respectable place where women feel more empowered to go to work.

This business and this world are dark, terrible places, but I’m not heartless. Not like Cain was. I’d prefer these women have stable jobs and not be sold to the sex trade. It’s literally the bare minimum and I’m probably metaphorically jerking myself off too much in ego, but it’s what I want to do.

In fact, Raven has even shown some interest in it. There’s a possibility that I might simply gift it to her and allow her to run the place. She’s been looking for some sense of purpose in the mafia world. Something to make her feel needed and empowered and this might be the perfect place.