𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐞'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬.
~𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧~

𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐚

Some say legacy is a gift. I say it depends on what exactly is handed down to you.

Mine is of a different kind. I am to be the successor to a crime family—a don—the head of more than my family. I wasn't born in it, not exactly. I was born in a different environment—a violent one. This is my duty because the universe decided it should be mine, the same way it conspired to have me fathered not by my stepfather, the man married to my mother at the time, but by the man I fell in love with the first time I met him. My biological father.

While I might not have been born for this role, I was groomed for it. I had the most vicious training, which was part of my agreement with the patriarchs, especially my father. In exchange to joining racing, something I loved, I would dedicate part of my time to learning how to lead or head these ten families under ours. Something I never told Lia.

I met two out of three each month since I left home at fourteen. Uncle Raph was the most intense, perhaps because he was the current boss. That he would want me to be as lethal, committed, or feared as he was or more was not a secret.

"Are you afraid, Luc?" He asked when we stopped at pulse. We had been silent the whole journey from home

"No," I answered, turning to face him.

"Worried, then?"

"Nope!" I confirmed, and he gave me a slight grin.

"It's understandable if you are worried," uncle Rom voiced, squeezing my shoulder.

"I'm not."

I wasn't. I was prepared; I have been ready since I was chosen as the heir apparent. It was my destiny; I took it as such.

We got out of the car almost simultaneously as my father and Lia did; strangely, he had not driven as fast as he was used to.

Though it wasn't the norm, I noticed my dad and uncle Rom stepping aside to let uncle Raph go in first, and then they followed closely behind—another gesture of how a don is respected.

It was beginning to dawn on me; it felt like an initiation, perhaps it was. Once we entered the office, uncle Rom closed the door leaning at the back of it; only the five of us were in that room; the bodyguards remained outside.

"How many guns do you have, Luc?" Uncle Raph asked, sounding foreign, his voice brutal and uncompromising, while his dark eyes made me want to squirm under his stare.

I did not. I held his gaze like he expected me to.

"Three," I said, internally congratulating myself on how steady my voice sounded.

"Those are enough. Lia?"

"Two," Lia responded beside me, trying to give her father the same stare he was giving her.

She failed. He grinned.

"Would you like another one?"

With a straight face, she said, "no. I'm out of space?"

Uncle Rom chuckled, something he rarely did though the other two swear he softened a little after Lia was born since she was the first to be born in the family. I've always wanted to know how he was when he was younger, how they all were.

"Okay. Bullets?"

"Enough to slay an army."

I felt a slight smile streach across my lips. Maybe whoever said every king needed a queen was right; I needed Lia today and for the rest of our lives.

Once the preliminaries were done, uncle Raph sat down, pulling ten white cards from a drawer on the right. I watched him handwrite all ten using his left hand.

"Dad, aren't you right-handed?" Lia asked in shock, the same way I felt.

"I am. But I write these with my left hand."

"Since when?"

"Since the first time I called one of these meetings."

"Does mom know?" I heard not only apprehension but fear. Lia was afraid that she was about to see a side of her father that she probably never imagined. I understood it. However, she couldn't run from it or escape. It was her legacy, her heritage.

"No," he responded to her in a soft, soothing tone. "Now you and Luc know too. That makes us five. It's not a big secret, sweetheart."

He was right; it wasn't. But what else did we not know about these three? A door was about to be opened wide—a pandora's box that Lia and I would never tell a soul, not even the others until they got a glimpse of their own.

Lia did not respond, but she nodded.

In each of those cards, he wrote, dietro il palazzo comunale in un'ora.

Behind the townhouse in an hour.

A cryptic message because I wasn't aware we had a townhouse. I shot Lia a look, and she shook her head.

After signing all the cards, he gave them to me to give the guards outside. I did, closing the door immediately after.

With almost shaking hands, I shoved them in the pocket, looking at him while he roamed his eyes between Lia and me.

"If there were a choice, we wouldn't want this for you. It's tough, ruthless, and only the strongest survive. We did it with so little resources, and we made it. You will too. You've got more than you'll ever need. In a way, this game is rigged in your favor; all you've got to do is know how to play it—never reveal your emotions, always have a trump card in your pocket, don't show mercy, demand loyalty, chop off the heads of treacherous people, and know all your people. Most importantly, do not invite people you cannot fully trust to your family. That is why we have two sides of the family home, and even then, only a few of those can access it. We told you all these before you were teenagers. Don't ever forget it. It's essential to surround yourself with trustworthy people. This is perilous business."

I felt Lia gulp, "Are you ready?"

We nodded

"We'll be the first in the venue. One of the best things about being the boss is you get to call the shots."

What could I say to that? It was perfect. No one is there hiding guns or waiting to ambush us.

Uncle Rom went out first, followed by the boss, us, and dad. The remaining guards at the door followed us outside. I wasn't sure of the plan, but I was about to find out.

Suddenly, I wasn't afraid; I was excited and anxious.

***************Lia****************

"Sit at the back; Matteo will in the front," uncle Bruno told me. I did, sucking my breath softly to avoid him hearing it as I sat down.

This was it, I thought, sighing, leaning back on the seat.

Rolling down the window, I shoved my head out to see Luc leap beside my father in the back seat; I did not envy him; being the boss came with more responsibilities than I would ever want to have.

Uncle Bruno drove behind one of the bodyguard's cars; uncle Rom followed until a motorcade formed. I noticed four cars were precisely the same make, the same color, and the exact specifications; I imagined it was a measure of security.

"Roll up the window." I heard the grunt, as if something was stuck in his throat.

I rolled up the window, staring at the back of his head for a second or so. This meeting was about to change who I thought I was; I could feel it.

We drove slowly in silence, the motorcade seeming like a head of state on the move; it was impressive and frightening at the same time. I closed my eyes to focus on my thought, trying to silence the demons from breaking out of me. I had them; I felt them when I got angry enough to entertain murderous thoughts.

Driving for an hour in anxiety is never fun. I placed my hand across my stomach, letting out a soft breath when the car stopped outside a big black gate. Unlike the mammoth one that closeted our home, this one was humbly smaller.

I heard the slamming of closing doors, but I sat still, even after being alone inside. I think I was there longer than they expected because Luc suddenly pulled my door open, making me spring up in surprise.

"You scared the shit out of me," I swore, glaring at him. He scowled back at me, stretching out his hand towards me.

I sighed again, this time loudly. I didn't mind Luc hearing it. My breath caught when he caressed my face for a split second with the tips of his fingers.

"I'm okay," I said, pushing him out of the way as I slid off the car.

"Come on," my father's voice boomed, we followed them. Watching as he walked between the uncles, his hands in the grey long coats he wore.

I have thought about this meeting since were told of it. At first, I figured it would be like everyone else taking over their family business, but when we saw that dead body, what followed in the intervening years was a discovery that our family was different.

That our fathers were as dangerous as they were generous. As cruel as they were loving.

It wasn't a town house, it was a bungalow. It stood in a partially isolated place though I could see the next home miles away if I squinted really hard.

Sunlight poured into the conference room in a golden gleam—a table in the middle, two screens on the wall, and a few cameras on the ceiling were the first things I saw. It was comfortable—almost homely, given that there was a counter with coffee and sandwiches at the far end, the aroma hitting my nosrils the nearer I got.

"What now?" I asked as I passed my father, seated at the head of the table.

"We wait. He replied, taking out his phone. I noticed there wasn't a seat at the foot of the table.

"Why isn't there a seat here?" I pointed, my eyes shifting my eyes between the patriarchs. They didn't respond for a while, which freaked me out because I thought the answer would be spine-chilling.

"It's Luc's seat, but today, he stands on my right."

I stole a glance at him, Luc, standing by the door, hands across his chest, his face inscrutable, his strong jawline marking the already beautiful face to perfection; his cold green eyes made me gasp, hiccupping as I stared at him.

Where the hell was my lover? The man that spent hours exploring my body, whispering flirty phrases in my ear? This wasn't him.

Quickly moving my gaze from him, I poured a cup of coffee for myself, took a sandwich and ate while standing. I wasn't hungry, but I needed something to do.

"Where do I sit?"

"No sitting. You stand on my left side." My father said, lifting his eyes to my face for a bit.

I don't know what he thought he would see, but I saw a tiny stretch of his lips.

A few minutes later, we heard loud vrooms of cars into the compound, I swiftly put my cup down before walking to stand on my father's left.

I stood straight, my hands on my back, watching as older men trudged into the room.

It was either a coincidence, or they waited for each other. I bet it was the latter, a coincidence, as my father says, should never be trusted.

Each of them gave a slight bow to my father even though he was younger than all of them. He was the boss after all—the don—the head of their families.

The last man to enter was the eldest. He wore a brown suit, a cardigan of the same color, a black fedora, grasping tightly to a walking stick coated in gold at the grip. But beside him was a petite woman with piercing brown eyes, hair sternly pulled back, leaving her face shiny, pink-painted lips,  and simple long earrings.

Carrie Verratti.

Damn! There is no way these three men would ever be caught unaware. I wondered if Carrie knew who I was.

"Gentlemen, welcome." my father's voice sounded unfamiliar to my ears, his cold eyes even more alien just like Luc had been.

I felt I would have a different relationship with my father after today. Probably more open. But whether I liked it or not. This was my heritage.

       Xoxo