Chapter 0007

EROS

The sound of sniffling reached my ears as I held the doorknob to my room. I should’ve ignored it, should’ve shut my door on it. After everything that had happened a week ago, I should’ve been strong enough to turn my back to the sound.

But instead, I walked toward it.

The one crying in the room was the only person who had every power over me and my resolve.

I opened the door and stepped in. The light in the room was dim, only the lamp on the bedside table turned on. And on the ground was a familiar figure seated, leaning her back onto the side of the bed, her head resting on her knees, her legs close to her chest and hands hugging them as a wreath of protection. She looked so fucking broken that made my chest ache.

“Amara?” I called in a soft voice, pacing toward the bed and crouching before her.

She lifted her head, and what I saw in her eyes made me numb for a few seconds. Her eyes and cheeks were red and her nose was brighter than the same shade, a sign that she’d been crying for a long while.

I had been angry at her for weeks, for continuing against me and Adonis and meddling with Elias Morello, of all people. For slapping me when I’d tried to talk some sense into her. Seeing her like this, I could think of nothing but to rip the entire world apart, to kill Elias for using her like a fucking chess piece, and to punish myself for not seeing this sooner. If I’d acknowledged her feeling for Elias in time, I could’ve pulled her back.

But then, no one could’ve imagined Elias to become a traitor toward us. Toward his own people. And for what? Thirst for power.

“What happened?” She didn’t speak, but stared at me with her hooded eyes. My jaw twitched, and I snapped, “Did Elias do something? Oh, I will kill that fucking bastard.”

She held my hand before I could storm out in my murderous rage. Her fingers were trembling and freezing against my skin. Dead cold.

“It’s not Elias.” Her voice was nasally, and the words came out of her throat with great difficulty. “It’s me. I’m the problem.”

“What? You’re not the problem—”

She shook her head and protested, “No matter which way you see it, it’s my fault. It’s always been my fucking fault. I let Elias in and he killed Carlo. He set Leona up as well. Adonis almost died because of that woman.”

“None of this is your fault. Do you fucking understand? If anyone’s to blame, it’s Elias. You were merely . . . in love.” My last two words were whispered.

She laughed through her flowing tears. “He ruined me, just for Adonis to bend.”

“Adonis will do whatever the fuck it takes to keep you safe,” I said with nothing but certainty, “and so will I.”

“Will Adonis give the capo’s position up?” Her eyes, like mine, flickered.

I didn’t need to answer, because she already knew. Adonis loved Amara. I loved Amara. Like I was ready to kill anyone, Adonis would give up everything if it meant she was safe.

“Please ask him not to. I don’t want Elias to win, and Adonis leaving means exactly that.” She leaned her head back and said, “That video can’t do any more damage than it already has.”

“Don’t tell me it doesn’t affect you.” No matter how many pieces we had broken the tape into, nothing would bring her peace. Nothing would bring her innocence back.

What she’d felt for Elias was pure love, which was used for the power play. Amara had been straightforward, but not even the frankest person in the world would be okay with people looking at them and thinking about their sex tape. This was no less than rape, an equal violation.

I wished she hadn’t discovered about that fucking video.

“Just tell him not to do it. I swear he won’t have any problem with me ever again.”

She rubbed her face, wiped her tears and nose, and smiled. It was a surprise to me that a person like her, who always smiled, suddenly couldn’t even force one. She had to fake it.

“Elias would never get a chance to use me again.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to Adonis. You know how stubborn our brother is. He won’t take any chances.”

She pulled herself up on her feet and I watched patiently as she lay on her bed and then tucked herself under her sheets. Something wasn’t right. Something in her words stung, but I ignored it and strode toward the door.

“I love you, Eros,” she whispered, her voice tired. “Tell that to Adonis too.”

I snapped my eyes open, my body sweating and chest heaving. Amara’s words repeated in my head while I stared at the colourless ceiling, questioning everything I’d done till now. I couldn’t protect my sister from the devils of the Mob world. What kind of man was I? What kind of brother would fail their own sister in the way I had?

Twisting around, I pulled myself up from the bed and made my way out of my room. The mansion was enormous, but useless for a man who lived alone. Amara’s room was on the other end of the long corridor, the two rooms in between just as untouched as hers.

Over the years, I had let no one mess with the room, besides the occasional dusting. Otherwise, it was the same as Amara had left it.

I opened the door and my eyes carefully skimmed the entire space, every bit of furniture covered in either white sheets or wrappers. Amara’s smell and essence still lingered in the place, even when she was gone and would never return.

Adonis hid the pain caused by her absence like a master. Unfortunately, I wasn’t as strong as him. My insides still seared when someone talked about her and ached when I entered this god-damned mansion. Just a silent, lonely mansion.

I sat on the bed that used to belong to her; the sheets smoothed out. Unused. My mind rewound the memory of Amara’s first day inside this place, utterly despising my choice of decor. She loved colours, whereas Adonis and I, as her brothers, loved anything and everything dark; aesthetics that matched our true personalities: twisted and broken.

That same girl grew to hate colours, laughter and love, turned into something no one could recognise. I was never angry with her for the slap or for talking back to me. Adonis was never furious about her not following his orders and staying away from Elias. We were just . . . scared of losing her.

Eight years. That was how long she’d been gone. She could’ve disappeared, ran away and started her life elsewhere, somewhere where no one knew her. At least that way I could’ve held onto the hope of seeing her again, of finding her amid the crowd and dragging her ass back home, of helping her heal.

But no . . . she had to pull the trigger on herself. For Adonis. For me. For that motherfucking Elias.

Maybe if I had said the right thing to her that night, she would’ve been here, managing the Castellanos industries like a perfect businesswoman. Only if I had said what she wanted to hear.

“You’re safe.”

***

Chaos curdled inside me, mostly because, just two days before my marriage, whoever wanted me fucking dead had burned one of my warehouses. And then there was Adonis, fuming, his eyes filled with devilish rage. He was the devil reincarnated, if not something worse.

“Bratva?” Dom asked as he entered the study room of Adonis’s mansion in Brooklyn.

“Could be.” I shrugged. “Since Elias is dead as a doornail.”

Adonis’s eyes shifted to me at the bitterness in my voice. He knew the reason for it, too. “Are you still pissed about the killing?”

“Oh, is that your way of asking if I’m mad about being left out when you and your new best friend had your fun with Elias fucking Morello?” I sniggered.

“Best friend?” Adonis asked with an arched brow. “I don’t make best friends, brother. You, of all people, should know that.”

It wasn’t jealousy about my brother forming quite the relationship with the capo of Outfit, who was also his brother-in-law. It was anger. Anger for not being able to see Elias suffering, for not being able to kill him myself.

“Besides, you should be happy that Elias is dead.” The tone of his voice made me want to slam a fist on his face.

Dom gave us both a worried glance and walked out of the room. He couldn’t help with anything here. It was just between me and Adonis. It angered me even more because Dom was present there, but they hadn't even informed me until later that day.

“Happy about what?” I scoffed in disbelief. “About your martyr complex impeding my revenge?”

“Martyr complex?”

“I should’ve been there, Adonis. I should’ve been there to see him bleed to death. To see the glimpse of terror in his eyes and the realisation of his own doom on his face. To cut his hands, tongue and dick off for touching my sister, for taking advantage of her, for ruining her.” It shocked Adonis to see my composure breaking. I rarely let that happen. “To videotape his agony as a memory. I would’ve gifted it to Amara’s grave.”

“And you think that would’ve taken the guilt away?” He ran a hand through his hair and gritted his teeth. “As a brother, I did you both a favour by killing Elias myself.”

“See, that’s your martyr self talking,” I grunted. “All that pent up guilt, you’re free of yours because you could punish the man who was responsible for all of it. But what about me? What about my guilt and pain?”

He shook his head. “Killing Elias didn’t take the guilt and the pain away, but added more to them. Killing him didn’t bring her back, no matter how many times he died. She’s dead. Nothing we do will bring her justice now.”

I closed my eyes, refusing to accept my tears. They were a weakness I couldn’t afford, not even in front of my brother. He walked around the table and paused in front of me as I looked back at him.

Holding my shoulders in a firm grip, he said, “When he took his last breath, I thought the demons that I carried would leave me alone. I remembered Amara’s smile and how it faded with time because of him and that made me angry, but then I remembered the time Elias was our friend and everything that made him an enemy with time.”

“Blood never brings peace, does it?” I asked.

My voice was so vulnerable that Adonis’s eyes softened. He held the back of my head and touched the crown of his head to mine, a slight gesture we and Amara had instead of words of apologies and affections. The only gesture we knew said more than words. We’d never showed it to people, as anybody could see how much our blood mattered to us.

“Would we ever forgive ourselves?” I muttered.

He gave a slight shake. “I don’t know. But after the whole bloody scene, when I came back home and saw Isobel and Alessia tucked in, safe and sound, it was the closest I’ve felt to peace in a long time. And I realised Amara wouldn’t want either of us to go on the road of vengeance.”

“Of course she wouldn’t. She killed herself because she thought it would make the road less bloody. She thought . . .” My voice choked, but I managed, “She thought Elias wouldn’t have any leverage against you, all the shame we’d been facing would be gone, and you wouldn’t have to bow. But I just wish—”

“I know,” he said, knowing exactly what I would say. “I wish the same. But she’s gone. She won’t find peace unless we forgive ourselves, brother. ”

I doubted I could ever forgive myself. A lifetime of misery and torment at the hands of my own guilt was my fate.