Ravenous Kingpin (Kingpins of the Syndicate #4)

8. Emory

CHAPTER 8

Emory

W ithout power, you had nothing. It left you weak and vulnerable. But if you were positioned high enough, nobody touched you or yours.

So I planned to be on top, where nobody dared to look at me, until I was ready to disappear. With her . She was behind every decision I made; the higher I was and the more respect I garnered, the more they feared me.

And because of that fear, they all bowed down to the Syndicate and the DiLustros.

“They will bend the knee,” my brother had said once upon a time, after our father beat him black and blue. “One day, we will be at the top.”

Those words became my essence at the lowest point in my life. When my father had taken it all from me to teach me a lesson.

Pain pierced through my lower back and my father’s fingers curled around my throat, squeezing and squeezing. Until my heart clenched. Until I couldn’t breathe.

I was close to unconsciousness when he finally loosened his grip and air came rushing back into my lungs. I collapsed onto my knees in my prison cell, wondering where it’d all gone wrong.

I had been locked here for the past eight months, hidden from my brother and cousins who had no way of finding me or coming to my rescue. Not this time. My father ensured it, and frankly, I didn’t want them to find me, because Father would make their life hell too. So I went along with Father’s lies to Basilio and my cousins.

I couldn’t live with myself if they ended up suffering because of me.

My father’s cold eyes stared at me with disgust as I gasped at the pain. I knew I’d look back one day and remember labor being excruciating, but his treatment of me was even worse.

“You’re a disgrace to the DiLustro name,” he spat, procuring a bottle of water and holding it out to me like a cup of Christ or poisoned chalice.

While I debated whether or not to accept it—I knew better than to trust him—he threw the whole bottle in my face, and I gasped, partly from another wave of pain crashing through me and partly from the hate on his face that had me reeling backward.

Gritting my teeth, I frantically attempted to lap at the droplets clinging to my cheeks and mouth. I tugged at the chains binding my ankles, whimpering at the injustice of it all.

“You’re no better than a dog,” Father said in disgust. “Your mother was one too. Fucking bitch in heat getting knocked up.”

I was too feverish to decipher the meaning behind his words. I was a baby when my mother died. Basilio never talked about it, Father never talked about it, and I never asked. It was a forbidden subject in our household.

But I knew she tried to run from him and failed.

There was a whole level of darkness that surrounded her. She died, he lived, and it didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together.

But I had no time to dwell on it because another contraction had me doubling over, the raw sobs sounding foreign to my own ears.

Father barked some orders, and there was shuffling around me, but I couldn’t concentrate on any of it.

I looked down at my bruised knees, at the blood trickling down my thighs and onto the white-tiled floor.

Within a couple of minutes, I was stretched out, the cold, hard ground pressing against my spine.

“The baby’s coming,” someone shouted. “The umbilical cord is wrapped around the baby’s throat.”

“Don’t let the bastard girl die,” Father hissed.

My ears buzzed as more frantic voices shouted around me.

“No oxygen.”

“Cut the cord.”

The world spun while black dots swam in my vision. Would this be my end? Would this be my baby’s end?

The first cry rang out. Strong. Loud.

And for the first time in nine months, my heart filled with something besides fear.

Father held up a wrinkly, blood-smeared, bluish-red human being, and I reached out my hands.

“I… Can… I… hold ? —”

My voice seemed to come from a distance, and the white room spun faster and faster.

“No,” Father stated coldly, never even sparing me a glance. “She’ll settle our debt with the cartel.”

“No…”

My voice cracked, and I tried desperately to hang on to consciousness. “Please… I want to hold her.”

My chapped, cracked lips moved. But then a man hovered above me, and Father’s next words sent horror through me. “Sterilize her.”

“Sir, I’m a veterinarian.”

Father’s ominous laugh would haunt me for years to come as he spoke his next words: “How appropriate, since the girl acts like an animal, getting knocked up and making us all deal with the fallout. Make sure she’s awake during the procedure.”

I was numb when the probing started, wondering if I’d ever feel again.

When all was said and done, I missed the chance to hold my little girl. And I was told—threatened—that if I ever uttered a single word about what happened, my father would send an order to have my baby girl butchered and her organs sold.

At the end of it all, the joke was on Father. His own son ended his life. Maybe karma worked after all, sometimes it just took its sweet time.

Shoving the horrific memory deep in my heart, I took the stairs at my brother’s home in New York. The steps led to a grand hallway, with rich marble flooring contrasting the mostly white and black features and gold finishings. The ceilings were vaulted, and there was a painting done by an Italian artist depicting angels and gods soaring high in the domed space.

The home felt simultaneously huge and too small with all the noise my nephew, Grayson, and his newborn sister, Fallon, were making. It was the true meaning of a full house.

The black coat hanging over my arm matched the black suit pants I wore, giving the illusion of a put-together woman—a far cry from the dazed one this morning’s memory had left me. With my dark hair twisted in an elegant bun, I gave off a practiced air of strength and power. Being young was a weakness in any criminal organization, and the Syndicate was no exception.

At the bottom of the stairs, I was met by my nephew’s grinning face. Unlike mine and Basilio’s, the innocence of his childhood was top priority.

“Aunt Em,” he exclaimed, running into my arms without an ounce of reservation. “Can you make baby Fallon shut up? She screams too much.”

I winced, glancing around for my sister-in-law. Wynter wouldn’t be happy hearing him speak like that. He was allowed to dislike everyone but his own family.

“That’s what babies do. You did the same when you were born.”

His nose wrinkled and he scoffed, sounding too offended for a three-year-old. “Did not.”

“All babies cry,” I said softly. “It’s the way they exercise their lungs.”

“Why?”

And there was his infamous “why.” Grayson was the king of whys and wanted to understand the ins and outs of everything. Curious little bug.

“Well, if their lungs are strong, they grow up to be strong humans. Kind of like you.”

I knelt in front of him and he looked up at me as if he thought the world of me, and I would be his savior. Not that he needed one, because my brother would murder anyone who dared look at this kid the wrong way.

Unlike our father who forced a goddamn vet to sterilize me.

I gave my head a subtle shake, refusing to let my thoughts drift back in that direction. What was done was done and wallowing in self-pity wouldn’t do me any good. I had a daughter out there, and I intended on getting her back.

She was my future.

Cupping my nephew’s soft cheeks, I met his gaze.

“You know how your papà protects you?” He nodded seriously. “That’s how you need to protect your sister. It’s how we protect our family.”

He nodded furiously.

I smiled warmly at him and gave his hand a squeeze before letting go.

He was young, yet I suspected he understood exactly what I meant. I could only pray that my daughter had someone protecting her.

“Papà said… He said…”

“Yes?”

He straightened his shoulders. “That I’m a big boy.”

I gently tilted his chin up so he could meet my eye.

“You certainly are, Grayson. And we’re all so proud of you.” I stood and stroked his hair back. “Now, will you show me the way to your father?”

His expression lit up. “Of course.”

I let him lead me around the manor until we reached the home office. Its double doors were gilded, and no matter how many times I visited, I still found it amusing. I had no idea what Basilio was thinking when he bought such a gaudy house.

I ruffled my nephew’s dark hair.

“Thank you, Grayson. Now go check on your mom and sister.” He turned on his heel and took off running as I opened the office door, greeting my brother. “Good morning, Bas.”

He grunted a response, pointing to his phone. “Sebastian, if I see any one of your men roaming my streets, I’ll have them skinned alive and their skeletons delivered to you.”

The head of the Tijuana cartel chuckled darkly. “And if I was invited?”

“New York is my territory,” Bas barked. “I assure you that neither I nor anyone in my family has invited you.”

I met my brother’s impenetrable gaze, stiffening my shoulders.

“That’s right,” I said, clearing my throat. If the man was smart, he’d keep his mouth shut. “Your only job is to deliver the product and scurry back to your hole.”

There was a heartbeat of silence and then a dark chuckle. “Miss DiLustro, you must have bigger balls than all three of the other kingpins combined.”

Basilio rolled his eyes, then barked, “Get the delivery on my dock tomorrow.”

My brother ended the call, then crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes locked on me. He rocked back and forth a few times before speaking up.

“What’s going on with you?”

My eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He tilted his head, studying me. Even though his face was emotionless, his eyes betrayed him. I knew that look well. Concern sat deep in his eyes that resembled mine so much.

It was worry, the same kind that lingered in his eyes when we were children and our sadistic father would put us through hell. Bas always—fucking always—protected me. With the exception of one time.

Not even he could protect me from what happened. That would’ve required him to know about it. It was a burden I was destined to carry alone.

The silence between us stretched until I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “You worry too much.”

“How can I not,” he murmured. “You’re my baby sister.”

I shook my head. “Don’t you think you have enough on your plate with two children and a wife? You really need to let it go. I can take care of myself.”

“Why aren’t you dating?”

I swallowed. “Nobody interests me.”

“Are you sure that’s it?”

“Yeah, I… Yeah.” I threw a dismissive hand up at his question.

Basilio remained silent for a second or two, but asked in a contemplative tone, “How about we find you a husband?”

“What?” Obviously I hadn’t heard him right.

“Not all marriages end in heartbreak, Em. Look at me and Wynter.” He shrugged.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“It’s actually a perfectly sane solution. Even Priest is married. It’s only logical that you would follow suit.”

“I would rather die than marry some Italian fool who’ll try to make me into some obedient wife.” I scoffed. “And FYI, I’m not a follower.”

He flashed me a grin. He did that more and more—smiled and laughed—since marrying Wynter.

“Clearly. After all, you’re the first woman to ever have a seat at the Syndicate table.”

“I earned it.”

“Of course you did. And we no longer have to keep it a secret.” He stood up and flicked me a glance over his shoulder. “Take a husband that you can use as a puppet.”

“Such men don’t exist.”

He made his way to the door, probably eager to return to his wife and kids.

“They do. I’ve encountered a few, and I can give you a list of names if you’re interested.” Oh Jesus, not another list .

“I see your reasoning, Bas.” He smiled and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “But no, thank you.”

My brother had my best interest at heart, but there was no way I’d tie myself to someone and have yet another thing to worry about ditching when it was time to disappear.

“Stubborn,” he muttered under his breath, crossing his office in search of his family and leaving me alone as blue eyes invaded my thoughts.

Killian Brennan Cullen.

That single night with him represented the best part of my life, almost like a dream. And now he was barreling back into my life like a tornado, and I couldn’t quite decide whether he was a friend or a foe. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop and him to announce to the world that we had a not-so-innocent encounter in London six years ago.

One secret revealed would lead to many others. And where would that leave me?

Those kinds of worries had me jolting awake in the middle of the night, sweating and shaking.

I had to find my daughter as soon as possible. I had to get her away from the Syndicate and this way of life. I couldn’t help remembering the only normal summer I had ever had. That was the kind of life I wanted for my daughter. Free of crime. Free of the mafia. Free of the men who’d use her and abuse her.

And most of all, we had to get away before the cold and calculating Killian Brennan Cullen could ruin my plans.