Raw Bloody Power

Chapter 2

2

THE ROWDIEST BOYS IN TOWN

Rio

“Order’s up, Dino!” my brother, Leandro, yells through the service window at the back of the restaurant.

Papa Gino’s—it’s been in the family since the early 1900s.

We have pizza to Spaghetti Bolognese and everything else in between—all authentic and homemade, of course—with fresh ingredients and recipes handed down through the generations. I spent a lot of my youth doing deliveries and helping out around here, saving every nickel and dime from tips for future investments. It was rewarding—fun, even—especially when my younger brothers were old enough to join me and Ma would come after us with the spatula for fucking around in the kitchen.

Despite fulfilling my role as heir to the throne, I still pop in a few times a week, mostly to grab lunch or give my brothers a hard time. There’s only three of them left here. Alvaro’s already joined me and dad, running numbers and keeping the books like the math whiz he is. Technically, Leandro should be , too, he’s old enough, but someone has to keep an eye on the two youngest, Franco and Dino. He and Mama do all the cooking, while Franco seats and serves the in-house guests, and Dino’s little sixteen-year-old ass runs deliveries.

A lot of boys, I know, but Mama really wanted a girl. She kept popping us out over the years in hopes she’d one day have the daughter she dreamed about, but sadly, that never came to be. She almost lost Dino during labor and was too traumatized to try again afterward, so now she just hopes for daughters-in-law and granddaughters to fill the pink, frilly void in her heart.

“Dino, let’s go, man!” Leandro hollers again, earning him a hushed laugh on my part.

“Chill, brother. He’s taking a leak.”

Dropping the triple stack of pizza boxes on the formica counter beside me, he wipes at the sweat beading down his forehead and rolls his dark eyes. “More like taking a shit. He’s been in there forever.”

Of all my brothers, he and I look the most alike. Same dark hair, same soulless eyes. Franco’s a mini Alvaro with their lighter features, and Dino is somehow a blend of us all with the dark hair/light eyes combo.

“Nah, he’s probably jacking it,” Frankie quips as he comes around the corner, serving tray tucked beneath his arm. “That lil’ hoe he’s been fucking with sent him a pussy pic earlier. He’s been foaming at the mouth since.”

Way to go, little bro .

“And you would know this, how?” I question in amusement.

Franco looks at me like I’m dense as fuck. “What else would have him holding the phone that close to his face?”

“Tits,” Leo throws out, squeezing the air with both hands and shaking his head furiously, tongue flicking out and all.

“Maybe for you. I’m more of a hips, thighs, and ass man my—” I don’t even get to finish that sentence before a familiar hand thwacks the back of my head.

“Abbastanza! The three of you!” Ma grits through her teeth. Enough! Her deep brown eyes flick between the three of us murderously, hands falling to her curvy hips. “Have I taught you absolutely nothing? There’s customers!”

That spatula I mentioned earlier? It’s cinched tightly in her grip, waiting to strike its next victim without remorse. My money’s on Franco’s dumb ass.

“What’d I miss?” Dino asks as he finally emerges from the bathroom, quickly tucking his Papa Gino’s t-shirt into his jeans before Ma notices.

Frankie’s striking green eyes flick to the youngest Guerra, a wicked grin spreading his lips. “Oh, nothing, just talking about that pussy pic Sofia sent you and whether we prefer titties or ass.”

See?

Idiot and a half.

The next ten seconds happen so quickly, you’d think my mom was a ninja or some shit. She might be in her fifties, but age plays zero factor here. She gasps, and every singular drop of blood in her body rushes to her face. “Franco Antonio Guerra!” she bellows, Italian emphasis thick.

That’s when you know she means business.

I’m surprised smoke isn’t billowing from her ears as she slaps the spatula across his chest, then his arm, the back of his head.

“Ow, Ma, ow!” he shrieks like a little bitch, taking off for the back office with her right on his tail.

Why he thinks she wouldn’t follow is beyond me.

“It’s always Frankie,” Leandro chortles, shaking his head.

“Or Dino,” I add, turning to the brother in question.

He puts Franco’s antics to shame. All of ours when we were his age, really, and let me tell you, I was pretty fucking bad myself. It’s like watching an instant replay of my youth sometimes… only worse.

“What the hell did I do?” the little asshole carps back, grabbing a delivery bag off the shelf to shove the three pizza boxes inside.

I wrap an arm around his shoulders and give him an amused shake. “Nothing this time, lil’ bro, but it is usually you giving Ma all those gray hairs these days.”

“Bullshit. You act like you didn’t give her any,” he barks defensively.

“I never said I didn’t. I’m just not giving them to her right now. At least, not as often as you.”

My brother purses his lips and grabs the delivery receipts hung by the window, tipping his chin toward my helmet. “Lie to yourself. That bike alone gives her at least five gray hairs daily.”

“Facts!” Leo agrees, already hard at work on the next meal. “She hates that thing.”

“I hate what now?” Mama questions behind me, prompting Dino to rush out the door like The Flash before she can get to him.

Retrieving my helmet off the counter, I give it a little shake as she appears beside me with that speculative look in her eyes. “This.”

She hums in concession, pursing her lips much in the same way Dino did not three minutes ago. “It’s a casket on wheels.”

“Ma,” I laugh, swallowing her in a tight hug. “I know what I’m doing; relax.”

“That’s what they all say until they’re bulldozed by some idiot running a red light,” she huffs into my chest.

“Then it’s a good thing I always look both ways, huh?” Easing back, I smack a kiss on both of her cheeks and her forehead. “Okay, I gotta go. Duty calls.”

As in checking out the damage left by my pyrofest earlier this morning.

Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t ask what that all entails. She never does. My mother is the true definition of a mafia wife: doesn’t ask questions, supportive to a fault, always prepared and dressed for any occasion, throws the meanest parties…and will somehow make a motherfucker mysteriously disappear if they fuck with her family.

“Be safe,” she demands, and with a quick goodbye to Leo, I’m out the door, squeezing my head into my helmet.

Un-fucking-fortunately for me, the ride to Soho isn’t as thrilling as I’d hoped it would be. I was eager to see the pile of rubble and ash left in my wake—and a part of me still is—but with each mile closer, my mind catapults me back to the past. Even the soothing thrum of the matte black Ducati between my legs does nothing to quell the rage that’s resurfaced on my trip down memory lane. Some people can forgive and forget, others are capable of forgiveness but never forgetting, and then there’s people like me—those who can hold a grudge until the end of time.

Those who can keep a promise.

Honor a vow.

I promised her she’d regret her decisions if she ever came back…and she did. This is me keeping that promise.

Killing the engine, I swing a leg over the bike and push up the tinted visor of my helmet as I trot up the steps to the wasted bakery. The exterior looks like a haunted house, soot covering every inch of what used to be traditional red brick with a black and white striped awning. Yellow caution tape blocks the entrance, and as I duck my way through, quirking my lips in satisfaction, I’m surprised at how little remains standing inside.

The interior walls? Most of them are gone, the dry wall and insulation, anyway. Only the wood frames remain, allowing me a perfect view of the entire of place without having to move so much as a step. The display cases at the front are mostly unrecognizable, the case itself melted and deformed, the glass shattered, and all the treats inside burned to a crisp. The steel appliances, while scorched beyond repair, are right where they’re supposed to be, along with the oversized steel workspaces.

That’s it, though. Aside from that, there’s no evidence this was ever a short-term booming business.

She’s lucky I let her have it as long as I did, that I didn’t destroy it the day she opened her doors. My inner asshole enjoyed the thought of giving her false hope, though, allowing her to believe, for just one second, I’d forgotten all about her.

If only she were so lucky.

I’ll never forget, and now that she’s decided to come back, I’m gonna make sure she won’t, either.

Buckle up, Belucci. I’m just getting started.