Surrendering to the Don's Dark Desires - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
You are reading Surrendering to the Don's Dark Desires, Chapter 2: Chapter 2. Read more chapters of Surrendering to the Don's Dark Desires.
Golden Sicilian sunlight floods the conference room through floor-to-ceiling windows as I make my entrance. Matteo stands framed against Palermo's coastline, his posture radiating the quiet intensity that's made him my most reliable lieutenant.
Eighteen degrees in November - same temperature as Los Angeles, where I'd earned my MBA under the alias Dominic Rossi. At eighteen, I became the first Sovrano heir to break tradition by studying abroad. Don Vittorio had raged against my defiance, but Nonna's intervention secured my escape. Not that I owed her any thanks - she'd spent decades silently watching as my father's cruelty first destroyed my mother, then turned on me.
Those years forged something dangerous inside me. By the time my plane touched down at LAX, I'd learned to weaponize pain - both giving and receiving it. The darkness within became my greatest asset, teaching me to identify weaknesses, exploit vulnerabilities, and meticulously plan retribution against anyone foolish enough to cross me. Betrayal is a debt I always collect - with interest.
This philosophy carried me through UCLA's hallowed halls and back to Sicily sharper than any blade. My reckoning with Don Vittorio would come when the time was right. Until then, I'd use every brutal lesson he'd taught me to strengthen my hold on Cosa Nostra.
"Dom." Cristiano's voice rumbles from where he's leaning against the mahogany paneling. My half-brother cracks his knuckles dramatically. "Meeting starts in five."
"You losing your edge?" I glance at my Patek Philippe. "It starts when I say it does." My eyes sweep over his tailored Brioni suit. "Though I see you're dressed for your second career as a Milanese socialite."
Cristiano flashes that trademark smirk that's charmed marks from Monte Carlo to Macau. "Women appreciate a man who doesn't dress like an undertaker."
"Funny." I adjust my cuffs. "Last I checked, Valentino designed this suit specifically for—"
"For men planning a funeral?" Cristiano interrupts, running a hand through his sun-streaked hair. "Face it, fratello. The brooding mafioso look is outdated. These days, real power wears camel hair and a Rolex Daytona."
Around the table, my brothers suppress smiles. Lorenzo - second only to Matteo - maintains his usual stoic expression, though I catch the twitch of his lips. The twins, Alessandro and Raphael, exchange glances. Only Marco, my personal guard and the sole non-family member present, remains stone-faced.
Matteo drops into the chair nearest the exit with practiced ease. "Are we doing business today, or is this another episode of 'Roast the Don'?"
"Patience, fratello." Raphael leans forward, his youthful face belying his thirty-two years. "Christian was just getting to the good part about his latest conquest."
"Actually," Alessandro cuts in with an identical smirk, "I believe our dear brother has a hot date with his right hand tonight."
Lorenzo snorts espresso through his nose. Even Marco's mustache twitches.
"Careful," Matteo warns, tipping his chair back. "Keep acting like teenagers and I'll start treating you like ones."
"Technically," Raphael points out, "we're all in our thirties. Though someone—" he gestures at Alessandro "—still gets carded at nightclubs."
"Two minutes!" Alessandro growls. "You're older by two fucking minutes."
"Which still makes you baby brother," Cristiano sing-songs.
"Enough." My quiet command cuts through the banter. "We have actual threats to discuss." I turn to Matteo. "The Russian situation?"
"Handled." Matteo's fingers drum the table. "We identified the Bratva cell targeting our shipments. Their pakhan now understands the consequences of further... misunderstandings."
Cristiano's chair scrapes violently. "Why are we negotiating? They attacked our cargo! We should send them back in pieces!"
"Because war is expensive," I counter calmly. "And bad for business. Or have you forgotten how you made your fortune?"
My enforcer scowls. "I haven't. But neither have I forgotten what happens when predators smell weakness."
Suddenly I'm nose-to-nose with him, the table between us meaningless. "Let me be clear." My whisper somehow fills the room. "There is no weakness here. Only strategy. Question my judgment again, and you'll learn the difference firsthand."
Cristiano holds my gaze for three heartbeats before stepping back with a theatrical bow. "As you wish, Don Sovrano."
The tension breaks as Matteo clears his throat. "There's another matter. The leak to The Seven."
Every muscle in my body tenses. The so-called "Seven" - England's wealthiest power brokers - believe our family kidnapped them as children. Their decades-long vendetta has cost us millions. Now someone inside is feeding them intelligence.
"We've identified the rat," Alessandro confirms. "Junior accountant in our London office. Nathaniel Bauer."
Matteo's jaw tightens. "Caught him exporting encrypted files to a shell company. We have him downstairs." I don't need to ask which "downstairs" he means. The wine cellar's special accommodations have hosted many reluctant guests.
"And?"
"He's... resistant." Matteo's knuckles whiten around his espresso cup. "Claims he was coerced."
Cristiano barks a laugh. "Let me guess - someone threatened his pretty fiancée? Isabella, wasn't it?"
Alessandro nods. "Surveillance shows her making regular deposits into an offshore account."
"Bring him up." I loosen my tie. "Let's see how persuasive I can be."
Eighteen degrees in November - same temperature as Los Angeles, where I'd earned my MBA under the alias Dominic Rossi. At eighteen, I became the first Sovrano heir to break tradition by studying abroad. Don Vittorio had raged against my defiance, but Nonna's intervention secured my escape. Not that I owed her any thanks - she'd spent decades silently watching as my father's cruelty first destroyed my mother, then turned on me.
Those years forged something dangerous inside me. By the time my plane touched down at LAX, I'd learned to weaponize pain - both giving and receiving it. The darkness within became my greatest asset, teaching me to identify weaknesses, exploit vulnerabilities, and meticulously plan retribution against anyone foolish enough to cross me. Betrayal is a debt I always collect - with interest.
This philosophy carried me through UCLA's hallowed halls and back to Sicily sharper than any blade. My reckoning with Don Vittorio would come when the time was right. Until then, I'd use every brutal lesson he'd taught me to strengthen my hold on Cosa Nostra.
"Dom." Cristiano's voice rumbles from where he's leaning against the mahogany paneling. My half-brother cracks his knuckles dramatically. "Meeting starts in five."
"You losing your edge?" I glance at my Patek Philippe. "It starts when I say it does." My eyes sweep over his tailored Brioni suit. "Though I see you're dressed for your second career as a Milanese socialite."
Cristiano flashes that trademark smirk that's charmed marks from Monte Carlo to Macau. "Women appreciate a man who doesn't dress like an undertaker."
"Funny." I adjust my cuffs. "Last I checked, Valentino designed this suit specifically for—"
"For men planning a funeral?" Cristiano interrupts, running a hand through his sun-streaked hair. "Face it, fratello. The brooding mafioso look is outdated. These days, real power wears camel hair and a Rolex Daytona."
Around the table, my brothers suppress smiles. Lorenzo - second only to Matteo - maintains his usual stoic expression, though I catch the twitch of his lips. The twins, Alessandro and Raphael, exchange glances. Only Marco, my personal guard and the sole non-family member present, remains stone-faced.
Matteo drops into the chair nearest the exit with practiced ease. "Are we doing business today, or is this another episode of 'Roast the Don'?"
"Patience, fratello." Raphael leans forward, his youthful face belying his thirty-two years. "Christian was just getting to the good part about his latest conquest."
"Actually," Alessandro cuts in with an identical smirk, "I believe our dear brother has a hot date with his right hand tonight."
Lorenzo snorts espresso through his nose. Even Marco's mustache twitches.
"Careful," Matteo warns, tipping his chair back. "Keep acting like teenagers and I'll start treating you like ones."
"Technically," Raphael points out, "we're all in our thirties. Though someone—" he gestures at Alessandro "—still gets carded at nightclubs."
"Two minutes!" Alessandro growls. "You're older by two fucking minutes."
"Which still makes you baby brother," Cristiano sing-songs.
"Enough." My quiet command cuts through the banter. "We have actual threats to discuss." I turn to Matteo. "The Russian situation?"
"Handled." Matteo's fingers drum the table. "We identified the Bratva cell targeting our shipments. Their pakhan now understands the consequences of further... misunderstandings."
Cristiano's chair scrapes violently. "Why are we negotiating? They attacked our cargo! We should send them back in pieces!"
"Because war is expensive," I counter calmly. "And bad for business. Or have you forgotten how you made your fortune?"
My enforcer scowls. "I haven't. But neither have I forgotten what happens when predators smell weakness."
Suddenly I'm nose-to-nose with him, the table between us meaningless. "Let me be clear." My whisper somehow fills the room. "There is no weakness here. Only strategy. Question my judgment again, and you'll learn the difference firsthand."
Cristiano holds my gaze for three heartbeats before stepping back with a theatrical bow. "As you wish, Don Sovrano."
The tension breaks as Matteo clears his throat. "There's another matter. The leak to The Seven."
Every muscle in my body tenses. The so-called "Seven" - England's wealthiest power brokers - believe our family kidnapped them as children. Their decades-long vendetta has cost us millions. Now someone inside is feeding them intelligence.
"We've identified the rat," Alessandro confirms. "Junior accountant in our London office. Nathaniel Bauer."
Matteo's jaw tightens. "Caught him exporting encrypted files to a shell company. We have him downstairs." I don't need to ask which "downstairs" he means. The wine cellar's special accommodations have hosted many reluctant guests.
"And?"
"He's... resistant." Matteo's knuckles whiten around his espresso cup. "Claims he was coerced."
Cristiano barks a laugh. "Let me guess - someone threatened his pretty fiancée? Isabella, wasn't it?"
Alessandro nods. "Surveillance shows her making regular deposits into an offshore account."
"Bring him up." I loosen my tie. "Let's see how persuasive I can be."
End of Surrendering to the Don's Dark Desires Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to Surrendering to the Don's Dark Desires book page.