The Vendetti Seven - Sapphire Knight

“You’re going to Chicago,” mio fratello Capo dei capi Ruthless, orders out of the blue.

The statement is more than welcome if I’m being honest with myself. I’ve grown tired of being cooped up in this estate—regardless of how lavish it may be—burdened with my new wife. I shouldn’t hate her already, but I think I may. Hate’s a strong word, but I’m yet to discover another that fits properly when it comes to her. I’ve been torn over it for a bit, but I can’t find it in myself to have much sympathy where she’s concerned.

I’ve been aching for an excuse to not be under the same roof as her for a while, and this could be the distraction I need. Not that I see her around the house much—I’m usually holed up in this office, working for my brother. Taking a trip over to Chicago will mean I get some time with my other brother, Dante. Possibly even some face time with the five famiglias, though that one’s not a guarantee by any means.

Matteo’s finally putting me to work outside the mansion. I’m forever glued to his side in most cases. Not that I mind. I couldn’t picture myself doing anything else around here but working closely with the Capo. He’s a man I greatly admire.

I wonder, does Dante need assistance in taking one of the bosses out? Are we finally making the next move in taking over that area of the Mafia?

Mio fratello would never ask for help outright, being a stubborn brute. However, maybe Matteo feels differently about the entire situation. Needless to say, I’m honored the oldest Vendetti has given me the extended obligation—finally. I’ve been biding my time grasping at straws for more responsibility.

I need this trip—the work—more than I can acknowledge. Besides, what sort of a mafioso made man deserves that title without his fair share of spilling blood and shouldering responsibility for the famiglia. I may be the youngest, but the last thing I’ve wanted was for Matteo to treat me any differently than our five other fratelli.

I may be only eighteen, young in their eyes, but this is the Italian Mafia. Age and line of succession shouldn’t matter when it comes to my training. In other circumstances, such as marriage and our traditions, it doesn’t. Up until now, it’s pretty much been the case for me; I’ve been somewhat sheltered by their hands. My brother has done whatever he could to protect me, which I respect a great deal, but it’s no longer necessary.

I’m a grown man, an adult in the eyes of the law. I don’t need to be coddled and protected by my older siblings any longer. I’m no good to our famiglia if I can’t do my part. They need to be able to rely on me as much as they attempt to protect me.

There’s also this mess with Sofia, my beautiful young bride. Our lives crossed paths in Italy—not by fate—but because I asked the Capo to set up my betrothal. It’s always been my duty to marry for the famiglia’s benefit; the same goes for my brothers. At the time, I’d just witnessed Matteo marry Violet. She’s an amazingly headstrong, caring woman, and I’d known then and there that I wanted my own moglie.

Sof seemed to be great, at first. She acted as if I was the most handsome, interesting man in the world. She played her part well. I won’t lie; I ate up the attention as would any viral man in my position. I was a virginal sixteen-year-old young man, and the attention of a bountiful young lady trained on me was more than I could handle at the time. Too bad things didn’t stay that way—naïve and exciting. Our lives were quickly changed, hers for the better, mine into my own personal misery.

I was thrown into a tailspin, and it had me drowning.

From the start, I should’ve known our marriage was doomed. I quickly discovered that Sofia, being from a well-respected, wealthy Italian famiglia like myself, was, in fact, my best friend’s cousin. Before Sof came in the picture, Arianna, her cousin, was my life—where friends were concerned anyhow. As long as I did whatever Matteo requested of me while growing up and I stayed far out of Romano’s sight, I could practically run free with Arianna any time we were in Italy.

She was more to me than any friend could ever be. Ari was like air, my taste at freedom…my future. Or so I’d