The Don's Unwanted Prize.

can. He spent a year trying to steal my shipments and take o

r decades. We are old money built on silence and iron. He is new money, built on noise and cha

d. I'm not entirely sure why I agreed to this charade, but I am a man of my word. If a wedding stops the bloodbath for a while, I will t

felt like a general waiting for a surrender. The church was cold, the way I prefer it. The smell of incense

s expected of me. She was a woman of high standards, a perfect queen for the North. She was soft, elegant, and never asked questions about

didn't cry at her funeral. I didn't scream. I just became cold. I spent the next ninety days hunting down every single person involved

hat day, I haven't let anyone close enough to hurt me. I l

ve, standing in a church waiting for a boy who w

ctly still. They didn't whisper. They didn't move. They were statues of discipline. On the right sat the South. The De Santis clan. They were a nightmare of bad taste. They wore

ety by giving me his son. He is a fool. He hasn't bought peace; he has just given me a hostage. Once the boy is under my roof, the

hat felt more like a warning than a celebration. The massive

as the first strike. I don't tolerate lateness. I

I sa

oked drunk or something, and for a minute, he looked like he wanted to run. Not only w

ing dark Ray-Bans inside a dim church, which was the height of arrogance. He stumbled slightly as he walked, his movements hazy and unfocused. I could tell immediate

y, trembling bird in comparison. He stopped a few feet away, swaying on his feet. He looked like he might pass out

d up and took of

looked up at me, his eyes were red and tired, but they were burning with a fierce, violent hatred. He didn't just

ybe there was something un

d. My voice was low,

nch. Instead, he leaned in just an inch. "And you're old," he whispe

are too afraid to breathe in my presence, and this drugged-up boy was insultin

as presiding over a business transaction between two monsters. He hurried through the words, his ey

icured. He had never worked a day in his life. He was a doll, a pretty thing used to se

ot be married," the priest said, his voice rising

happens right before a bomb goes off. I could hear the wind howling

it hap

oug

a cough. It is the sound a man makes to tell his friends to get ready. My brain immediately went into

rip of my 1911. I drew the weapon with a speed that made the priest gasp. I didn't point i

their own holsters. The South side scrambled, knocking over pews in their p

ing at them. I wa

ghtly, staring down the barrel of my gun with a look of total exhaustion. He didn't look like h

his voice so quiet I al

I realized in that moment that this boy wasn't just a bratty prince. He was suicida

ade, I felt a jolt of genuine cu

oming through the church, silencing th

aited. And for the first time, I wondered what kind of hell he