Read Online Dark Blood: A Mafia Hitman Romance by Isabella Starling - Free Book Online

prisoner, I finally make my way to my father's office in his house. I leave my apartment, itching to get away from the chaotic state it's in. I hate that fucking place. Ever since I moved in years ago, I've felt like I don't belong there.
    I drive myself to my father's mansion and let the servants seat me in the living room. I'm seething. I should be able to walk into my father's office any time I want to, not be made to wait around like I'm some kind of servant. Of course, that is exactly what my father sees me as, and it's not about to change if I throw a petulant fit.
    Twenty minutes later, a silent servant finally shows me into father's study. I walk in there with my shoulders held back and my head raised high. I've learned years ago never to show my father my weak points. It would be too easy for him to strike right where it hurts.
    He is sitting at his desk, a drink in his hand. I don't make a comment about it being too early, and he doesn't raise his eyes to me when I walk in. There is no warmth between us, no real father-and-son relationship or bond. It's all business where my father is concerned.
    Of course, that is not the case with his legitimate sons. Those get all the fucking attention they want —a fact that drives me goddamn crazy. This man will never stop making me feel inferior, and I will never stop wanting his approval.
    "Why did you call me in?" I finally ask after several minutes of uncomfortable silence envelops the room in cloying tension. "Anything I can do for you?"
    My father swirls the drink methodically in his glass, the ice cubes clicking against the side. He still hasn't looked at me, not once since I walked through his fucking door. I hate him for it, and at the same time, I'm so desperate for his approval; it's really quite sad.
    "You went to see her," he says point blank. I stare at him, knowing exactly what he's talking about, but unwilling to acknowledge his accusation.
    "She's going to die," he continues. "There is nothing you can do to stop it or change my mind."
    "Why?" It’s a simple question. And I'm fucking desperate to hear the reason.
    We've been carrying out this revenge against the Da Costas for the better part of two decades, and I just don't understand it. Yes, there is the normal rivalry that exists between two mafia families, but I don't understand why my father doesn't try to make a deal, negotiate a truce. I know the Da Costas have been desperate to do just that for years now. It's not like they started it —my father is the one who keeps provoking their capo, the one who keeps poking the wasps' nest.
    "None of your goddamned business," my father hisses, setting his glass down with a heavy thud. The glass lands so hard that I almost think it's going to shatter. "Why the fuck are you getting involved in this?" my father demands, his eyes glowering at me, wanting to know why I didn’t obey his orders not to see her. I always follow orders.
    I raise my eyebrows menacingly, feeling pissed as fuck. "You involved me," I seethe. "You told me to take her."
    "Yes," he says. "Take her. Hurt her. Kill her. Not touch her. Not talk to her. Not try to fuck her."
    "I...."
    "Shut the fuck up!" he cuts me off angrily. "You're already breaking rules for her. It won't fucking do. She's gonna’ die one way or the other."
    My fingers are twitching with the need to strike my father. I restrain myself, but barely. I'm so fucking desperate to see a black eye bloom on his face, I can barely hold back. Fucking prick.
    "Why did you call me here?" I ask flatly.
    He gets up from his chair and I'm already expecting another lecture, telling me I've overstepped and I need to watch myself. Instead, my father surprises me by changing the topic completely.
    "There's another hit I need you to make," he says simply.
    I nod. "Fine. Who is it?"
    Talking about human lives in such a manner doesn't even seem wrong. If he wants me to kill, I will fucking kill. It's what I was trained to do. I don't even think