I Buried The Don And Took His Throne Chapter 02
The Brother in the Cage
Just past midnight, I pull on black, slip past every guard on rotation, and head down to the sub-basement of the compound.
The one no one talks about.
On the way, my head fills with the last two endings.
First life: a year after I died, Marco called Crestwell a rival family and had them wiped. Every uncle, every cousin.
My little sister Nora — she was nine — they cut her down in the driveway. She was still holding her cereal bowl.
Second life, I thought stepping aside would save them. But Marco moved faster.
My body was still warm when the trucks pulled up to my grandfather’s house.
Bianca stood on the porch afterwards, blood on her heels, and whispered in Marco’s ear, “Baby, take the Crestwell crew back. They’re a threat now.”
Two lives. Same lesson.
Marco never wanted me dead. He wanted the Crestwell crew. He wanted my grandfather’s thirty years of loyalty from every made man in the northeast.
My family was just something Marco had to burn on his way to the top.
Not this life. Not again.
Crestwell doesn’t die so a Vitale can sleep easy.
—
The holding cell in the sub-basement smells like piss and mildew. At the far end, chained by the wrists to the wall, hangs a man.
He’s a mess. His shirt is glued to his ribs with layers of old blood. Fresh cuts on top of scars on top of cuts.
But when he lifts his head, his eyes are exactly what I remember.
Cold. Level. Furious.
Dante Vitale. The older brother. The one who was supposed to inherit before Marco framed him for a hit on their father and buried him down here.
He sees me and lets out a rough laugh.
“Sloane Crestwell. Marco’s favorite weapon.” His voice is a wreck.
“What’s the matter, princess? He send you down to check if I’m dead yet? Or does he want you to do it yourself, put another feather in your cap?”
I don’t answer.
I reach into my jacket, pull out the lette and roll it open in front of him. Slow. So he can see the crest at the bottom.
The Old Don’s personal seal, blank where the successor’s name should go.
Dante’s whole body goes still.
Whatever name gets written there — that man is Don. Legally, by every rule of the Commission.
No vote, no war, no argument.
“Where the hell did you get that.” His voice is different now. Quiet. Dangerous.
“Doesn’t matter where I got it. Matters what I do with it.”
He stares at me for a long second. “So what do you want, Sloane.”
I meet his eyes.
“I’m done with your brother. I’m putting you on the throne.”
The cell is dead silent.
“I want one thing in return.” I step closer, close enough that I can smell the blood on him.
“I run the Family with you. Not behind you — with you. The Crestwell crew answers to me and nobody else. Not you, not the Commission, not God.”
Dante stares. His cracked lips pull back.
Then he laughs. A real one, low and mean. “Christ, Sloane. You’ve got bigger balls than my brother ever did.”
He rattles his chains. “Get me out. You’ve got a deal.”