The Devil Wears Red | Mafia Romance |

02| The File

Aeron POV

Aeron and Alastair Daunt have competed against one another their whole life.

When young, it was for a toy or their mother's love. But as they grew older, learning more about the life they were subjugated to, that was a whole new playing field.

The mafia world was their competition, their chess board, their court. It was the biggest one yet. No toy or affection could be as big as the inheritance to one of the biggest mafias in the world. Nothing.

"Enzo!" Aeron screamed, chasing his brothers through the large corridors of their family mansion as if they were still five-year-old ignorant kids.

Lorenzo, the youngest of the three, had stolen one of Alastair's—the oldest—bottles from his secret stash of alcohol. The dark liquid bounced in the glass bottle, whose nozzle was wrapped around Lorenzo's hand. "Enzo! Alastair is going to kill you!" He yelled, running down the marbled floor that looked freshly polished.

On cue, Enzo slipped and fell, dropping the bottle in the process. "Fuck," Aeron muttered, running to the kitchen to grab a towel. When he came back, yellow rag in one hand, and broomstick in other, he was presented with a saddened Lorenzo. . . and his father.

"Daunts don't get on their knees and clean," his father's stifled presence caused a tense feeling to run down his body. Marco Daunt was one of the strictest people you'd ever meet. He was an entitled man, and his ego was bigger than all of Italy.

"I spilled the bottle and felt bad having Lydia clean it," Aerons head hung, as he responded to his father's antics. Lydia was one of the older maids, who practically raised them when their mother was not around too.

Marco shook his head in his hand. "I need to talk to your brother," he spoke, shooing off Lorenzo and only talking to Aeron now.

"He isn't here," Aeron replied, remembering his brother leaving earlier in the evening to go to a meeting—which was always coded for a girl's house or bar. The night had fallen and he didn't know when Alastair would be back but also didn't care.

"When he is done fucking that bastard, tell him I need to talk to you both in the morning before breakfast," he explained, patting Aeron on the back before going to his room. Aeron pulled out his phone immediately, shooting Alastair a text—begging he get home at least before the families usual 8 am breakfast.

He obviously didn't get a message back, so he clicked out of the page and put his phone back in his pocket. Aeron went back to cleaning the glass and dark liquid off the ground, the pungent scent filling his nostrils, making him wince.

"Do you hate me?" Aeron turned to see the source of the voice, Lorenzo. He looked sad, which meant that their father had scolded him for acting like a child—even though he was only sixteen.

"I'd never hate you, Enzo," he stats, getting off the ground. "Just a little pissed off is all—at Alastair mostly." He scoffed, ignoring the agonizing feeling spilling out of him. His stomach twisted in pain, hating the idea of this unknowing feeling—not knowing why it hurts so bad.

"Ok," Enzo sighed, "good. Just double checking."

Bentley POV:

"Bent, Antonio needs to talk to you," she looked over from the textbook that laid on her bed to see who was talking to her. Turning on her stomach, facing Nikolai who had walked into her bedroom, the driver from the other day. The neatly decorated room, covered in band and movie posters, along with a string of lights wrapped around her bed.