Dark Redeemer by Raven Scott

1

Massimo

I’ve always struggled against the darkness. I’m angry, most days, over the injustice and unfairness that is my life. I take out my need to hurt people at the gym. But I know it’s always there, coiled and ready to strike should I ever let my guard down.

Growing up on the mafia-ruled streets of Palermo, Sicily did this to me. But recently I’ve found a refuge of sorts: working with animals.

I brush Allegro, calming and distracting the racehorse while Luigi examines the repairs I made to the cracked hoof. I’m proud of my work: Allegro won’t have any problems walking on that foot.

“You know,” Luigi says, lifting the hoof slightly. “When I took you under my wing, it was under the assumption you were going to make this your life’s work.”

“I know,” I tell him. “But my life is… complicated.”

Luigi glances at me, presses his lips together, and shrugs. He returns his attention to the hoof, then after a moment nods to himself. “Perfecto. You would have made a great farrier.”

He lowers Allegro’s leg. The great colt nickers softly, then grunts approvingly as it puts its full weight on the repaired hoof.

I pat Allegro on the flanks. “That’s a good boy.” The horse whinnies contentedly.

Luigi stands and wipes his hands on the leather apron tied to his waist. He points at the animal’s huge cock and makes a tugging motion. “Want some milk?”

I make a disgusted face, turning away. He was only half joking. Some farriers make a business out of “milking” the semen from the race horses under their care, because the DNA from champions can be sold on the black market at staggering prices. Still, a disgusting practice, and it could get a man killed—the owners of these horses wouldn’t take very kindly to people messing with their prized animals.

I glance at the guard, who’s watching from outside the stable. He saw Luigi’s gesture, and doesn’t look very happy about it.

“You know, I heard about what you did to Santo,” Luigi says quietly.

That was one of the jockeys I shook down a few days ago. I’d ordered Santo to lose and the kid had disobeyed. So I’d roughed him up, made him pay back the bribe money. This was for a “legal” race at the Ippodromo in Palermo, one of the largest tracks in Sicily. I say legal with quotation marks, because although all of the animals were legally registered, the race itself was fixed by yours truly. It was a smaller event of course, with horses not well-known enough to interest the more powerful mob families, but I take what I can get, since my brothers and I can’t afford to put on private races like the other bosses. Not yet, anyway.

I give Luigi a dangerous look. “Stay out of it.”

The old farrier frowns. “The kid is still in the hospital. You could have killed him. Maybe he’ll die, yet.” He’s keeping his voice low, and I know the guard is too far to hear, but the walls often have ears…

I shrug. “He’s finally doing what he’s told. I barely touched him, but I told him to stay in the hospital for at least a week and play his part. A lesson to others who think they can disobey the Morettis.”

Luigi regards me with disbelief for a moment, then laughs. “Barely touched, you say? A broken nose, two broken ribs, and internal bleeding. That’s barely touching the kid…”

“It is for me,” I tell him, and mean it.

He gives me a dry look. “So you’re one of the nice gangsters, huh?”

I pause, considering my answer. Then shrug: “That I am.”

“That’s going to backfire on you real quick,” Luigi says. “Being nice.”

“We’ll see.”

He stares at me with those penetrating eyes. “There’s no room for nice gangsters in this world. If you and your brothers keep expanding your operation, someday you’ll have to kill to protect your turf. Otherwise, the other families won’t take you seriously. And they’ll snip your expansion in the bud. So take it from me, kid, get out of this business while you still can. Before you get in so deep you can never get out. The streets of the mafia don are paved in blood.”

He’s right and I know it. But what he doesn’t know is that I’ve already killed, though only in self defense.

Instead of answering him, I slide an arm over his shoulder and escort him from the stable. I change the subject.

“How’s that daughter of yours?” I say. “What’s her name, Michela?”

“Yes.” He grins widely. “She’s doing well, as always. Why, have you finally mustered the courage to ask her out?” He winks at me.

I laugh. “Maybe next week.”

“All right,” Luigi says. “I’ll tell her to clear her schedule.”

I merely shake my head and keep walking.

We pass the guard, who glowers at me. I smile defiantly at him and his hand slides to his holster. I decide it’s best to look away. I’m worried someone here might recognize me, even though I’ve grown a long, thick beard now to hide my identity from them.

We continue toward where Luigi parked the minivan in the main driveway of the Amato estate. I notice there are more Amato associates on duty today than usual. Perhaps they’re receiving a VIP from another family shortly.

Motion draws my eye toward the chateau.

And then I see her.