Now
~ Massimo ~
The silence in the SUV was heavy, everyone lost in their own tired thoughts.
Eliminating offenders who disrespected my crime family, securing a deal with another family, and overseeing a new project—all in different locations far from home—was brutally exhausting. Doing it all in the biting chill of the autumn air only made the three-day trip feel longer for me and my men.
But when my father, Giacomo Valentino, the Don of the Italian mafia syndicate, gave orders, we carried them out immediately without complaints.
Finally, after three days away from our family territory, we were heading back home in a gentle ride. My Escorts sat with me in the eight-seater SUV; Griffin at the wheels, Andrej riding shotgun, then Dario and Bianco sitting behind me. The rest of my crew occupied two SUVs following closely behind.
I didn't realize I was dozing off until my phone rang, jolting me awake. I frowned at the unknown number and answered the call in a cold voice. "Who is it?"
The male voice on the other end was hushed, as if about to tell a secret, laced with an Irish accent and genuine panic.
"Massimo, listen carefully," the voice said without preamble. "It's Ronan. Niamh's Escort."
My blood ran cold. I didn't know who the bloody hell Ronan was, but the name Niamh hit me like a physical blow. Even after five years, I couldn't forget that name.
Why was her escort calling me after five years? Wait, why did she even have an escort?
I pulled myself away from the shock and back to the call.
"You have sixty seconds," I ground out, my Italian accent sharpening like it always did when I was on the edge.
"You barely have twenty minutes to rescue her," Ronan shot back. "You ruined her, Massimo, and she kept your son safe for five years. But right now you have a chance to redeem yourself."
"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" I sat up immediately, my heart suddenly hammering a frantic rhythm I wasn't used to. The movement drew glances from Griffin and Andrej, making them stiffen.
"You're aware that Donal O'Connor is in a coma and his brother has stepped in," Ronan explained. "Well, it seems he wants to take over fully and has taken the first step. He made a deal with the Romanovs to give them a large shipment of coke and Niamh in exchange for their alliance and backup to stage a coup if The Godfather ever wakes up again."
I had heard about the health issue of the Irish Don, the most respected man in the Texas underworld, and his brother stepping in to fill in until he recovered.
But how was Niamh related to him?
And then it hit me. The red hair. The turquoise eyes. The Irish accent. The O'Connor family features had been proudly displayed on Niamh that night I saw her in my new club at El Paso.
Why hadn't I known?
Maybe it was because it was impossible to see a mafia princess alone in neutral territory without at least six trained escorts. And the fact that The Godfather had a daughter had always been a hushed secret. No one had truly known.
I drifted back to the call.
"So Niamh is being given away in marriage in exchange for an alliance?" I asked, grinding my teeth.
"Not necessarily marriage. She'll more or less be a sex slave to Vladimir Romanov or his son Nikolai, or worse, both. They will also determine what happens to your son on arrival, and it's most likely they'll kill him," Ronan deadpanned.
The words hit me in a delayed sequence: The Romanovs, the savage Russian mafia syndicate in Texas, taking Niamh. Niamh being a sex slave. My son being killed.
A dark, murderous rage hotter than any sun began to boil in my gut and I took a deep breath to calm myself. I needed to be sure I wasn't entering a trap because of failing to control my emotions.
"Why did you call me? How do you know I'm the father?" I asked.
"It took a lot of digging after your son was born to trace you," Ronan revealed. "You gave her a fake Italian name, Alessio, and after pulling a few strings I learnt that the club was owned by the Valentinos. Then your son was born, and despite having red hair like his mother, he had the unmistakable dark Valentino eyes and with his mother's earlier description of the man she had met that night, I knew you were the father of the kid. His mother giving him an Italian name confirmed my suspicions."
"What name?" I demanded, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"Matteo. He's four years old," Ronan choked out.
My world spun as I took in all the information, my head pounding with a thrumming headache. What I thought was over five years ago had just been waiting for me and had finally raised its head.
Niamh.
The thought of her brought back memories of that night of intense passion. Why hadn't she told me she was carrying my son all these years? The betrayal and the shock warred inside me, making my chest feel tight.
"Niamh doesn't know you are the father to her son if that's what you're thinking," Ronan said, making me wonder if he could read minds too. "I kept it from her and her father because I don't know what he'll do when he finds out the father to his grandson is a Valentino prince who took his daughter's virginity and disappeared the following morning."
I didn't know how to feel about his words. I knew he was right to avoid a bloodbath between the two strongest crime families in Texas by keeping the secret to himself, but still, I wished I knew I had a son earlier.
"Where are they now? What should I do to save them?" I asked. I would do everything possible to ensure my son and his mother are safe.
"They're in a Russian van—a white panel, no markings—headed from Houston toward Dallas. You need to intercept the Russian van on the highway before it gets to Dallas, their territory." Ronan revealed.
My Capo mind instantly took over, drowning the shock of fatherhood. This wasn't just about a girl anymore; this was my blood, my heir, being used as a pawn by a rival Don.
"Route?" I asked impatiently.
"They're driving through I-45," Ronan replied immediately. "You can block the road so they would switch to the I-35 road where it will be easier for you to ambush them since it's close to your territory."
I ended the call instantly. No thank you, no goodbye. I had a war to manage.
I took the first step of saving my bloodline by calling my brother-in-law.
"Lorenzo," I barked into the receiver the moment he answered. "I need every state trooper and county sheriff between Houston and Dallas on the I-45. Set up a phony roadblock, now. I want that traffic jammed to a standstill." I hung up before Lorenzo could question me.
"Griffin, drive as fast as you can!" I growled at Griffin, who jerked his head and began driving at an insane speed, expertly maneuvering past traffic while the other SUVs kept up pace closely.
He was the best driver I've ever seen, but I knew we won't arrive in time to save my son and his mother from the Russians. The autumn sunset was bleeding red across the horizon, and I knew we were still about three hours away from anywhere near them.
"Any problem, Boss?" Andrej, the leader of my Escort, asked carefully, my sudden anger making all of them edgy.
"There will be a problem if I don't get to rescue my son and his mother in time," I bit out, the urge to hit something trying to overwhelm me. My knuckles were white as I restrained myself from punching the tinted window of the vehicle.
There was a sharp intake of breath followed by stunned silence in the SUV as my Escorts took in my words, shocked.
I had a son, and both him and his mother were in danger. If I don't intercept that bloody van fast enough, I could lose my son before I even get to see him.
Over my dead body.
I picked up my phone and called the one person I knew could get the job done for me perfectly with the same precision as me, if not better.
"Domino," I commanded when my immediate younger brother answered the phone. "Get your team ready and head toward our territory line on I-35 and wait for a white panel Russian van without markings. I need you guys to move in ten minutes with full arsenal. "
Domino's voice crackled, laced with the easy threat of violence. "Russian van? What's the package Mass? Coke?"
I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. I couldn't tell Domino the truth yet. "The package is a non-negotiable asset so make sure you secure it. Kill every Russian if you have to, and bring the asset back alive."
I ended the call, disconnecting Domino before the questions could start and dropped my phone aside to avoid crushing it in my hands.
Five years.
I sighed, my eyes unfocused as I remembered that night in El Paso. I ran a hand through my hair, the cold shock of realizing I'm a father with a four-year-old son in danger finally registering.
My brain went through the pros and cons of my actions. I had just started a war for a son I didn't know I had and a woman I had abandoned.
But I don't give a damn about the aftermath of my actions. I would burn the whole world down if it's what it took to secure my son and his mother.