Moth to Flame

CHAPTER 2

Ethan

I felt f*****g awful. I still had a hangover from drinking too much straight vodka while entertaining the Russians. I hated those motherfuckers, but sometimes I had to entertain them for the sake of business. Alcohol eased the stress.

To make matters worse, it was interview day. I'd already seen two Ivy League motherfuckers who wanted the management position. This s**t was so beyond me. I had no f*****g patience at all. Throw in some boring question and answer bullshit, and I was about ready to go off. I did it, though. I am in the Organization, or Mafia, as it was commonly called. When the Don gave an order, you followed it.

The last manager had had to be fired because Lorenzo had found out he was stealing s**t and selling it to outsiders. I didn't know how they had killed him, but I knew the burial had been a closed casket. Lorenzo had had me send the widow and the kid a check for two million. And just like that, it was over.

The Italian Mafia has existed for ages, but it was currently more discrete. There were better precautions taken to ensure members didn't get caught by the Feds. Plus, it wasn’t only the Italians anymore. The Russians were players, but they mostly dealt in the drug and trafficking part. Then, you also had the Chinese and Japanese, which ran most of the illegal electronic and bootleg s**t. Next, you had the Africans, whom were the major up and comers. They were major players in oil, diamonds, and weapons. The Italians were still the only ones with the stereotypical Mafia image because of Hollywood

My dad, Ethan Senior, had been a member of the Russo Clan. It was started by Mario Russo after he had gotten off of the boat from Naples - the hellhole of Italy. It was said that Mario had stepped off the boat and some kid had tried to test him. In those days there had been lots of poor Europeans migrating to America, and they'd been f*****g animals. Most of the immigrants were f*****g dirt poor and everyone was trying to stake their place in the New World.

Mario had been small and skinny then, but he had beaten the other little s**t to death right on the docks. Another associate had witnessed it and told his boss. Later, Mario had begun doing jobs for that clan's leader. After the boss died, Mario had taken his place, married the boss' daughter, and started a new Clan under the Russo name.

Thinking of Mario always made me f*****g smile. He had been my surrogate grandfather and a lively motherfucker. Even when he was ninety-years-old, he'd still been getting p***y. He'd had wisdom they could never teach in any school or put in any textbook.

Damn, I really miss that arrogant son of a b***h. He’d died three years ago, and they’d buried him in a private plot in Italy. I had attended the funeral with the rest of the family.

Lorenzo and Stefano were Mario's sons. They headed the Russo Clan now. They were like surrogate fathers to me. They had always spoiled me and my sister, Abigail, rotten. I would do anything for them, and they would do the same for me. They had always taken care of my family.

Unlike Mario, my father had been half-Greek and half-Italian. He’d grown up in New York City and took a post in Chicago after doing some odd jobs for the Clan. He’d quickly moved up the ranks. He had exhibited quick wit, was handsome, and could put the fear of God in motherfuckers. He also had a fantastic memory, which I had inherited.

He and my mother, Eleanor, had gotten married when he was twenty and she was eighteen. He said they were in love, but my mother said he had practically forced her to marry him. Either way, they had me a year later and my sister, Abigail, five years after that. With the addition of the family, my father moved up in rank. The Camorra liked all that family and procreation s**t. I had no desire to marry and create little shitmakers, but I knew Lorenzo and Stefano would be happy if I did.

My mother and father had never really gotten along. He had been a good husband, but he'd had a wandering d**k. He hadn't been discreet in his affairs, and there had been many. My mom hadn’t cared, though, as long as he agreed not to have any children outside their marriage. My dad had agreed, and my mom and dad had stayed married while basically leading separate lives.

Eleanor hated the Mafia, but she toughed it out and participated for us. My dad had been controlling, and he hadn't wanted mom to work or attend school. She had gone to art school anyway and gotten her interior design degree. She hadn't had to work because we had a shitload of money my father made doing various jobs for the Russos. Plus, Mario had left us another huge amount in his will. Mother had ended up taking on clients, mostly other mob wives, and had garnered quite a name in Chicago and Seattle.

Ethan Senior had never been like a dad to me. He had never disciplined me or tried to control me. I had been his best friend and brother. My dad had gotten me my first p***y, my first drink, and taught me how to shoot a gun. I had smoked cigars with him. He had given me my first fake I.D. card. He had been my first real friend. In my eyes, he had been a god.

My parents had always argued about my upbringing. Eleanor said Dad was corrupting me, and Dad said he would be damned if he let his son grow up to be some 'gay-ass pussy.' My mom used to cry when she gathered Abigail and I to eat dinner, and my dad's place would be empty. When Abby and I were young, we thought dad was working. When we got older, we realized he was out f*****g some b***h when he wasn't at home with us for dinner.

Although my father had had his faults, I had still loved him and I missed him every day. Abigail did, too. He had treated her like a f*****g princess. All the so-called "bad things" he had introduced me to were kept far away from his little princess, as he had called her. Too bad he hadn't lived long enough to protect her from everything, though.

Eleven years ago, when I was seventeen, my life had changed for the worst. It was June in Chicago, and it was f*****g hot. The city was gritty with crime and violence. My dad had told me the gun and drug sales were through the roof because everyone was jumpy and scared. I hadn't blamed them. It had been so f*****g hostile on the streets that I never went anywhere without my gun.

I had been in my silver custom-made Corvette, getting head from some b***h I went to high school with. She had been really going at it while I watched her red hair swirl around my lap. All of a sudden, my phone buzzed with a text message.

I had waited until she got me off, and then pushed her aside, so she could clean up. I didn't remember the b***h's name, but I remembered her thinking I was going to reciprocate. I had informed her that I didn't even kiss bitches, let alone go down on them. She had started to pout, so I made her get out of the car and told her to trek it home. I’d taken off as she threw her f*****g shoe at my car. She had been f*****g lucky it missed my goddamn car; or I would have gone back, stripped her, and left her ass naked in the park.

The text had been from my dad, and it asked if I could come pick him up, so we could go out for lunch. He had been at one of his w***e's places, so I had typed the info in the GPS and headed over. I’d pulled up to the brownstone building and gotten into the elevator to get to the floor my father had given me. Sometimes, he’d liked me to come get him when some b***h was being clingy and didn't want him to leave.

I had immediately realized something was wrong when I got to the door. There had been the smell of blood in the air, and some motherfucker in black with a silencer on his gun was backing out of the door. He’d had dark hair and eyes. When he'd looked at me, he appeared to have been crying. I had pulled out my SIG SAUER, my baby, and blew that motherfucker's head off before he could even get out a word.

Someone in the hallway had screamed to call the police. I’d barely heard them as I went inside the apartment to see what condition my dad was in. There had been f*****g blood everywhere. The b***h had been naked in the living room area with two gunshots to her chest. It had looked like she had been dragged there by someone; I had guessed it was from the guy I'd just killed. She was bleeding all over the light beige carpet.

I’d gone into the bedroom, where I’d found my father. He had been naked, too, lying in the king-sized bed. He’d still had the condom on his d**k. I had removed the condom and immediately covered him up with the nearest blanket.

I remember tears clouding my vision as I just f*****g stood there and looked at him. He had been shot four times that I saw. He had a shocked and surprised look on his face; he hadn't expected anyone to come into the apartment. His gun had been sitting on a table in the middle of the room. I’d wanted to close his eyes, but I couldn't stand to physically touch him again. I’d grabbed the nearest wastebasket and vomited until I was empty and dry heaving. My father, the great Ethan Senior, had been nothing but a lifeless corpse.

I remember an officer coming in and telling me they needed to take me to the station for my statement. I’d asked to call someone before they took me away, and an officer let me use my cell phone to call Lorenzo. I had explained what happened, and that my father had been murdered. He had said he'd meet me at the station and everything would be okay.

When I’d gotten to the station, a lawyer with a twenty-thousand dollar watch had been waiting for me. He quickly told me my rights and what I could and could not say. They wouldn't question me until my mother got there because I was technically a minor. While I had been sipping the coffee the lawyer handed me, I saw my mother enter the station. I remembered she was in tears until she got to see me and had been assured I was alright.

Lorenzo and Stefano had arrived a little after Eleanor. Then the lawyer had led me into the interview room while the officers questioned me. I’d told them everything that happened. I had shot the cocksucker who murdered my father. They’d wanted to know why I had been there in the first place. I’d told them that, too, and showed them the text message my father had sent me.

After about five hours, they had let me go and told me I would have to come back and give another official statement the next day. Lorenzo had his arm around my mother while she’d sobbed. She gave me a hug. Lorenzo and Stefano had led us both out of the station. Lorenzo had stopped to talk to the lawyer for a minute, and then we went to our mansion. Apparently Abigail had heard what happened on the news, so she was up in her room crying. Mom had gone up to comfort her.

My godfathers had assured me they would take care of our family, and I hadn't gotten into any trouble. Stefano had had some infidelity s**t on the current District Attorney, so the s**t about me shooting the guy went nowhere in court. The guy I had shot had been the b***h's fiancé. It seemed he’d figured out she was cheating and went on a rampage. Ironically, the Camorrah hadn’t gotten my father killed, his need to wet his d**k had done it instead.

I’d never gone to court, and my father's death was ruled a homicide. They’d decided that I had killed the gunman in self-defense, fearing for my own life. Because I hadn’t been legally old enough to have a gun license, Lorenzo paid to have my SIG registered in my father's name. According to the official story, I’d arrived and was in the back room while my dad was f*****g the w***e. Her fiancé had burst through the door, dragged her out of bed, and shot her in the living room. He’d then gone into the room and shot my father. The shooter had been taking a break and hadn't heard me come out of the back room. I’d supposedly seen a gun in the living room, picked it up, and shot the killer in the head.

It had all been a load of bullshit, but it kept me out of jail. Most of the police had even treated me like some kind of hero. It hadn't escaped my notice that the officers first on the scene had lied and placed the gunman’s body differently to make my story corroborate. I’d known it was because of Lorenzo and one of his payoffs.

A year later, I’d officially joined the Russo Clan. They’d sent me to school to study Business because it was what my mom wanted. They had also needed a business man who could work in the new age of organized crime. It had also been a win-win situation for everyone concerned.

My mom and Abigail had moved to Seattle. Six months later, my mom had married Doctor Jeff Mitchell. I hated the p***y-whipped motherfucker with a passion, but he was good to my mom and Abby. He and I didn't really get along, because he was too f*****g happy and went out of his way to fix people. He was a respected surgeon and sat on lots of charitable boards.

Personally, I’d thought he was full of bullshit. I had investigators follow him to try and catch him doing something illegal or immoral. Nothing had come up. My mom f*****g adored the prick anyway, so I couldn't really do anything to him. Eleanor and Jeff had no shame. They were always touching and s**t, right in public. I’d never seen my mother look at my father the way she looked at Jeff.

Jeff had an adopted son named Ian, my f*****g step-brother. Apparently, Dr. Mitchell's first wife had been sickly and unable to have kids, so they had adopted. She’d died when Ian was ten, leaving him and Dr. Mitchell alone.

Jeff had been lonely and threw himself into work until he met my mother. She said it had been love at first sight. He had hired her to do an interior design job on his home. When they met, they fell in love. Mom had essentially been paid to design her own house.

I f*****g loathed Ian, too. He was very much like his father. He was also a doctor, a psychotherapist, and he was just as p***y-whipped. He was huge and most people were intimidated by his overly muscled physique. But he was like a little boy, making jokes and stuffing his face at every opportunity. His wife, Valerie, was a first-class cunt. Every time we were within ten-feet of each other, I wanted to choke the b***h. They had identical twin shitmakers who looked exactly like Ian with Valerie's eyes.

.

I steered clear of my family. Because of that, my mom and I weren't close anymore. She wanted us all to be some happy Brady Bunch assholes, but it was never going to happen. I wasn't like Jeff or Ian. They lived in the civilized world, and I lived in the motherfucking underworld.

Eleanor had already told Jeff who my dad had been. She’d even hosted Lorenzo and Stefano at her and Jeff's mansion a few times. I wasn't sure Jeff knew what I was or the true nature of my business. I assumed he wouldn't tell anyone if he found out, because he knew it would break mom's heart. He loved her and Abigail too much to hurt them.

I couldn't be too f*****g harsh on Jeff or Ian, though, because they had both helped save Abigail's life two years ago. She’d developed anorexia and was starving herself. She had passed out in the gym and almost died, but Doctor Mitchell had treated her. After her release from rehab, Ian became her therapist. She was getting better but was still nowhere near as vibrant as she had been. Ian said it would take time. When Abigail needed me the most, I wasn't there. I didn't have the f*****g capacity to love and care for anyone or anything, so I simply didn't do that s**t.