The Mafia King's Rebel

Chapter 11:

Malakai:

It has been four months since I stepped foot into the West Estate, and it has been something I planned to never do, but last night, my grandmother, the infamous Evelyn West sent me a text.

Evelyn: We're having a family lunch tomorrow, bring your woman.

Of course, if she really thought that I would bring Scarlett with me, then she must be joking. My life is already dangerous enough to her, but the Wests' lifestyle? It's even worse.

The West family might be the deal everywhere, leading number one in the entertainment industry in the world– films, streaming platforms, music labels, television networks, fashion magazines, talent agencies, and celebrity management, but beneath all those flashy, well polished agenda is a family built with evil.

Every single one of them are monsters. How do I know? Because the devil recognizes his fellow accomplice.

My black sedan rolls through the wrought-iron gate. A valet rushes towards me before I can even turn off the engine.

“Mr. Lorenzo,” he bows, as I come out of the car, not sparing him a second glance.

As I push the heavy oak door, the butler is already waiting for me. “Welcome home, Mr. Lorenzo.” I almost laugh, this place might have fed me when I was younger and given me clothes, but it has never been a home, it was hell trying to mask itself as heaven.

I look at the butler, and give me a little nod. Acknowledging him for what he had done for me in the past is the least I can do.

“The family is already waiting for you,” he smiles. I step further into the hall, my shoes clinking on the marble floor, portraits of the Wests lined the wall.

I walk into the dining room and all eyes then turn towards me. I just have to survive this afternoon.

“Malakai,” she says smoothly, looking at me with a polished smile. “How lovely of you to remember you still have a family.”

Let the games begin.

“Mi scusi per il ritardo.” I apologize in Italian, watching my grandmother's face tighten in annoyance. My Italian heritage reminds me of my father and she doesn't want to hear anything about it. When my mom brought me here at the age of twelve, I was instructed to only speak English at all times because the ‘West’ is an English family.

The first time I answered one of the staff in Italian, I spent the evening locked in my room.

The second time, I wasn't allowed dinner.

I head straight to the seat before sitting down. My grandfather, Theodore West, grabs the teacup, and says. “It's nice to have everyone here.”

Did everyone really come?

Richard West— the first son is dressed in a navy suit, CEO to West Media, even at the age of fifty-six, he knows exactly what he wants in life and he pursues it. He still sleeps well at night even after knowing the amount of lives he had destroyed.

His wife sits there, all prim and proper. She is almost invisible in this family. The second daughter, Beatrice West is looking immaculate, with diamonds glittering around her neck, she is that type of person to hand you the match and watch you burn.

The last daughter, Eleanor West might appear to be the kindest, but I don't let the mask she wears convince me. She is the type of person to destroy lives while still offering a sympathetic smile.

Camillia and I lock eyes, but she hurriedly looks away immediately. I scoff, remembering when I was brought to the West Mansion and she walked up to me, we were both twelve then.

I guess we bonded over the fact that we both had Italian heritage, but she bent to Evelyn's rules, she let it all go, she doesn't speak the language. Every day, she tries to act like she's part of the family.

To this day, I don't know why Evelyn adopted Camillia, everyone knows that Evelyn does nothing without having further intentions.

“Let's hear what you all have been up to. It's not everyday I see my babies gathered here.” Evelyn is looking straight at me. I don't know what she is wanting me to say but she is never going to hear it.

Beatrice dives into her children's lives, they went for a vacation in Malibu and she and her husband really bonded through the trip.

Where's the husband now? He's not here for family lunch.

Richard talks about expanding the West Media, of course, it's always West Media to him.

“Malakai?” She asks, hands tightening on her cup. “How did you meet this new woman?”

“None of your business.” I sit up straight, leveling her with a look.

Her jaw tightens. Good.

“That's no way to talk to your grandmother.” My grandfather says, looking angry on his wife’s behalf. Hell, I don't care what anyone in this family thinks. Evelyn has everyone wrapped around her finger, including her husband.

She won't do the same to me.

I don't bother saying a word and I can feel everyone's eyes on me…this whole cat and mouse pull is starting to get pretty old.

I push my table back. “Thank you all for inviting me for lunch.” I stand up, give a rigid now and exit the room.

“Malakai Lorenzo, get your ass back into this room!” Richard yells, but I ignore his shrilly voice as I approach the entrance. I hear footsteps behind me, and I already know that Evelyn sent someone to come drill the right sense into me.

“Malakai.” Camillia says softly behind me, and I turn towards her. There was a time when she and I were friends, when we were twelve and naive.

But then Nico came along, and I knew those two had a thing but I didn't say a word, and then she was part of the family that accused his mother of trying to poison Evelyn, when Nico and his mother got kicked out, she showed no ounce of remorse.

He developed intense insomnia because of her, he doesn't like to talk about it but I know how deep he's scarred because of it. I see the rage he carries beneath a smile.

“What do you want?” I ask, my voice flat.

“You shouldn't talk to Evelyn like that, she was only concerned and she just wanted to know more about your new girlfriend.”

Damn it, I almost laugh. Almost.

"If you want to sit in that dining room and pretend everyone at that table lives some perfect little fairy tale, be my guest." I shrug. "I won't play her game, and you know exactly what I'm talking about, Camilla.”

She bites her upper lips nervously. “They are family, Kai.”

“Are they?” I ask, stepping closer. “Or is that what you tell yourself every night so you can sleep better?”

“She took me in, she gave me a home.” Camilla glares at me. “She might be playing a game with us all, but she gave me hope.”

“Is that what families do?” I ask, “do they strip you of everything you have just so they can build you up into the most perfect person?”

“Kai—”

“You aren't even English, Camilla.” The words slip out and honestly, I don't even regret it. "They made you stop speaking your own language because it didn't fit the image of the perfect West. They erased your accent. Your traditions. Your memories. And you thanked them for it. When was the last time you even spoke Italian?”

Her eyes fill with uncertainty. Honestly, I don't even have time for all of this.

“Your birthday was two days ago, Camilla.” I tell her, “who remembered? Your husband? Beatrice? Eleanor? Richard? Or what about grandmother and grandfather?”

Her silence confirms my answer.

I give a bitter life. “They aren't my family…my mother and father died in a car accident, those are my family.” Sparing her one last glance I say; "Buon compleanno, Camilla.” Which means happy birthday.

And with that, I leave the West Estate, I don't even like coming here. It reminds me of why I have always hated them all.

The moment I get into the car, Nico starts calling.

“Hey.” I say, mildly frustrated.

“You seem to be in a sour mood, I'm not going to read much into it because you're always in a sour mood.” Nico breathes into the speaker as I start driving.

“I went for family lunch.” There's silence on the other end and I know that Nico is trying to process it all. He shares my resentment for that family…I know him too well, he's not going to want to talk about it.

“Well, congratulations on surviving another episode on keeping up with the psychopaths.” He finally says effortlessly.

“You're insufferable.” I respond, driving out of the estate. “You sound like you're drinking.”

“It's just sparkling water,” he admits, sighing.

“Liar.” Having known Nico for more than twelve years, I know exactly when he's kidding.

“Fine, it's whiskey.” He sighs. “Don't try and give me s**t about it.”

“It's not good for your health.” I say lightly.

“Since when did you become a doctor?” There's humor in his voice. Nico is always like this, trying to cover up pain with sarcasm. “Where are you headed?”

“The warehouse…to inspect the offloading.”

“Alright.” Nico yawns in the background. That same moment, my phone pings with a text from Scarlett. My thumb already hovers, opening the text chain.

But it's not a text, it's a picture. Of Scarlett, wet black hair sticking to her bare shoulders, droplets tracing down the curve of her throat, over the swell of her breasts barely contained by a thin black lace bralette that clings to damp skin. She is making a silly face, her cheeks light pink from the steam.

My throat goes dry as I stare at the picture.

“Kai? Are you there?” Nico asks.

“I'll call you back.” My voice is hoarse, my eyes are still fixated on the picture.

“What do you mean—” I hang up the call, staring at the screen. Text bubbles appear under the screen; is this any good, Sads? I want to dress to impress in that freaking high school reunion.

Then another picture of two gowns on the bed, the first one is satin blue with a high split up one thigh, and the other is a blush pink satin dress with thin straps and a sweetheart neckline. I can already picture the blue dress on her body, hugging her curves just in the right places and her looking so freaking beautiful.

Another text: which do you think is going to sly, Sads?

Ten seconds go by before the text bubble appears; oh my gosh, I wasn't meant to send it to you! I was supposed to send it to my best-friend, please pretend you didn't see it!

Hell no, I won't. I park the car and hit the call button instantly.

She answers on the second ring, already breathless. “Malakai, I swear it was—”

“The blue dress,” my voice comes out in a growl, “you’ll wear the blue one. The silk that’s going to hug your body. The one with the slit that’ll make every bastard there wonder what’s underneath.”

She inhales softly on the other end, I can almost picture her, cheeks flushed, imagining the exact scene makes my body grow hot all over. This is unlike anything, women haven't caught my eyes in forever but just one mere, silly picture and my body is awakening?

“You weren't supposed to see that—” she is saying.

“I don’t give a f**k what I’m supposed to see,” I cut in, voice dropping lower. “You sent the pictures. And you’re going to walk in there looking like the kind of woman who belongs on the arm of someone who owns this city. The blue one, Scarlett. Wear it. Or I’ll show up and choose for you.”

Damn it, I'm whipped.

“Now this is what you're going to do,” I say slowly. “You're going to put on that blue dress, and you're going to send me a picture…a stylist and make-up artist will arrive later, and they are going to work on your hair and pamper you, and then when it's done, you're going to send another picture, and then you're going to go to that high school’s reunion and take nobody's bullshit. Understood?”

It takes a moment before she finally responds. “Understood.” There's a thrill of excitement in her voice.

“Good.” I hang up, and wait there, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel. Nobody has ever made me lose this amount of control, she is becoming a habit I can't afford to have.

And I have to make sure this never happens, because men like me? We don't simply care, we get dangerously obsessed.