Page 5 of Prince of Vice
I send off a message to one of my men, ensuring the timely delivery of a shipment bound for Boston. "Keep an eye out for the Irish," I warn him. "They're hungry for more power, and they won't hesitate to take advantage of our current situation."
The message sent, I put down my phone and glance out the window, my gaze drawn to the distant horizon. There, a storm brews, its dark clouds a portent of the tempest that threatens to engulf us all.
"Damn these murder charges," I murmur, my frustration bubbling to the surface like water reaching its boiling point. The circumstances of my arrest still chafe at me like a pair of ill-fitting shoes. Something about it feels off, as if I've been played for a fool, and I cannot shake the suspicion that this was all part of a grand scheme to usurp my power.
"Who would dare to betray me?" I wonder aloud, my voice barely more than a whisper in the silence of the room. "Constantino? The Irish?"
But even as I voice these thoughts, I know that answers will not come easily. Betrayal is a snake in the grass, hidden from view until it strikes with deadly precision. And I cannot help but feel that the viper's fangs are poised to sink into my flesh at any moment.
Even if I were to find another lawyer, would I be able to trust them with my case? Who knows where their true loyalties would lie? For that matter, can I even be sure that I trust Isabella? Who knows whether she has ulterior motives and what they are.
I growl in frustration as I realize that I may have little to no chance of salvation in this case, no matter who is representing me.
* * *
Another hour passes by but restlessness gnaws at my insides like a ravenous beast, urging me to move. The gym, tucked away in a corner of the sprawling property, beckons to me with its promise of relief. As I stride down the hallway, my footsteps echo off the marble floors, their rhythm steady and determined.
"Sometimes, Primo, you need to burn the demons out," I tell myself, feeling the family's troubles bearing down upon me.
I step into the gym, breathing in the familiar scent of sweat, leather, and iron. My gaze lands on the figure already occupying the space—Teddy, the youngest Maldonado brother. He stands bent over a punching bag, his fists wrapped in bandages, delivering blow after powerful blow to the worn leather surface.
"Hey, Teddy," I call out. He pauses mid-punch, turning to face me with a smile. Teddy was never one to be bothered by the family's business or troubles.
"Primo," he replies, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "What brings you here?"
"Restless energy," I admit, running a hand through my slicked-back hair. "The walls of this mansion are starting to close in on me."
"Understandable," Teddy says, stepping away from the punching bag. Despite his role as the family cleaner, he keeps his distance from our business affairs. His loyalty is unquestioned—a welcome reprieve from the uncertainty that plagues the rest of my life.
"Constantino is making moves," I confide in him, leaning against the wall as I watch him unwrap the bandages from his hands. "He's trying to seize control while I'm stuck here under house arrest."
"Nothing new there," Teddy observes, his tone nonchalant but with an underlying current of concern. "He's always been hungry for power. Yours, specifically."
"True, but now he's got the perfect opportunity to wrest it from me," I say, clenching my fists at the thought. "I can't be everywhere at once, especially now. When Dad went to prison, I thought this was my chance to elevate the family name. Bring us back into prominence and run things that secures our future. Instead, I’m on trial for murder myself and no one seems to support my vision.”
"Maybe you should have a talk with him," Teddy suggests as he tosses his bandages into a nearby bin. "Set boundaries. Remind him who's boss."
"Boundaries don't seem to mean much to Constantino," I reply bitterly, the frustration simmering within me. "He'll do what he wants, regardless of what I say."
Teddy shrugs. "I'm not going to pretend I understand the business side of things, but I still think talking to him is the way to go.”
“Honestly, what good would that do? You know as well as I do that if he takes control, blood and violence will run thick through the streets. That’s not what I want for our legacy or this city.”
Teddy shrugs. “Better than starting a war."
“I’m not the one starting a war,” I scoff. “The order of inheritance is well established. He’s the one trying to push boundaries and punch above his weight class.”
“Speaking of punching things,” Teddy says, clapping me on the shoulder. “How about you burn off that energy? I think the punching bag could use more punishment. Maybe it’ll get your mind off of things.”
With a wry smile, I wrap my hands and take my place before the worn leather surface, feeling the coiled power within me begin to unspool with each strike. As I pummel the bag, I imagine it's Constantino's smug face.
I wipe the sweat from my brow, pausing for a moment to catch my breath. Teddy, noticing my distraction, leans against a nearby weight bench and furrows his brow in concern.
"Primo, there's something else you should know," he says hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Giovanni's back at the mansion."
I raise an eyebrow, surprised by this revelation. It isn't like our brother Giovanni to associate with the family business. As a legitimate entrepreneur, he has always preferred to distance himself from our darker dealings, fearing they could jeopardize his hard-earned success.
"Really?" I ask, intrigued. "What's he doing here?"