Garden of Sins

The initiation is to take place in an old slaughterhouse where the boss does a lot of business. On the corner, the road goes downhill and we drive along the bumpy road riddled with potholes. All around us, there are old factory buildings or burned-down houses with missing roofs. Graffiti is everywhere. Various gangs have tried to mark their territory here. None of them still exist. Everywhere you look, you see the de Luca family tags, two fat XX, how appropriate. Maybe that’s why he wanted us twins. I heard the boss likes rare, valuable things.

With a flat hand, Caden turns the steering wheel to the right and the car makes a sharp turn through the mud so that we stop right in front of the old slaughterhouse.

For a brief moment, my balls shrivel when I see two Mercedes next to us. A brand new, black, loaded SUV and S-class with tinted windows that have been modified.

I breathe deeply in and out.

My brother parks three parking spaces away. He will probably never let that go no matter where he is or who he is dealing with. Caden loves the number three and he hates being boxed in.

We look at each other again. My brother seems relatively relaxed and I become calmer under his gaze. He nods when he realizes I am ready and we simultaneously get out of the car, our doors closing quietly. Caden waits for me again and as soon as I have rounded the car, we walk wordlessly and in step along the tire tracks in the snow into the dark hall. This used to be a slaughterhouse, which it still is, only now people are slaughtered here who, in their last minutes, squeal like pigs.

One of the boss’s men stands next to the door in his black coat and briefly glances at us. He mumbles something into his headset and shuts the door behind us, the banging metal echoing through the huge room that stinks of blood, death, and decay.

A cold wind blows through the partially smashed windows. Foliage, garbage, and junkie needles are gathering on the floor. I kick them aside as we march towards our doom.

I don’t know when we will meet again, Isabelle, but I am here now and I will not rest until you are safe in my arms again, princess.

* * *

Five men are standing in the middle of the room and one of them is the boss. This is only the fourth time in four years we have seen him because he is an enigma and only present when he truly has to be. He’s a bit like the president, Isabelle.

We look at the man with the perfectly slicked back black hair and squared shoulders.

The boss’s name is Vito de Luca and he has ice-cold, dark blue eyes. He wears an expensive black coat that is open and underneath is a dark red cashmere sweater and dark gray trousers. He is also wearing the most expensive Breitling I have ever seen because he spends money as fast as he kills people. Both are probably the same to him. You never know.

His son Dorian stands a half step behind him, staring at us with the same dark blue eyes as he kneads his fist and flashes his signet ring. Dorian’s face is sharply contoured and clean-shaven like his father. He has also slicked back his dark brown hair in the same way and wears a coat and, as always, black clothes. Dorian is even more well-defined than his father. His shoulders are extremely broad and everything about him is coarse. I hate him.

There is not an ounce of fat on his body, just muscle, but he is not as stocky as the three stupid enforcers – the usual accessories when the boss shows up somewhere – that stand around here.

We keep a respectful distance from Vito de Luca.

He now rubs his palms together, where the golden signet ring flashes on his finger. He also wears a gold cross around his neck, just like Dorian and you, Isabelle. Yours is in my pocket since it goes wherever I go.

His penetrating dark blue eyes examine us carefully and when he looks at you like that, you feel like you have to straighten up, which I automatically do.

“Dorian speaks highly you,” is the first thing he says in his quiet, cultivated voice, which does not fit a brutal killer. “He has put his hand in the fire for you.” Oh, yes, that hand, Isabelle. “That is the only reason you are here now. I will let you into my family. That requires a great deal of trust. However, you’ve proven your loyalty for four years now and I only hope I won’t regret this decision.”

With his hands behind his back, he edges a little closer, the dirt on the floor crunching under his Italian leather shoes.

One of his men follows like a shadow. It is John Guerra, I know him — Vito de Luca’s right hand.

Now Vito de Luca stands directly in front of us and bends over a bit as if searching for differences in our faces. His eyes sparkle as if he were looking at an extinct species he just discovered.

“So...” he continues, “which of you is the one without conscience? Carter, I think his name is.” I step forward. Talk is silver, silence is golden, that is the first thing I learned here.

The dark blue eyes sparkle as they wander over me. “A real man, that’s what we need here. All you need tonight is your weapon.”

I am watched closely as I take it from my waistband. I keep it lowered since one false move and I’d have a bullet between the eyes.

Vito de Luca turns to Caden, who is wearing a perfect mask, completely unmoved. “And you...” He steps closer as if he has never seen anything like Caden before and tilts his head. No one has ever seen anything like Caden. “You are the one who manipulates people, who can even make them kill their own mother, who never loses a game, and feels no compassion.”

Caden tilts his head to the same side as Vito and lazily lifts the right corner of his mouth.

The dark blue eyes sparkle even more. “Manipulate me,” Vito asks my brother with fascination. Caden looks back at Vito unmoved.

“I would never dare,” he replies smoothly. “Sir.”

“Dorian tells me you made three guys shoot themselves in the foot because they were in your way. Is that true?”

My brother merely shrugs his right shoulder. He is not a braggart, preferring to remain a mystery, which causes rumors to circulate about him. But I know every word you hear about him is true.

“So modest,” Vito whispers. “That’s a good quality. You don’t need a gun. I know your mind is a good enough weapon. Follow me.”

He nods to Dorian before setting off with him and the three men immediately behind them. Caden and I follow suit.

Through hanging plastic slats, we enter the back room of the building where five men kneel on the floor. All of them have their hands tied behind their backs and wear bloody, dirty jute bags over their heads. That looks painful, Isabelle.

The bodyguards let us step forward and position themselves behind us. Hesitant, I turn the gun between my hands. I’ve never killed anyone before, but I know where this is going. One dead per brother. Afterward, I know I will never be the same again.

“Allora. It’s very simple,” Dorian explains and walks behind the men. As he speaks, he pulls the bags off their heads. “Two of these parasites raped a good friend’s cousin and almost beat her to death. Three of them did nothing at all. You...” he nods in Caden’s direction. “…you’re going to find out who these two are…” and then he points his chin at me and his eyes harden, “…you’re going to shoot them.”

I glance at Dorian and wonder why he’s been looking at me so pissed off recently. Usually, he doesn’t do that. I wonder if he knows anything, but I can’t worry about that right now.