Chapter 4

Made men.

Society have us believing they are criminals, killers, monsters. They are the cause of all the crime in America. Maybe they are, Maybe they are the vicious inhuman

beasts, that our parents tell us about.

But one of them was also my friend.

He's the reason Diamond can sit at that damn desk everyday lost in her own world. The reason why I get to live another day, because a made man was what saved our lives.

Reno Catelli was a made man, he was also Diamond's boyfriend and one of the very few friends I had.

Now he's gone, killed at age nineteen.

"Eterno riposo, concedere a loro, o Signore , e lasciare che perpetua risplenda ad essi la luce, Maggio le anime dei fedeli defunti attraverso il ricordo di Dio, riposo in pace. Amen. Our Father, into your hands, O Lord, we humbly entrust our brother Lorenzo Michel Catelli. In this life you embraced him with your…."

Standing in the back of the grave-site near an old frail tree I listen to the priest preach about death and life, the importance of forgiveness and prayer, all the while I watch Diamond from across the crowd of people.

She refuses to look at me, standing sturdily next to her dad. Not too far from the Catelli family and their people but not too close either.

Guess having been the girlfriend of a made man has its perks even in death.

It is hilarious to think about.

A few days ago I was teasing her, "You saw him yesterday, and you going to see him today, and most probably tomorrow and the next day."

Those words will forever haunt me when I'm not in front of preying eyes. But every time I stare at Diamond, those words would make me bleed.

Standing under the Seattle breeze, my vision planted on my best girl, I know she doesn't blame me for not seeing him one last time.

I'm aware Diamond needs me now more than ever. I am the one she's hoping would understand, who would give her strength to move on from this.

I just can't do it now.

I can't mourn the death of my friend, not yet. I need answers, justice, and her safe, she is fif- fucking- teen.

Diamond doesn't need this in her life. Her mother was a deadbeat junky who died when she was three.

Her father is looking at seven years in prison at least and that's concurrent.

Though Diamond has The Sin Riders, they're just a small motorcycle club who doesn't have enough man power to protect her.

Not like The Satan Snipers Motorcycle Club can, not like Vincent and his men. But getting them to look out for her isn't going to happen.

These people didn't have the patience or the inclination to look after a girl that would prove more work than just letting her go, even if you offered them millions.

I know, I tried.

They couldn't be bought as easily, as some small group of misfits, more so when they would have to protect her from our own government. And let's face it, babysitting an arguably crazy fifteen year old biker princess wasn't high on these people's to do list.

But, that could change and fast if I were to share her expertise to either group, but I couldn't, I wouldn't.

And as the family started to throw roses and soil on the black coffin, I knew I'm not going to toss my friend anywhere.

I'm going to protect her and just hope that in a few months from now Michael will fulfill his promise, whether he hates me or not.

Diamond steps on to the small stool stationed next to the coffin.

Her black knit dress, loose and ragged to match the inner turmoil she faced these past four days.

She wants to know why.

I see the questions hidden in her eyes. I hear everything from the silent, loud glances she gives me in the morning when we're having our breakfast.

I wish I could tell her, I can't, Diamond can't know the whole story.

Her mind wouldn't be able to handle the truth which has kept me up these past four days:- the killers didn't want Reno.

They want the one who could make a nuclear missile using scrap metal. The person who works for the government. It didn't just put her in danger but everyone around her too.

The people that killed Reno wanted the one person who would give them true power, her, Dakota Larken.

I won't let that happen.

The only thing keeping me sane as I stand here in this miserable place tainted with death and sorrow is my money in the bank and the certainty that if things get of hand I could always turn to my brothers.

Not Vincent,

Never him, but my other brothers, David, Michael, Kevin and Jace.

Those four would follow me in to hell, all I have to do is ask.

My attention deters from Diamond as she places her rose on the coffin that holds her soulless boyfriend's body captive.

The black suit approaching me with long strides through the back crowd of people now holds my vision hostage.

Its imposing stature belonging solely to only one man ,who is by default the only Stone to attend the funeral, Vincent Stone.

Unlike Hector's other children who are from Sandra Decoster or my mother, Hunter Orniel, both Texan born women.

Vincent's mother is Italian, Taliya Raseto. The eldest daughter of Ricardo Raseto, head of the Raseto family and a member of the Famiglia.

A short affair after the death of her husband, finally produced an heir to the Raseto family, Vincent Raseto Stone aka my stepbrother, a made man.

I didn't know that the Famiglia accepted men that were only half Italian, but what do I know about the Mafia, not much.

The stubble on his jaw is new. The dead look in his eyes as he approaches me isn't.

We never had much of a relationship.

Vincent was raised by his mother and until a year back he was only a name attached to a teenage boy.

But ever since that day in the restaurant I wanted him to notice me, like I noticed him. That day he wasn't just a guy with a name,

he became more,

even after he ignored me, pretending that I was nothing.

But why try so hard to pretend unless it could be something right?

It is no secret that I want to have a close relationship with him but not like the one I share with David and Michael, I want more. He knows that. I know he knows, because I told him recently. However, it would never be. I have accepted it.

What other choice do I have, when all he ever does is remind me I am nothing to him. I'm aware that my feelings for Vincent won't just shut off.

It can't die without being flamed, because to kill something it would have to be rooted- a lifeline, a living thing.

My penchant for Vincent Stone has none and I'm sure his hatred for me, or ‘deep disregard' as Reno put it, stems from that mere fact.

He wants me to whither, disappear but unfortunately for him I am front and center. Reno's death came at a high price and soon the Famiglia would know who killed their own.

It wouldn't be long after that when they figure out why.

Taking in the crisp sour air, that mixed with the stench of decomposed flesh I don't take my eyes off the six foot three inch man as his muscular thighs swallow up the distance that separates us.

He stops next to me, the roughened texture of his suit jacket brushing my bare arm, eliciting shivers down my spine.

"What the fuck are you doing here Kylie? Go home! I'll bring Diamond later."

His eyes crinkle in what I can say is certain HATE.

Nostrils flared in disgust.

His mouth, his succulent mouth, his finest weapon, shattering me with just words.

I can spend hours talking about the times Vincent has hurt me with his skilled tongue,

but now,

today as I stand here with so much on my platinum plate, that statement,

his statement rips me.

I am weak in this moment, so frail. And as my tears threaten to spill even I too hate myself.

Robbing me of what little bit of self morality I have left.

My knee length dress feels like it's getting stripped off, leaving me naked, vulnerable , freezing in my pacific of torment.

I despise that my emotions give him so much power to hurt me, but it sickens me that he does it over and over again.

When will I learn to be strong enough to control my treacherous heart.

I am a strong person, I am tough, but why with Vincent Stone do I feel worthless and small.

"Marco and Deno were kind enough to extend the invitation to me," I say.

My eyes focus beyond him, trying not to look at him, attempting my best to keep this voice of mine strong, "Reno was my friend, so please just, just leave me be Vincent."

His eyes widen a mere fraction, the only evidence to his surprise.

The person in front of us turns around, her wrinkled face frowning, taking us both in- Vincent's angry scowl and my doughy eyes on full display. We shouldn't be having this conversation where we're standing.

Vincent has the same thoughts as I do and it isn't long when I feel the bite of his fingers latching into the naked flesh on my arm, pulling me further away until we're blocked by a tree a good few meters from the grave-site.

The sad thing about it?

I don't even care a dime that he's pulling me roughly, that there's no affection or deeper meaning to his actions.

I am like a deprived child given that which it craves, for that child it could be a dummy or milk, for me it's Vincent Stone's hand on my skin.

With a tiny step back, he drops my arm like it is infected. The action isn't enough to jolt me out of my stupidity I always possess in his presence.

Will anything ever be enough?

My breathing picks up as I inhale the strong scent of his cologne and the brandy on his breath. The rush of heat beating between my legs, a familiar wanton of sinful lust my body possessed when Vincent was in a close proximity.

On one side of the bridge I hate these unrequited predilections. It haunts me with what I could never have. The other side, that disturbed part of me thrives in the knowledge that I want this man, who is so unattainable.

I'm like a Lioness who wants, needs the chase.

If everyone could have it,

I don't want it and no one can have Vincent Stone because Vincent Stone is a man bound in blood and honor, born with death on his hands and a target on his back.

Vincent Stone is a made man and nobody owned a made man besides God, the mafia and himself.

"Jesus fuck Kylie, do you honestly think they want you here."

Those words do what his cologne and brandy scented body couldn't. They finish me.

"What?" I don't recognize that soft note as it leaves my mouth.

Who is this weak girl?

Who is she, this girl that's talking? Where am I, Kylie Bray, the vivacious girl from Liston Hills?

Where is she gone? I scream inside my head.

'Stop, you hurting yourself, please just STOP'. Except I can't, there is something wrong with my head. There is something not right inside me.

I am standing in front of this man, who I continue to love even though he has time and time again hurt me.

His face frozen in a harsh angry scowl. He is stabbing me, with words, but they still cut deeper than a puncture to the gut and I am allowing it.

What is wrong with me?!

Why do I have these feeling for this man?! I need help.

Who is going to help me?

"You pathetic, pining like a little bitch in heat, embarrassing me at my cousin's funeral. I'm going to tell you ONE time, I. Don't. Fuck. Little girls! , So stay the fuck away from me Kylie, I don't NEED your brand of fucked up, I already have my own."

I flinch at the grit and harshness of his tone and the proximity of his suit covered body. His words, it is too much.

My tears spill silently as my mind and body cripple on the inside.

Did Vincent not understand that he tears me apart when he opens his mouth. He fractures me with his harsh intent. His demeaning words that is poetry to my fucked up heart, lyrics to my sickened soul.

Demon eyes glare at my sappy ones, telling me that he understands it very well, but just doesn't give a fuck, because I am nothing to him.

This is it.

I would no longer love this man. I would learn to move on from Vincent Stone.

How could I not, when it is obvious he loathes me.

He is a made man and I am just a nuisance.

I push at his chest wordlessly. Leaving him as he stumbles back in shock. My heavy feet storm away from him. If he wants me gone, I am darn going.

My friend isn't lying in that coffin anyway, he's dead and hopefully his ghost is beating the fuck out of Vincent's soul.

"Kylie I'm not done talking to you." That snarly voice just makes my feet move faster as my throat clogs tighter. I will not cry, no I am not going to cry.

"You said enough, you want me gone, I'm going. And I won't be back."

I don't stop or slow down as I say these words. Not knowing if they are meaningless, not knowing whether I am going go through with it.

I want to convince myself that I don't give a penny if he hears it or not. I want to say there is so much a person can take and I had enough, but I know somewhere in me that it's not.

But there were serious problems to attend to than getting ripped to shreds by Vincent Stone.

I don't need this crap but I take it. I feel like a junky addicted to shit drugs and I fucking hate myself at this moment for it. I keep doing this, keep allowing him so much power.

Vincent Stone is a huge asshole and I know , I so know that I should hate his ass.

He needs a taste of his own medicine.

'Kylie, get your ass here now."

"Leave me alone Vincent." My voice sounds strong and I am glad I got that from my dad.

I am a Bray, weakness was and is not in my forte, in my blood. Vincent Stone made me weak and instead of nurturing it he used it as the worst form of torture and I want to be done with him. I will try anything to just forget him.

"I'm sorry, OK, I'm fuckin' sorry, can you get your ass here now, please." Sorry, huh.

"Now isn't a good time, I got somewhere to be."

My feet pick up the pace. Deciding to detach itself from my head and heart which both get a sick thrill that he actually apologized.

How more fucked up could I get? I am aware of my problem, many women suffer similar complexes. There IS an entire blog dedicated to this problem called, 'the addiction barrier'.

"Yeah, and where is this somewhere."

I can't understand why he is now curious, but I'm too revved, too angry at myself to stop.

Part of me, the weak part that craves anything Vincent Stone wants to answer, wants to talk to this man even if it means me getting hurt in the end as he cuts me with that bladed tongue of his.

Sometimes I wonder whether it is just me that he chooses to treat so savagely or is it all the female population.

Do the women in his bed get that sharp vicious tongue to hurt them like he hurts me. Do they also have these crazy enslaving emotions burning deep inside them for this man like I do.

Do they stalk his social media, and search his name twenty times a day like I constantly do. Or is it just me?

Maybe Vincent is a man you can't help but be obsessed over.

Maybe the women crave that harsh scowl of his, and the dead eyes of this man with a frozen soul.

That could explain my soul depicting desire for him. I am addicted to the danger, fixated to the allure. Do I crave it? Is something immensely wrong with me.

I think about this as I wear out my Prada heels. Blinded in anger because Vincent with any other woman makes me jealous. They have sex with him, they have his hands on their body.

And I? Me, Kylie 'Fucking' Bray, billionaire that can practically click her fingers and have men crawling on the ground can't have Vincent Stone even smile at me.

I hate it, I hate me, I hate him.

No I still love him. My mind is a jumbled mess, it is thinking thoughts, bad thoughts.

"I'm going to church," I yell, sarcasm rich and deep in my notes, "My mama always says it's best to confess before you commit sin, then you can enjoy it better."

"What sin do you plan on committing Kylie," He shouts back, still following me, which is a first.

Vincent never follows me, ever. Why is he following me?

I am leaving this man behind. Forgetting about him is now the new in with Vincent Stone and I. And he is following me.

"I haven't thought about it yet." I say in all honesty, and it is. I just know it is going to include Vincent's head probably detached from his body. Obviously I don't share this with him, but the thought definitely holds appeal.

The vibration coming from my heart takes me for surprise. I stop mid-step. Still so revved up, my breathing labored. Seconds pass before I realize it is my ear piece I keep for my phone.

With one last look at the scowling Made Man that now stands in front of me, I slip my fingers in my bra pulling the earpiece out. I stick the silver metal in my ear.

My eyes involuntarily train on Vincent's shirt buttons.

The breeze of the wind blows in my direction and my nose greedily inhales all that which I would never have, all that is him.

I love Vincent and I hate him for not loving me back.

It is said that a want is stronger than a need because of the desire for it. With Vincent it isn't just a want, but a bone deep need.

One with so much control over you that you have no choice but to whither in a blanket of agony for not having it.

"Where the hell are you?" The shouting voice on the other side of my earpiece brings me out of my stupor and though it is hard, I leave Vincent standing alone.

Walking even further away from the grave-site out into the sun and closer to my car.

There is someone who comes before my craving. One person that holds priority in my life and I don't know why. I've never questioned why. I just understand that he has to come first even if he is angry with me. Even if he is treating me as bad as Vincent.

"Michael."

My voice is strong, as my insides mix with a whirl of, hurt, pain, confusion, excitement, fear. It is like I am sinking into an ocean of trepidation.

Michael didn't call anymore, we barely said a few words to each other via text and even that has become non existent in recent weeks.

It's a sad day to admit that I am the biggest fuck up in history.

What I did to Michael those months ago on a drunken dare was life altering.

His girlfriend bared witness to it, and even now I remember her screaming while Michael just stood there watching her.

It was a few days later that David called, informing me of how bad of a fuck up I actually made.

Michael was waiting that night at the back of the club to propose to Willow. Unfortunately that day due to me, Willow broke it off with him.

I tried talking to her but the woman insisted it wasn't my fault. I was young, teenagers always did dumb shit, was the way she saw it.

The fact that my brother is even calling me after I ripped his heart from him means one thing. Whatever it is has to be life or death.

Ever heard someone say a day can change your whole life? For me, for my family we don't require an entire day, we just have to answer a phone call and that takes seconds.

"Jace is missing, David and I are heading to Liston Hills now, get Diamond, she's needed. Kevin and Storm will be joining you two. I have the jet waiting at the University you got twenty minutes."

The phone goes dead, which is no surprise there, Michael hates idle chit chat.

Growing up around him I got used to what other people considered 'not normal' behavior. They weren't lying when they said it, they weren't talking smack when they said he was rude either.

But that was, and will always be Michael Stone. He isn't a peoples person, he lives to make the world a better place. His drive to succeed in doing that has always been at full capacity.

Michael once said that people wasted too much time thinking about doing something instead of just doing it.

Michael believes in positive time consumption, he is a genius just like Diamond but different.

His outlook on life is not appreciated. He knows when to hold his tongue, when to pretend and lie but most of the time he just doesn't care.

One time I was sitting by his desk waiting for him to finish off his work and take me for tacos when he got up and came to see what I was doing.

I told him I was watching inspirational videos because they made me feel good. He took my laptop away from me and set it down on a pile of papers on his desk.

I recall thinking how much trouble could a sixteen year old me get into if he knew I was watching porn and the only inspiration I was getting was that I needed more yoga classes.

Michael luckily didn't look at my screen, but somehow I knew he knew I was talking smack. I was Kylie ‘the trouble maker'.

Michael took me by my shoulders making me stand and looked me dead in the eyes, my own burned as our gaze connected. He said something to me that day, that I haven't forgotten. He said that there were only three types of people on the earth,

the thinkers, the doers, and the in between ones and those three types of people were separated by two different mindsets, acceptance and ambition.

Michael said it was how we understood ourselves that counted the difference. He said the ones who accepted could be greater than those driven by ambition as the ones who were accepting were doers. And the ambitious ones could be greater because they were the in between ones.

He said the entire world worked like this. They just didn't realize it yet.

Michael said even I was one of the other and the mind could always change. He said the mind was so strong that an accepting person can swap and turn to an ambitious person and back again. He said that was how time worked, that was the circle of life. It was an on going tyrant of choices, swapping, changing, turning.

Michael said that the only inspiration I needed was when I looked in the mirror in the morning. The rest was just a waste of time, life and oxygen.

I remember his emerald dark gaze as it stared me down, there was that spell binding need to listen to him, to understand what he was saying.

I wanted to make him proud then, and as my mind rallies on what he just said on the phone a minute ago, I want to make him proud now too. So though my brain is reeling from those three words, ‘Jace is missing. Jace is missing,' I don't freak out like I want to.

Instead, I take a deep lungful of air, ignoring the knots twisting my stomach, making me nauseous and the ache penetrating through my beating heart and the clogging burn in my throat. I ignore all of it because I have to.

"What was that?" The toneless voice behind me does nothing to me at this moment besides serves as a reminder of a big fact - my baby brother is missing and there is nothing more important than my family. I don't stare into nothingness, I don't perform and scream.

I flip into over drive. I am Kylie Bray and my brother is missing. My family needs me and in twenty minutes I am going to be getting on that jet.

I don't spare Vincent a glance as I turn around and start toward Diamond. My fixation and hang ups toward Vincent is too overshadowed by my loyalty and love for my family.

I thought it then, but I had no idea of how the two would one day hold my life in a war of wills.

"Kylie I asked a question."

Vincent asking a question sounds more like a growl which isn't easy to ignore, but my family needs me. And what did I say before? Yes, I am done with Vincent Stone, so done, it isn't even worth thinking about. I know I will think about it, I know I will tumble from my decision but not now.

"It's family business," I mutter without slowing down.

My long legs eat up the distance to my friend, not really thinking if he heard me. I need to get Diamond and get the hell out of here.

Diamond chooses that moment to look at me, and with one signal of my head she is leaving all of this behind her and coming to me.

I never could understand our closeness. I never sought to understand our loyalty to each other either.

Since that first day when I met the little girl with a snotty nose crying for a name while I secretly wished for her shoes, I have never questioned why we became so inseparable.

Even now as she leaves the burial of her first love, Diamond doesn't slow her pace. There is no torn feelings, she is walking to me and I am watching her. And she doesn't stop until her arm is around my waist and her head on my shoulder,

"What happened now? If it is David let's make him hang, anyone else I'm in."

In another time I would easily laugh at her straightforward approach to anything but this is not one of those times.

"We need to leave, it's Jace, I'll explain later." Her eyes widen a fraction, before she answers with a clipped nod.

Barely missing a beat, our walk toward the car is quick.

I don't think of the man I leave standing behind, watching us leave this place filled of death and sin. No I don't think of him at all.

Jumping in my silver two door Mercedes, the same time Diamond hops in next to me. I turn my key into the ignition, and I am gone.

I don't look back at Vincent Stone watching me drive away. I focus on the road ahead, taking my curves with a silent ease I always possess when I am controlling a set of wheels, and an engine. It takes us twelve minutes before we're turning into the University of Washington.

I see the jet in the distance touching down to the center of the football field.

The jet is a privately owned, designed model made by Michael himself.

I was a bit skeptical when I first saw the Chrome jet, as he calls it. Michael is my brother but genius or not it's hard to accept that your brother designed a jet that is going to have your life in its body.

I look in my rear-view mirror and see Vincent's black jaguar approaching from behind me. My insides heat, and twist. Is he here to have the last say, did Michael call him. I hope not, because this wouldn't end well.

We've never included Vincent in anything, for a reason. He isn't really a Stone besides his blood and surname. Sometimes blood just isn't enough, sometimes loyalty comes first.

After parking in one of the teacher's reserved spaces, I jump out of my car.

"I need to do a few things on my laptop before we leave," Diamond says, as she jumps out of the car, breaking our twelve minute silence.

"I'll be there now," I tell her.

Her vision focuses on Vincent before back to me,

"Make it quick, I need to know what the hell is going on."

I watch her tall lithe form walking toward the jet.

I stand in wait, patiently watching Vincent get out of his car.

His jacket is now gone, his disheveled hair giving the impression he ran his hands numerous of times through the mass, on the drive here. A slight breeze, elicits shivers down my spine, as goosebumps prickle on my tanned flesh. I run my hands down my naked arms. My face changing into a frown the closer he gets to me.

"What are you doing here?" I ask straightaway.

"There is obviously a problem, I want to help." I raise my eyebrows at his blunt answer, because him helping us in anyway is foreign.

"We don't need your help, I SUGGEST you run along to your people and leave us to our own devices." I am not sure where my confidence is coming from, it has never shown itself in the face of Vincent before.

Maybe the reason being is that my brother is missing.

Or that I know he doesn't really want to help, he just wants an in with his brothers, my brothers, and that thought, that knowledge pisses me off. My brother is missing. I don't have time for games now.

"Don't get smart Kylie," He warns me, pulling his shirt sleeves up his hairy arms that I have spent nights imagining wrapped around my body.

"Smart? You think I am smart, OH now I get a compliment, wow." My sarcastic reply has those hardened eyes of his that I have spent months hoping would look at me with interest just once, widen in shock, as his jaw, the jaw I spent hours wishing I could touch just once, tightens in anger.

Good I want to anger him.

I want him to be pissed off, I want him to take me on.

"Have you forgotten that I am more a Stone than you? They are my family by blood, DNA. I don't need your permission. I wasn't asking for it."

I step closer to him, so close our nose could touch. His dark scent washing over me, a torturous reminder that I will never have him. I will never touch him. He will never look at me and want me. Vincent will always be a made man and I will always be a thorn in his side.

I stare into his dark brown angry gaze. I mentally snap mind pictures as I see it, for the first time really hitting me. Vincent Stone will never feel a thing for me. I have to let him go. It angers me to the point that the words pour out of my mouth, but they are coming from somewhere deeper inside of me.

"No, the Famiglia is your family, you made that choice the day you left, you chose the Roseti family over the Stones, so don't come here and expect a pity fucking welcome, because you are NOT getting one, I have taken all your little fucked up shit you had to offer, hoping that there is some good in you, now I am DONE. And when it comes to MY family, be them by blood or not you need my permission, now get in the car and leave, you are not welcome on that fucking Jet." It breaks me as these words leave my mouth, I am hurting, I am in pain.

I lost a good friend. My brother is gone, maybe hurt somewhere, waiting for somebody to save him. My best friend has a target on her back.

Michael hates me, to a point we don't even talk.

And I am addicted to a man that will never love me. Vincent Stone isn't just my addiction but a sickness, and as I stare into his face one last time, I tell myself I am done with him.

It is now, as I march away from the man that for some unknown reason I love that I make a promise to myself- I will not let my unrequited love for Vincent Stone cripple me.

I will distance myself from this man and kill any feelings I have for my stepbrother.

I know I said it then, but when I look back on that day when they laid Reno's soulless body to rest, I think of how empty those promises were.

I think of how stupid and naive I was to just believe that I could starve myself from that craving of such a poisonous drug like Vincent.

I tried don't get me wrong, but trying and achieving is completely different words.

I can't say whether it was just me that made the decisions that turned my life, because on one side it's said that we are our decisions, we make them, we live by them, and I have, but looking back on those times I always wondered whether those decisions really were my own.

Papa once told me that sometimes our choices were intertwined with other peoples actions, we just couldn't help but go with the flow hoping to be breathing in the end.

Like a natural path of life. I don't know what to say to that.

Do I regret it now, no, I would have done it all again-the hurt, pain, loss, anger, I would've done every fucking thing again.

It was my heart that chose Vincent Stone how could I not.