Chapter 2

Gabriel

The car rolls out of the shipping yard slowly, the gravel of the lot crunching beneath the tires and I watch as my men continue to wash away the blood staining the ground. Dragging my eyes from the scene, I bring them down to the folder in my lap before opening to the front page. Two sets of eyes stare back at me, one pair the color of the sky, a blue so vibrant they appear almost neon against the tanned skin of the woman, the other set, hazel in color, were almost too big for the small face they were looking out from. The child held all the characteristics, the dark hair and hazel eyes, and the grief I refused to let out twinged inside my chest, reminding me of the pain, of the loss. I close the folder as the driver pulls out of the yard, joining the heavy traffic of the Marina District. The rain doesn't cease or lighten, it pummels the city of Redhill, California, relentlessly, drenching pedestrians risking the rain and flooding the roads. The air was thick with humidity, a storm brewing with heavy, dark clouds tumbling through the sky just as violently as the water that crashes against the shores that boarder a large portion of the city. My driver flows us through the traffic, leaving the Marina District to enter central city, the roads busier, smog and smoke rising from the cars and buildings surrounding us. Redhill had been the home of the Saints for generations. My great great grandfather immigrated from Italy with his wife, setting up the foundation to what was now the ruling family who owned the majority of the city and some surrounding areas. It came at a heavy price. Corruption ran deep, morals were lost as my family before beat and murdered their way to the top, lining their pockets and that of their family until no one would question who was in charge here. We held the crowns and the people of this city bowed down to us. The throne now belonged to me. The last true Saint whose blood matched the first Saint that stepped foot in Redhill and claimed it as theirs. Family was all that mattered. We looked after each other, killed for each other. As long as family stayed at our side we would forever remain on the throne. We controlled the money, the drugs, the guns. The corporations and businesses added to our wealth and in return we beefed them up, kept them running and protected. The cops were on our payroll, the government in our pockets. We ruled it all, pulled the strings, them the puppets and us, the masters. No one had been able to stop us all those years ago and no one would dare try now. I would kill and keep killing for the family, and that body I put in the marina today wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last. I would not grieve for my only true brother, the older one of the two of us and the previous ruler of Redhill, until I found who was responsible for his death. The scene appeared like an accident, he lost control of his car, plunged it into the water that surrounded the city, and his body was lost to the sea, but until that was proven, it would be investigated as if we had been crossed. And should I find out someone crossed the Saint family, their punishment would be slow. Torturous. I'd make them wish they were never born by the time I was through with them. We had plenty of enemies, plenty of people wanted what we had and attempts on our lives were common. They often targeted men like Mr Garrett, paying them for information in hopes they'll snag something to use against us. It wasn't common that the men I employ turn, but when they do... It was why he was dead. He crossed us by selling what was in this folder to one of those families to use against us, which one, I didn't know yet. But I'd remain one step ahead. I always did. Pulling out of central Redhill, the driver navigates through the streets, taking me towards the beach front where golden sands stretched out for miles, the sea crashing against the shore as the rain and wind tempered the ocean before climbing the hill. My house sat on a cliffside, overlooking the water on one side and the city on the other. I could see the whole city from my balcony, I could see the kingdom that had been built on blood, sweat and tears. The car comes to a stop in the circular courtyard in front of the large, mostly glass building, the lights within glowing softly as staff meander through the halls and in the many rooms of the property. I see Atlas, my half-brother waiting in the foyer, his head angled down, reading something on his phone. It was a difficult relationship between us, including his twin, Asher. Born from my father's infidelity, they had a right to the family business but could never rule. My ancestors had placed rules and laws that only we abided by, children born outside of a marriage from adultery were punished. Given roles but never the crown. Atlas and Asher were destined to simply be pawns for me to use. There were other rules, passed down to each generation and we all knew them, including my dead brother, yet he kept that secret and ignored those laws that had strengthened this family through the years. Some of them may be archaic, but they were there for a reason, even if they made no sense to someone on the outside. Clutching the folder, I climb from the car when my door is opened for me, the driver standing and waiting for me to enter the house before he climbs back in and drives away. Atlas glances up to me where he lingers, pocketing the phone as his eyes drop to the folder. A crease forms between his brows but he knew what was inside. All the ones closest to me did. "Take a visit to Mr Garrett's wife," I order, "Find out what she knows and then dispose of her." I don't bother to wait for his obedience, he'll comply and do as I ask. I find my mother in the kitchen, but my other half-brother was nowhere in sight. She sees the folder, eyes lighting, "And?" I nod once and she sags in the chair, relief washing through her, "And Lucas?" "His car was pulled from the Marina this morning." Grief crumbles her features, tears instantly welling to her dark eyes as her hand clutches her chest, "No." "His body has yet to be recovered." "There's still hope," she whispers, her voice thick. I doubted it. Lucas had been missing for three weeks already, his car only just discovered. He wouldn't have stayed away, he wouldn't have ran, and if he had, I'd have to kill him myself. But Lucas was dead, there was no other alternative. But I understood her grief and her denial, her eldest child was dead, and she hadn't said goodbye. I place a hand on her shoulder and lay the folder in front of her. Perhaps this would help bring her closure while I figured out what to do with this new information. The child in that photo belonged to my brother, he became a father sixteen months ago. He knew about the child and chose to keep it from us, leaving the mother to raise the child alone with the child holding the wrong last name. The boy belonged to the Saints. He was the next generation. And I would have him.