Vicious Minds Read online

  Vicious Minds: Part 1

  Children of Vice #4

  J.J. McAvoy

  This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.

  This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Vicious Minds: Part 1

  Copyright © 2019 by J.J. McAvoy

  Ebook ISBN: 9781641970808

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  * * *

  NYLA Publishing

  121 W 27th St., Suite 1201, New York, NY 10001

  http://www.nyliterary.com

  Contents

  Prologue

  Untitled

  Chapter 1

  Untitled

  Chapter 2

  Untitled

  Chapter 3

  Untitled

  Chapter 4

  Untitled

  Chapter 5

  Untitled

  Chapter 6

  Untitled

  Chapter 7

  Untitled

  Chapter 8

  Untitled

  Chapter 9

  Untitled

  Chapter 10

  Untitled

  Chapter 11

  Untitled

  Chapter 12

  Untitled

  Chapter 13

  Untitled

  Chapter 14

  Untitled

  Chapter 15

  Untitled

  Chapter 16

  Untitled

  Chapter 17

  Untitled

  Chapter 18

  Untitled

  Chapter 19

  Untitled

  Chapter 20

  Untitled

  Chapter 21

  Untitled

  Chapter 22

  Untitled

  To Be Continued in VICIOUS MINDS: PART 2

  Also by J.J. McAvoy

  About the Author

  Prologue

  “Blood makes you related. Loyalty makes you family.”

  ~Chris Diaz

  ETHAN

  Chicago, Illinois

  Monday, November 3rd

  “Papà!” she yelled, dressed in a red peacoat with a red beret on her head. Her curls bounced as she ran down the stairs. My aunts, my uncles, even Wyatt cleared out of her way as she came towards me like a bullet. In a blink of an eye, I lost sight of her and in the same second my knees buckled. I had to take a step back to brace myself from falling over. It was only then that I got a good look at her. I stared down, she stared back up at me. One of her eyes was the exact shade of green as mine, the other brown, and it made my heart ache…and race. So many emotions rushed me at once that I couldn’t truly process the magnitude of what was happening.

  “Ethan, meet your daughter, Giovanna Siena Orsini-Callahan,” Fiorello said as he got up from the table to walk over to me. “Her mother and I just call her Gigi though.”

  The little one held onto my legs, happily grinning as she spoke in Italian; “Mamma alla fine disse che potevo venire ma il nonno disse che doveva cavalcare l'edera perché era velenosa,” (Mommy finally said I could come, but grandpapa said he had to get rid of the ivy because it was poisonous).”

  Everyone, including myself, looked to Fiorello as he grinned like an old fat cat in a dairy farm.

  “You threw me under the bus, Gigi.” Fiorello laughed as he bent over to speak to her.

  Still holding on to my pant leg, she turned to him with a confused expression, rubbing her eyes. “Won’t that kill you? Being under a bus?”

  “Definitely his kid,” Uncle Neal whispered to Uncle Declan. I felt all of their eyes on us. My uncles, aunts, brother, cousins, and my nana, who looked torn three times over between tears, pain, and joy.

  It was only when Gigi yawed did it seem like my brain began to work again. Bending down to her height, I tapped her cheeks, and she focused her gaze on me. She smiled at me.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked her.

  She shook her head no, her curly hair bouncing from side to side. “I had big meatballs and cheese sticks!”

  “Your favorite?” I asked, taking her into my arms.

  She nodded and wrapped her arms around my neck. “Mamma says I’m meat head.”

  “What do you say back?” I prompted as I moved towards the stairs.

  “I am because she’s one too.” She yawned, resting her head on me. It was clear from how much she was rubbing her eyes that she’d been fighting off sleep and I couldn’t have much-needed conversations with anyone until she was out of the way.

  “And what does she say?” Gigi’s grip on me became tighter. She was so small, I held on to her with ease.

  “Mama says I’m right and then we eat meatballs together.” Her voice and breathing were getting softer as we got on the elevator.

  “Meatballs and no pasta?”

  “Sometimes,” she whispered and just like that, she was out.

  The few maids that were in the hall once the elevator stopped on the right floor stared at the both of us in shock, but said nothing. What could they even say? Their stares were brief as I walked past them without a glance. Entering my room I laid her on the center of my bed, taking off her jacket, shoes, and hat and placed them on the bedside table.

  I couldn’t help but realize that for as long I live, November 3rd will be scorched in my mind as the day I realized I had much to learn before I could ever hope to be the man I thought I was. November 3rd was the day I killed the governor, the mayor, the police commissioner, and the fire chief, the day my brother was released from the hospital, the day we both realized my parents…both of my parents were still alive…and the day I became a parent in the eyes of the world.

  One day.

  That’s all it took for life to flip on its head.

  “Can you tell me a story?” Gigi whispered softly in Italian, rubbing her eyes as she sat up from under the blankets I just put on her.

  People—parents really did that? Story time?

  “I don’t know a story. Sleep. Aren’t you tired?” I said back to her in Italian, and the look of disappointment and hurt on her face made me pause.

  “Papà, are you mad at me?”

  This little…person…child…is my child…my daughter. Welcome home, sweetheart.

  “No, I am not mad at you,” I said, placing my hand on her cheek.

  I am Ethan Antonio Giovanni Callahan, first son of the former head of the Irish mob, Liam Alec Callahan, and former head of the Italian mafia, Melody Nicci Giovanni Callahan. I am the Ceann Na Conairte, the leader of the pack, of the Irish mob. I am the Don of the Italian mafia. I am one of the richest, most powerful, and dangerous men on this goddamn planet. I have the president’s personal cell phone number. He took orders from me. No one or thing was beyond my knowledge or reach. So, how would I have a four-year-old daughter and not know about it?

  “Do you not know a story, Papà?” She tilted her head sideways to look at me, obviously getting a second wind.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I don’t know any stories.”

  “I do!” She grinned, sitting up and pushing the blanket down. “Once upon time….”

  “Aren’t you tired?” I tried to remind her. I knew she was tired because just a second ago she was asleep in my arms.

  “One story plea
se!” She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes like she was praying with all her heart.

  The irony…bedtime stories were meant to help kids go to sleep and yet she was determined to tell me one.

  “Okay. Tell me the story.” I smiled, tucking her in a bit more and giving her my full attention.

  “Once upon a time,” she started again, speaking gently, I suppose copying whoever told her the story to begin with. “There were four kingdoms, Sicily, Naples, Calabria, Puglia, and they fought all time. They fought over food, land, and water. If it could be used by people, they fought over it. At first each kingdom only wanted to protect themselves from all the bad people in the world trying to steal their stuff. The kings of the four kingdoms tried to protect them on their own, they made small armies, but those men needed to take care of their families too before they could take care of others, so the four kings told their people if they wished to use their armies, they would protect them from the bad people who were attacking them. All the people loved their kings and wanted to be safe, so they gave their money.”

  This is a child’s bedtime story? I thought, eyebrow raised as I watched her tell it to me seriously.

  “They called the king’s men the Mafia. It was a word that meant ‘acting as a protector against the arrogance of the powerful.’ The people in Sicily would proudly proclaim ‘I Mafiusi della Vicaria!’ That means—”

  “Heroes of the Reformatory,” I whispered in sheer astonishment, not believing what I was hearing.

  She grinned wide, sitting up more if that was possible. “Yeah, Papà! You do know the story? Did your mama tell it to you too?”

  I knew because it wasn’t just a story, it was history. From her question I understood that her mother told her this…her mother had made her bedtime story the history of Italian mafias?

  What kind of woman would do that? One insane enough to have my child.

  “My mother did tell it to me.” But not as a bedtime story, it was an actual lesson. It was so long ago I’d almost forgotten. And yet listening to her tell it I could remember as clear as day my mother doing what I was doing now.

  “I Mafiusi della Vicaria!” She threw her fist out and then giggled to herself some more. “The Mafia caught the bad guys and protected their people. Everybody was happy. The four kingdoms stopped fighting…because of that, the people of the four kingdoms thought they could stop paying. But the kings wouldn’t let them. The people turned on their kings because they were mad. Then the kings stopped protecting all the people who didn’t pay, so the wars started again. Brothers fought brothers, sisters hurt sisters, and the four kingdoms sought to take over each other again. It was worse than ever before and to be in the Mafia was bad now. Now everyone hated them. Even the kings were sent to sleep, and so new kings had to come, but people couldn’t tell who the real king was because the fake kings started to turn up! All through the land, there was chaos and people didn’t know what to do. Isn’t that sad, Papà?”

  “Very,” I answered, both amused and amazed at the fact that the history of the Italian mafia was now a children’s story…one she seemed to really enjoy telling. Her eyes were wide, and her smile seemed permanently stuck on her small little oval face.

  “I think so too.” She leaned in as if she were going to tell me a secret. “It’s okay because one day, the head of the Giovanni family, Giovanni-Giovanni, had enough. He wanted all the fighting to stop. He wasn’t part of any of the four kingdoms, he was from Bosa, but grew up in Basilicata, and there he was surrounded by all four kingdoms. So, he and all the people there would get hurt from all sides. Giovanni-Giovanni joined the Calabria, and after 15 years working for bad king after bad king, he took over the Calabria. He had become a king!”

  A Don. But king was close. She went on as if she wasn’t the one who needed to sleep.…but strangely enough I wanted her awake. I wanted to know how much of this story she knew.

  She took a deep breath and rubbed her nose, laying back on the pillows.

  “It took another six years for him to take over the kingdom of Puglia, and another three to take over Naples. Giovanni the Giovanni…he was the king of three of the four kingdoms, and he dreamed of uniting all them into one. But he got sick and before he went to sleep he left this mission to his son, Ignazio Giovanni, but his son couldn’t make his daddy’s dream come true, and he got sick and went to sleep too and left it to his son, Francesco Giovanni, but he went to sleep after a long war, leaving the only one Giovanni left…Orlando, Francesco younger brother. No one believed Orlando could do it, and everyone was scared because the three kingdoms tried to break away from them. Orlando was scared and alone he went to the church where all his family laid sleeping, got down on his knees and asked for strength. He threw his hands up in the air and said, ‘Oh God, make my hands strong as iron, so I can pull all of Italy together,’ ” she yawned so wide I could see down her throat. Her eyes were heavy, and she was fighting with all her might to keep them open. Sitting up, I lifted the blanket back over her.

  “That’s enough for now…”

  “That’s all I know.” She yawned again, rolling onto her side, rubbing her eyes. “Mama hasn’t finished telling me the story yet. She tells me a new part every time she comes back. But I want to know now. You know the story, right, Daddy? Does Orlando become king of them all?”

  I smiled; I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know what it was I was feeling, but reaching over I brushed the side of her face. I laughed as I said, “That’s a spoiler, Giovanna.”

  “A spoiler?” she muttered, her eyes already closed. “What’s that?”

  There was no point answering because she was already fast asleep. Watching her sleep was like magic. Nothing exciting, or amazing, or even out of the ordinary was happening and yet it was like magic. I was curious. How could she fall sleep so easily? So simply? She had no clue where she was, except for fact that she wasn’t where she grew up…and yet she slept.

  Turning, I heard the door open as my grandmother entered, holding a small object.

  “She’s asleep?” she whispered softly, closing the door behind her. Nodding, I got up from Giovanna’s bedside.

  “What is that?” I asked softly, pointing to the object in her hands.

  “It’s a humidifier,” she smiled, lifting it to me. “When you were young, you’d get stuffy noses in the winter. I figured since she was also coming from Italy, she’d need some time getting adjusted to the drier air here. I increased the temperature for your room too.”

  “I didn’t think about that,” I admitted as I took the device from her.

  “I’d be stunned if you did,” she patted my arm and walked around me towards Giovanna who was breathing deeply.

  “How close or far do I put this?” I asked, not exactly sure what the directions were.

  She grinned and pointed to the bedside table on the opposite side of the bed Giovanna was sleeping on. Nodding again I walked over as she said. I didn’t say anything but turned on the machine and watched as she lifted Giovanna’s arms out from under the covers and tucked her in tighter.

  “It’s magical isn’t it? Seeing yourself in another living being? Knowing they trust and love you unconditionally even though you’ve done nothing to deserve it.” She smiled, brushing Giovanna’s cheek with her fingers, which looked so much older next to my daughter’s smooth skin.

  That was it.

  My uncle Declan did the test the moment she came here. By the time she first hugged me, he had already confirmed everything. Everyone, especially my grandmother and uncles, cared about the reputation of this family. There was no way they’d even let them both stay in house if they were not one thousand percent sure.

  So, they were sure.

  And so was I.

  “Ethan?”

  “Yes?”

  “Breathe.” My grandmother smiled and the look she gave me was like she could read my crumbled thoughts. I listened. I took a deep breath. “Good. Now that she’s asleep you can go talk to that
…to Fiorello. I rather not seem him more than I must. I’ll stay with her for the night so she isn’t alone.”

  She looked away from me, her head hung low. Her anger, her pain, was clear and deep.

  “Thank you,” I said, walking to the door.

  “Ethan…you already have all the makings of a good father.”

  How the hell did she know that? Because I sure as hell didn’t feel like a good father. Then again, what was that supposed to feel like?

  I glanced back at them on my bed. I could only think of the irony. She hated Fiorello with a passion I’d never seen her hate anyone. Yet she looked at Giovanna as if she were her own daughter.

  What if it’s a ruse and she plans to hurt Giovanna to get back at Fiorello? The thought came to my mind so quickly it stunned me. I was doubting my grandmother now? The list of people I trusted was small and my grandmother was always on it. Even now, knowing that she most likely knew my own parents were alive, I still trusted her. So where fuck did that thought come from?

  Evelyn was in pain and hearing why, I could understand her rage at Fiorello. Normally, whoever caused my family pain would die, without question. But this was different. Fiorello was loyal to my grandfather, he did what he did because my grandfather told him to, and I couldn’t hold him at fault for that. And even if I wanted to, I couldn’t because he…he was now family. His great-granddaughter was my daughter.