His to ruin, p.1
HIS TO RUIN, page 1
HIS TO RUIN
THORNS AMONG ROSES BOOK 1
Copyright © 2023 D.M Roberts
All rights reserved.
Published 2023.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by means of photocopying, electronic, or recording without permission and written consent of the author. All the characters and places in this publication are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, or locations in this book is purely coincidental.
Cover design by The Pretty Little Book Design.
Edited by Melanie Yu at Made Me Blush Books.
Formatting by Atticus.
Contents
Dedication
Content warning
Fullpage Image
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Chapter Fifty-seven
Chapter Fifty-eight
Chapter Fifty-nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-one
Chapter Sixty-two
Chapter Sixty-three
Afterword
About the author
To my readers
This book is my proof to you that if you manifest hard enough anything can happen.
All you need to do is ask the universe, trust, and receive.
It’s that simple.
Always follow your dreams. Don’t ever let anyone put you down or shame you for the spicy books you enjoy. No matter how taboo, how forbidden, or how dark they may be.
Life is too short to give two fucks what people think.
Stay true to who you are.
To Meghan
I started TikTok in hope that I would get some decent book recommendations and to share my love of books.
Never in a million years did I ever think it would meet my best friend.
I can’t put into words just how much it means to have you in my life. To talk to you every day, sharing our love of books and supporting each other through our journey as authors.
You helped to grow so much this past year and gave me the encouragement I needed to believe not only in myself, but also in my writing.
I am so grateful to call you my best friend.
You are an incredible writer and I want you to know that I will always be your biggest fan xxx
Also, a special thanks to Sonya for always supporting me chapter by chapter, and to all my beta readers Ashley, Sally, Montana, Jessica, Amy, Teresa, and Jessica for loving the story and keeping me on track. It really means the world.
Content warning
This book may contains some sensitive topics that you may not feel comfortable reading.
This includes the following:
Mafia, scenes of murder, torture, violence, drug and alcohol use, bullying, non-consent, dubious consent, arranged marriage, criminal activities, domestic violence, and voyeurism
Chapter One
Caleb
I fucking hate being made to wait. Once again, I check the time on my phone and sigh deeply. It’s been almost an hour and I have places to be. I look over Saint who looks as anxious to find out what the fuck is going on as I do.
Leaning back into the hard leather chair I take in the mould growing on the walls. It almost reminds me of the waiting room Saint and I would be sent to as boys before we were called into the principal’s office awaiting our reprimand for fighting with the other boys. Unlike the safe space of the room next to the principal’s office, this is a ten room underground soundproof bunker that was built in the caves under Saints house. Innumerable secret meetings have been held here, and many have been taken to die slow, painful deaths in its depths, and buried into the concrete walls. It’s eerie as all hell down here and the sooner we get this over with, whatever that may be, the better.
Loud yelling from inside the room continues to echo and I recognise one of the voices as Eric.
Fuck.
I haven’t heard him this riled up in a very long time. Two of Eric’s men that I’ve never seen before stand guard at each door with their guns showing in their holsters. I begin to pace as my patience wavers. He doesn’t need to make his own son wait almost an hour. Sometimes I think he does it to intimidate us, to make us sweat.
“Please don’t kill me. Please. I’ve told you everything I know, I swear. Just let us go,” Steve screams painfully from inside the room.
“How much fucking longer are we going to have to wait? I’ve got shit to do,” Saint says impatiently.
We had planned for a day at the beach to chill out after the stressful few days we had chasing down Steve, but everyone here knows that when the boss of a highly organised crime family calls you in for a meeting, you be there no questions asked, otherwise you can forget about using your arms or legs for a while, maybe even worse. I’m all too aware of what happens to people who refuse or disobey an order. Hell, even his own son is not immune to his level of cruelty. I’ve seen it first-hand many times.
Eric Garo is a ruthless bastard. Underboss and only living son of Francis Garo, head of the Garo mob in the East Coast. Each job I do for him strips away a piece of my soul, what’s left of it anyway. I can’t count the number of bones I’ve broken, and bullets I’ve sprayed into bodies all on the order of one man. But that’s not even the worst of it.
I used to hate it in the beginning, inflicting pain on others, seeing their faces twist and cry out with pain as the life drained from their bodies, but I was younger then. Now I welcome their pain.
Another ear-piercing scream can be heard coming from one of the other rooms. This time it’s a female. Eric must have found Steve’s wife, Tracey. Steve knew that once you cross that line you condemn your entire family and blood line to death along with you.
When I hear her cry, I remember my mother as she held my father’s dead body in her arms. Like it was yesterday, I hear her scream just before a bullet was put into her forehead. Every time I think about that night it drives me into an uncontrollable rage until all I can see is blood and death.
“Use it. Use it to make you stronger,” Eric had said, and that’s exactly what I did. The bastard that shot them has never been found or brought to justice. Now that I’m older I’m almost glad of it because when I find him and I will, he will die by my hand.
The police have classed it as a Cold Case because the killer was never found, but it will never be cold to me. I relive that night in my dreams, going back to the nine-year-old boy cuddled up in my warm bed unable to sleep because of the monster waiting under my bed. Except that night the monster wasn’t waiting for me. He was downstairs murdering my parents. I can still hear my moms screams, begging dad to wake up after a loud bang echoed throughout the house like a firework. Crawling out of bed I wanted to call out to them both so badly, but I didn’t. Gripping my teddy hard, I made my way to the stairs and watched mom cradle dads’ lifeless body in her blood-soaked arms through a small opening in the wooden spindle as a man with a snake tattoo from his elbow to hand pointed a gun to the back of her head and pulled the trigger.
The older I got, the more I delved into my parents murder. I couldn’t let go. I knew that my dad worked for the organisation and that it was no random killing. I reviewed every detail the police have on file about that night over and over, until the pages crumbled. There was no footprints or handprints left behind. Not a single bullet case. A clean hit they said. The sure tell of a hitman. Not a single trace of the bastard that did it could be found, but that won’t stop me. Someone in our world knows the truth and I won’t stop until I have it. Retribution is all that matters now.
Chapter Two
Caleb
I’m pulled from the memory when the door to the meeting room swings open. Two men are the first to walk out dragging Steve Hagan’s almost lifeless body. Follo wed by Chains. His leather jacket squeaks when he lightly taps me on the shoulder grunting out a greeting to us when he walks past. Nothing new.
Chains is one of Erics top men and not the type of person you ever underestimate. He’s lethal and will have you chained up by your nipples and balls and leave you hanging in your own piss and shit for days while you bleed out. Hell, I’ve seen it happen.
Both of Steve’s eyes are swollen shut and his face almost unrecognisable as blood drips down his face.
“Burn that fucking mark off his skin and feed it to his bitch of a wife,” Eric roars out after his men before the door to the room is slammed closed.
The mark Eric’s referring to is a symbol of the Garo family. The letter G wrapped in thorns to be forever branded deep into the skin with a hot iron when you become a made man, as a mark of allegiance to the Garo family. An allegiance that if ever broken would mean certain death. Steve broke his oath when he turned against us spying on us for the Maloti family. He almost got away until we tracked him down three nights ago and brought him back here for his reckoning. If there’s one thing you never do, it’s turn against your own. It’s not just the rival mob families that plant moles. Many have been turned to rat for the cops. Stupid fuckers thought the DEA and FBI would keep them from reach. They were wrong. Eric has most of them in his pocket with generous stacks of hush money. There’s no escaping this life once you’re in it. You know when you swear that blood oath, that death is your only ticket out. The fact that Steve is still alive means Eric wants him kept that way for a reason. For now, anyway. In our world information is key.
“About time you shut him the fuck up. Piece of shit,” Saint barks, spitting on Steve’s face as he’s carried away. It’s nothing less than I would have done. He is a piece of shit begging for his life like that, its fucking pathetic.
One of the men holds his finger to his ear. Turning to us he announces, “Mr Garo will see you now,” then pushes the door open allowing us to walk through.
A thick smell of smoke and something metallic fills my nostrils. Steve should be dead with the amount of blood on the floor and on the chair he was tied to. He must be one tough mother fucker if he survives that beating.
Eric sits at the head of the large rectangle table in the center of the room holding a lit cigar to his mouth.
He looks drunk. Shit, this isn’t good.
Bits of broken furniture and glass lie about the room. Shards of glass bottles crunch and crack under my boots as I walk further in. I nod at Jono, Erics right hand man as he watches us enter whilst wiping Steve’s blood off his hands and arms with a dirty rag.
Pulling out a chair to sit on I take in Eric again briefly without him noticing my gaze because well fuck, I like my eyes where they are and not on the floor next to Steve’s fingers and teeth.
This is the first I’ve seen Eric since before Saint and I left to track down Steve. At first sight I’m taken aback by his appearance and so is Saint by the look of him.
I’ve never seen Eric with so much as a crease on his designer Desmond Merrion suits, but here he sits head down, his shirt is undone at the first few buttons displaying a patch of rugged grey chest hair and crinkled as if someone’s been bunching it up and trying to tear it from his body. He sucks in a sharp breath seeming to collect himself, straightening his shoulders up in his leather chair. Dark circles have formed under his red rimmed eyes like he hasn’t slept in days. His hair is a mess like he’s been constantly running his hands through it. The thin scar that’s normally visible from his left ear to chin is hidden by stubble that’s grown around his face in the past few days.
I take in the state of the room again. Fuck I hate this room. Everything is black, right down to the shiny marble floor tiles. I wonder how many people have been killed in this very room? Easier to mop up blood with tiles I suppose.
My eyes cast towards Saint who lifts a brow. His eyes asking what the fuck as they filter between Jono, Owl, and me. He bends picking up a chair from the floor to sit on. A cracking noise can be heard around the silenced room when he places it in an upright position. One leg is almost broke in half. Setting it back where he found it, he strides around the table planting himself in a chair that still sits in place untouched.
Jono doesn’t sit next to us, instead opting to stand to the right of Eric, setting a glass of neat whisky on the table for him. Eric drinks it in one go then hands the glass back to Jono to keep them coming.
“I have a job for you. It appears the rat bastard had some valuable information to share when he was begging for his miserable little life,” Eric says calmly.
“It’s amazing how loose a tongue can get when it’s about to get cut off boss,” Owl jokes.
I cock a brow wondering what that has to do with Saint and me.
“It appears that our good friend Steve has been feeding back information on our organisation to Marcus Maloti,” Eric says rubbing his hands together before cracking each knuckle.
“Maloti?”
Fuck. The Maloti family is one of Erics biggest rivals. Each family would slit the other’s throats to be on top of the fucking food chain. Or in this case the drug, gun, and money laundering chain.
“What did the prick give them?” Saint quizzes.
Owl answers. “The bastards been working for Marcus all along. Feeding him information on us for months, including the location of one of the warehouses full of cocaine that we’d just shipped in. The same warehouse that was recently raided by the cops and seized.”
“That coke cost me a lot of fucking money,” Eric interjects.
“Why weren’t the cops not paid off to get it back again?” Saint asks in a serious tone.
“The drugs were being stored across the border which is outside our territory,” Owl exclaims.
Shit, this is bad. I knew that one of the warehouses was compromised, but I didn’t know Maloti was behind it. You can’t earn money if there’s nothing to sell, which was obviously their plan all along. Hitting the mafia in the pocket is where it hurts the most.
Eric lifts his glass swirling the amber liquid around in a circular motion.
“The warehouse situation is not why I called you down here.”
“No? Then why are we here?” Saint asks his dad, but it’s Owl who answers.
“In a desperate attempt to plead for his tongue, Steve also gave up information on his new boss,” he says before continuing. “Marcus had a new visitor at Valley State prison. Apparently daddy dearest Ian has hired him a new lawyer that’s now moved into town in a desperate bid to launch an appeal against his conviction. One of the best defense attorneys in the State from what I hear, with well-known connections.”
“Appeal? Wait, wasn’t he put away for life for murder?” Saint replies.
Eric sighs heavily, running his hands around is face. Tiredness obviously catching up with him.
“He was but this new lawyer of his has made quite a name for himself over the years. He’s acquitted more guilty made men than I can count,” Owl says.
“The murder Marcus was found guilty over was a set up by us,” Eric clarifies.
Fuck me. A set up? This is going to be bad if the Maloti’s find out Eric did this. It’s hard to believe amongst all the hatred, bloodshed, and death between them that the families once coexisted peacefully. It didn’t last long. Many years ago the boss of each family arranged a deal in a bid to broker peace as the battle between them raged to dangerous levels, allowing many rivals to reap the benefits of their war. Both families agreed that they would unite their empires to become one unstoppable force, sharing power, and wealth following the marriage of Ian’s only daughter Viola and Patrick Garo’s only son Eric as soon as Viola turned 18. The union may have been beneficial to them but hatred was rooted deep between Marcus and Eric. Marcus was strongly against the union from the very beginning. He threatened to kill Eric if he didn’t call off the marriage to his sister but Eric refused to give her up. There were whispers that Eric was bewitched by Viola’s beauty, but I found that hard to believe. Eric’s not the type of man to fall in love. He sees women as transactions that can be easily bought, just like everything else in his life.
