Bad Sons Read online

  BAD

  SONS

  verona saga : book three

  Text copyright © 2020 Isla Cristeon

  All rights reserved.

  This book (except in the case of brief excerpts or quotations) may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including emailing, photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance it bears to reality is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: The Cover Genies

  Please be advised.

  This story contains content that may trigger an emotional response.

  For my readers. Thank you for supporting me and loving these characters. Your sweet messages (and threats!) bring light to my day. I hope this book brings light to yours.

  Four enemies, two lovers, and one multimillion-dollar plan of vengeance.

  Two years after his wife regains her memory from a terrible accident, Fernando Navarre has unearthed dark truths about his own family in order to set free his imprisoned friend, Roman Montague.

  Justice must be served.

  Deep in an old tobacco plantation in Virginia lies Tempest Estates, a cleverly designed bed and breakfast. When Don Capulet and Alfonso Navarre, along with their families, attend the grand opening as honored guests, their sins come back to haunt them.

  With tragedies of their own clouding the past, two more families join Fernando in the hunt for justice. But sometimes, only revenge is capable of soothing a broken man’s soul.

  Will their plan work, or will the pursuit of vengeance cost more than any of them can bear?

  Based off of William Shakespeare’s The Tempest, Bad Sons is the third book in an imaginative, interconnected series of modern Shakespeare retellings. It is highly recommended to read the books in order.

  Chapter 1

  MY SHOES ECHO AGAINST wide, ash wood planks in the large, Federal style mansion. A week ago, only spindly pieces of antique wood framing made up the skeleton of this rectangular-shaped building nestled amongst the gentle hills of Virginia. Now, drywall has been installed, mudded over, sanded and painted a light gray. All three levels are designed in a similar manner, but we’ve preserved the original elements of Greek and Roman architecture. This building will serve as the central base for the luxury bed and breakfast renovation that’s underway.

  Outside, crews dig deep into the red Virginia soil, removing dirt in order to prepare a foundation for two additions to be added on either side of the existing structure. In the end, the building will resemble an H shape, with the right and left wings being used for rooms.

  My phone rings, and I pull it out from my back pocket. An immediate smile spreads across my face as I see a FaceTime call coming in from Jewel. I accept the call and wait for the video to pop up.

  A beautiful face with dark hair and blue eyes comes onto my screen. “Hola, muñeca mio,” I croon to my toddler.

  “Papí,” Hero says in her little voice.

  I hear Jewel’s voice in the background. “Say hola.”

  “Hola,” Hero says.

  My eyes sweep over the screen, admiring our daughter’s impossibly beautiful features. Mirror images of her mother’s blue eyes stare back at me, and my dark, curly hair and olive skin adorn her cherubic face. She’s two and a half now, and I’m hopelessly wrapped around her chubby finger.

  “Did you play outside today?” I ask.

  Dark curls bob as she nods.

  “What did you see, mija?”

  “See bird.”

  Hero plays outside mostly every day, even when it’s freezing and snowy. But now that spring has peeked its head up from a long slumber, I suspect she’ll spend most of her days outdoors.

  “Ooh, I love birds. What else did you see?”

  “Qwirl.”

  My brow creases. “Qwirl? Um, cool.”

  Jewel chuckles off camera. “Squirrel.”

  Hero nods. “Qwirl.”

  “Oh, you saw a squirrel. They’re funny.”

  A soft smile lights up my daughter’s face. “Yeah, funny.”

  Our conversation consists of the stilted words she knows, along with random animal sounds. After setting a plate of lunch in front of Hero, Jewel takes over.

  “How’s it going out there?” She munches on a piece of cucumber.

  “Really good. I should be back home tomorrow night.”

  “That was a quick trip.”

  “Yeah, they’ve got everything under control here. It’s going to look great.”

  She smiles. “I’m glad my money is being put to good use.”

  A month ago, Eli and I used some of Jewel’s inheritance money to purchase Champagne Tobacco, the Navarre and Capulet family business. If we’d tried to buy three years earlier when we first cooked up this plan, they would have never sold, as they still held futile hope of turning their failing business around. But a fast-changing industry, combined with legislation designed to transition farmers away from tobacco, had impacted their profits to a harsh degree. With their debt topping out at $1.25 million, and the land being worth just over half that, their options had dwindled to bankruptcy.

  Desperate men are the most dangerous kind, but left to simmer long enough and they become willing creatures.

  Enter an anonymous buyer.

  We only had to offer $2 million to guarantee the sale, using a nominee in place of either of our names; a fancy legal word, meaning we hired a savvy, trusted business man to sign the papers. After we paid the nominee a handsome sum, he assigned sole ownership of Champagne Tobacco to Eli Montague.

  For Jewel and I, it’s our way of making amends for the sins of our families. Once this is over, Eli and Evelyn will maintain the property.

  In the coming months, we’ll be busy crafting the biggest and most expensive trap to ensure Don and my father confess to their wrongdoings.

  By our rudimentary detective skills, we’ve garnered information linking both of them to multiple murders. One by one, they lopped off members of each family who shared the inheritance, including some of their own.

  After Jewel’s accident, my biggest fear was for her safety, so I kept her survival secret. Having Hero, the risk rises unbearably higher. We have to make sure Donnie and my father are accounted for, and that all loose ends are tied up. Once they’re behind bars, only then will we finally be able to work toward getting Roman Montague set free.

  After chatting with Jewel for a few minutes longer, I see Eli through the open double doors coming up the stairs. Another man walks beside him.

  “Hey, hon, I gotta go. Eli’s here.”

  “Talk to you later,” she chirps.

  After pocketing my phone, I stride through the empty lobby area to greet them. Eli’s friend is a massive man, with a wide, muscular chest and burly arms. He looks to be in his mid to late forties, but his long length of thick, dark hair belies his age.

  A couple months ago, Eli told me of his plan to bring on a member of the fourth original family. Earlier that day, we’d closed on the sale, so that evening we went to a celebratory dinner. Once we ordered, Eli had rested his arms on the table and given me a somber look.

  He’d spoken at length of his friend, Frank. “Just like me, he was greatly wronged by the Capulets and Navarres, his entire sibling line mysteriously wiped out, giving Don and Alfonso sole control. After his wife was killed, he fled with his children to keep them safe.”

  I nodded, fully understanding and having essentially done the same myself.

  Eli continues. “I’m in contact with him, and I’d like to include him on this if you’re willing.”

  I agreed without hesitation. If Eli trusted Frank, I trusted him. No questions.


  Smiling in greeting at the approaching men, I meet them under the circular, two-tiered chandelier made from matte gold and shimmery capiz shell.

  We’d gotten it specially made in a honeycomb style. The hexagonal holes are mostly filled with a unique iridescent material that’s also called windowpane oyster since the shell is translucent, allowing light to filter through. Matte gold hexagons fill other parts of the shade. It’s a stunning piece, but serves a purpose in this entire scheme.

  A reminder of sins committed in secret.

  I extend my hand. “Eli, good to see you.”

  “Good to see you again.” Eli grips my hand. “I’d like you to meet my business partner, Frank.”

  Frank stands a good two inches above me. His pale green eyes are framed by heavy dark brows, which seem to be lowered in a perpetual scowl. But then he smiles in greeting, transforming his features from severe to kind.

  “Good to finally meet you, Fernando. Eli’s said a lot of good things about you.” He studies me with his strange colored eyes before pressing his lips together and dropping his hand. “You look a lot like your father, so forgive me if you ever catch weird looks from me. The past hurts more than I can bear sometimes.”

  “I understand.”

  I don’t bother apologizing for the sins of my father. As well as anyone, I know words hold little significance. Everything I’ve done in order to bring these men justice proves where I stand on the matter.

  Frank braces his hands on his hips and looks around at the freshly painted walls. We chose a light gray color for the walls, and white trim for the windows and crown molding.

  Pointing to a circle etched on the floor, Frank glances at Eli. “Concierge goes here?”

  Eli nods and walks forward, glancing aside at his friend. “Yep. Have you found someone?”

  “I have a trusted person in mind.”

  While I created the bones of this plan and Jewel supplied the funds, they’re responsible for following through on the details, and so far, they’ve exceeded my expectations.

  I look at each of the men in turn. “Do we have a date for opening yet?”

  “July 20th,” Eli says. “We expect construction of the east and west wings to be complete in four months, and then we’re just giving ourselves an extra two months for any snafus.” Eli taps my arm with the backs of his fingers, and gestures toward the back of the house. “Check this out.”

  We walk to the rear of the building. The expansive back wall is made of identical 1.5-foot squares of glass framed in black industrial steel. Light pours into the foyer through the wall of windows. Doors hinge inward, nearly invisible save for their black steel handles.

  “Back there is the start of the vineyard,” Eli says, pointing to the gently rolling hills beyond.

  Machines work to till the soil further out, as workers plant grapevines to the already prepared ground closer in. Eventually, they plan on having a winery here, and have also fortified the tobacco crop with hundreds of acres of hemp.

  “It looks great,” I say.

  Directly outside the doors, landscapers work in the U-shaped terrace. An in-ground pool and hot tub will be the stars of this space, and tropical plants, flowers, and vines will eventually adorn the sides.

  “Have you gotten all the information you need from your cousin, Beatriss?” Eli asks.

  “Pretty much. I’m going to see her after this. She’s managed to get her hands on a few more things that should be pretty condemning.”

  Frank stares out the window, the lines of his forehead furrowed deep in thought. “It’s funny how our generation just focused on killing one another, and this generation is working together to undo our damage.”

  Eli puts his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Love is a powerful force.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Frank says softly. “For most of my life, vengeance has been stronger.”

  After gently patting Frank’s shoulder, Eli drops his hand. “I know, man, me too.”

  I pray this plan works. My biggest hope is that no one gets hurt or killed. The only goal is to extract confessions.

  And yet, my spine tingles with the certain knowledge that even the most carefully laid plans can go awry.

  Chapter 2

  A BUZZING VIBRATES ON my nightstand. Glancing over, I smile. Right on time. Once I shift my napping daughter off my arm, I answer the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Mijo,” my mother says. “How are you?”

  “Good, mami, how about you guys?”

  “Me and your father are doing well. It’s so nice of you to always ask about him.”

  I roll my eyes. As planned, she’s making this call with him right beside her, but she’s playing her part hard.

  “Anyway, he’s right here, Fernando. He’d like to talk to you. Is that okay?”

  This part is too real. It’s been four years since I’ve spoken with my father. When I suspected he played a part in Jewel’s accident, I cut off all communication. I changed my phone number, left the state.

  While I’d gotten in touch with my mother three years ago, she knew not to tell him. Eventually, all she shared with him was we had been in contact via email, and that I didn’t want to speak with him.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah, sure. I’ll talk to him.”

  Noise rustles on the other line as the phone is passed over.

  “Hijo,” my father’s voice comes through, sounding less arrogant and more defeated and tired than I’ve ever heard.

  “Hi,” I say in my non-committal asshole voice.

  “I know … I know there’s a lot we need to talk about and forgive-”

  “And apologize for,” I say with a low growl.

  “Ay, hijo, there’s nothing you need to apologize for.”

  If I didn’t have an endgame here, I’d throw my phone right about now. Nothing like a narcissistic parent to tip your mood in the opposite direction.

  I tighten my lips in frustration. “Was there something you needed from me?”

  “Ah, yes,” my father says. “As you may or may not know, we sold the tobacco farm six months ago. The new owners invited our family to the grand re-opening next weekend as honored guests, and they’re requesting the entire family. You too. They have wings in their new bed and breakfast dedicated to our family and the Capulet family.”

  The invitation actually said the wings are dedicated to the founding families. Way to exclude two entire lineages.

  He continues, “So hijo, are you available to come on a little getaway with your mother and me next Friday? She really misses you, and spending this time with you would mean a lot to her.”

  I remain silent and let him get uncomfortable for a moment.

  My father clears his throat and prattles further. “They also said all meals and drinks are on them, they have a spa, private chef, yoga classes—”

  “Oh yoga? Sweet. Sign me up.” Sarcasm drips from my voice.

  “Oh good. Okay. Well, your mom will send you all the details. Um, and it was good talking with you, son. See you soon.”

  My footsteps ring across the foyer of the massive bed and breakfast. My arrival precedes that of my uncle and parents by a couple days in order to observe the dry run of the facility.

  Wide planked ash wood gleams with a fresh coat of sealant. Light gray coats all the walls, and white crown molding frames the ceiling. Small golden pots of succulents placed on scant ledges accent the fresh and minimalist design.

  The original rectangular mansion makes up the common areas, divided into three sections. Upon first walking in, straight ahead is a concierge. To the side of the concierge, a spiral marble staircase leads to the second floor. Behind the staircase is a fully stocked bar with all top shelf quality liquors.

  Left of the main entry is a large dining area for the guests, and behind that, a kitchen.

  To the right of the foyer, there’s a library comprised of comfy sofas and expansive shelves filled with rows upon rows of books. Bricks line the supporti
ng wall near the middle of the building, with a fireplace set inside.

  Beyond either side of the sitting area and dining area begins the new construction I haven’t toured yet. The east wing makes up the right side of the estate, designed specifically for our guests of honor. The two-bedroom suite to the front is for the Capulets, and the suite to the rear for the Montague family.

  My family’s section and the other family’s section make up the west wing.

  Walking into the kitchen, the scent of basil, onion, tomatoes and meatballs hits me right in the soul. I know what I’ll be having for lunch.

  With a brief wave to the chefs and their staff, I breeze through the kitchen, my head turning this way and that as I admire the cleanliness and order of gleaming stainless steel.

  I exit the kitchen just behind the concierge, and stare through the floor to ceiling industrial square windows at the view out the back. Rows of grapevines extend across the horizon.

  After gazing wistfully at the swimming pool, I return to the concierge, who wasn’t at the desk when I arrived. Once we’re in operation mode, the front will be staffed at all times, but for now, it’s perfectly acceptable for the concierge to step away. The desk is a huge circular counter set in the middle of the foyer, making it accessible to guests from all sides.

  A man wearing a three-piece, dark gray suit stands behind the marble-topped counter. He looks to be in his early thirties and is about as tall as me, but much more heavily muscled. His build looks more bodyguard type than a helpful concierge, which I’m sure is intentional on Eli’s part. As our plan unfolds, things might get messy, and we need all the help we can get.

  “Good morning,” I say, holding out a hand in greeting.

  The man leans over and grabs my hand, his grip firm. Viridian eyes meet mine. “Fernando, I assume?” he says in a deep voice.

  I nod.

  “Abram.”