Milkovich Family Legacy

Chapter 1: Inheritance of the Milkovich Legacy

Power. To have the power to protect those closest to me, to wield it against all who sought to harm us—that was my burden. I carried it better than anyone else in the family. As the eldest, it was my responsibility to shield my brothers, a duty our father had failed miserably at, and our mother simply couldn't bear. It had been just the four of us for years. The idea of a younger brother was like ancient history—none of us remembered him, but I did. I thought he was dead, that there was no chance we'd ever find him again...yet here we are.

To call my mother foolish would be putting it mildly. Don't get me wrong, she was powerful—far more than most would give her credit for—but not enough to outrun the decisions she made. She had the misfortune of being the eldest daughter in one of the most feared Italian mafias in the States. The Milkovich family. That legacy alone should've made her untouchable. But she fell in love with a street rat—our father. A man drowning in debt, the type of debt that had to be repaid to our grandfather. How great is that? She didn't stay with him for his character, because that was nonexistent; she stayed for his charisma, his promise to never cheat again after he did it once. She believed him...pity.

She never talked much about where she came from or who her family really was. It wasn't until the Mafia knocked on our door that I started piecing things together. Apparently, our grandfather had died, and with his death came a demand for our presence at the funeral. I didn't know why; we had nothing to do with that life. Yet there we were, the outsiders sitting among black-clad strangers. And then came the will.

He left everything to us.

A dynasty we had no business with, a future we hadn't even dreamed of. The Milkovich Family was now under our control, and with it came the S&S—his prized casino. Not just any casino, but one with history, power, and influence in the heart of Las Vegas. In just weeks, we went from crammed in a dingy apartment to inheriting an empire.

Stephen, Relik, Roman, and me—Lorenzo. We weren't kids anymore; this was our shot at making a name for ourselves. We had a legacy to uphold, a family name to protect, and new lives to step into.

The house we moved into was...otherworldly. We didn't just move into any mansion; this place screamed *new money* in the most unapologetic way. It was the kind of modern monstrosity you'd expect to see on the cover of an architectural magazine. Its cold, sharp lines contrasted with the desert's warm tones, standing defiantly on the outskirts of the Las Vegas Strip. As if it was trying too hard to remind everyone it didn't belong to old Vegas.

The front of the mansion was a wall of reflective glass, offering the kind of view only the rich got to see—a sweeping panorama of the city with its neon lights. From inside, we could see the chaos of the strip, but the people down below couldn't see us. We were ghosts.

When you stepped through the front doors, which were heavy black steel that could've belonged in a bank vault, you entered a foyer that doubled as an art gallery. The marble floors shone under the recessed lighting, with art pieces that were probably more expensive than the average person's salary hanging on the walls. I don't even know where the art came from—there were abstract sculptures, some kind of glass installation hanging from the ceiling, and paintings that didn't make any sense. But they were there to impress. That's what new money did: it shoved wealth down your throat, daring you to choke on it.

The living room was a sprawling open space, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the backyard, where there was a pool so big it could've been a small lake. The water was lit from underneath, casting a glow that made it look like something from a dream. Beyond that, the desert stretched out endlessly, and at night, the stars blanketed the sky in a way that felt surreal.

Back inside, everything was sleek—too sleek. It didn't feel like a home; it felt like a statement. The couches were white leather, the kitchen was stainless steel, and the bar, of course, was stocked with top-shelf liquor we didn't even drink. I'd never been in a place like this, and yet here we were, pretending like we belonged.

The bedrooms were upstairs, each one more absurdly luxurious than the last. Mine had its own terrace, a king-sized bed, and a bathroom that looked like it belonged in a five-star hotel. Marble floors again, glass shower walls, a bathtub that could probably fit three people. But what caught my attention was the silence. It was the kind of silence that came with wealth—heavy, all-consuming. Like the world outside didn't exist anymore.

Roman spent most of his time in the game room—because of course there was a game room—with the latest consoles, a giant curved screen, and seats that were practically thrones. Relik, always the loner, holed up in the library. It wasn't a real library, but it had books. It had one of those sliding ladders you only see in movies, and I swear, Relik slid down it at least three times a day just because he could.

And Stephen? Stephen took to the house like he was born for it. He spent his time in the office, managing the transition of our new inheritance. He was the one who dealt with the people who now worked for us. He took calls, made decisions, signed off on things. He'd always been the practical one, the one with the head for business. The only one who didn't look like he was out of place in this gaudy, modern palace.

But me? I couldn't shake the feeling that we didn't belong. I knew the Mafia life was dangerous, knew it was full of betrayals and blood feuds. And now it was ours to deal with. This wasn't just about money or power. It was about survival. And in this house, I felt more like prey than predator.

This mansion might've been our ticket to a new life, but it was also a reminder of the cost. The price of the power we'd inherited wasn't one we had chosen to pay. But pay it, we would.

After all, we were Milkovichs now. And the Milkovich family didn't run from their fate.

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As we settled into this new chapter of our lives, I couldn't shake the thought of him—the brother none of us remembered but me. The brother I thought we'd lost forever.