Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

02 | Nina

A cloth bag is forced over my head halfway through the helicopter ride. I'm not stupid enough to put up a fight.

After an indeterminable amount of time, I can tell that we're descending. I'm guided by someone's hands on my waist off the aircraft, and the bag is ripped off. Blinking furiously, I take in the sight of a magnificent mansion looming before me. It's made of stone, dark and ominous against the grey sky. Wherever we are, it's significantly colder than Las Vegas, and I shiver violently.

We're standing in a large courtyard, and I make out at least a dozen sleek sportscars parked outside. As we walk closer, I can't help but gawk at the expensive looking fountain spewing water in the front of the house. It's the most intricately carved piece of art I've ever seen. I make out the erotic, naked torsos of mermaids and scaly bodies of hideous sea monsters, all entwined, staring at me with faces frozen in horror. Their stone expressions seem to laugh at me as I'm guided through the front doors.

The moment I step foot into the mansion, I stumble. I would have gone down hard if it weren't for Tommaso, who grabs my waist to haul me upright again. I shrink away from his touch, keeping my eyes fixed on the figure that caused me to lose my balance.

Massimo Romano.

I remember the name Santo said on the phone earlier. Simo.

Fuck. I didn't realize who I was dealing with.

The Romano Outfit runs Chicago and most of the east coast. They are notoriously cruel, vindictively violent, and one of their Capos—Massimo Romano, the oldest Romano brother—is perhaps the most terrifying man I've ever heard of.

And boy, have I heard the stories about him. Frightfully calm and eerily devoid of emotion, Massimo is feared widely. His lack of emotion has him labeled a sociopath by most, which is what makes him so terrifying. He is the perfect Capo, the most ruthless mafioso. He is not ruled by any emotion—fear, anger, or otherwise—and every move he makes is perfectly calculated and executed. He operates in terrifying tandem with his brother; the stories of the second youngest Romano are matched in their viciousness and brutality. That must be Santo, judging from how old the other two look.

And everything clicks into place.

I'm in Chicago. If Massimo is the cruel and calculating brain of the family, Santo is the brutally dangerous brawn. The devil of the underground. I've been warned about him numerous times, but never by name. And I know why. It's too ironic that his name means 'angel,' even for people like my family.

He's a vicious killer. He'll go against three men and kill all of them to survive, then find three more to kill for fun. I haven't watched his cage fights, but I remember my father doing so. Luciano and Carlo studied those videos for hours, trying to understand him. How to fight someone like him. I remember them talking about the explosive anger of the second oldest Romano, how it turns him into a killing machine. He uses his anger as fuel to commit unspeakable acts.

Tommaso and the youngest—who I remember now is named Nico—make up the rest of the family. I take them all in with a trembling gaze, not wanting them to see the extent of my fear. I know my fate is sealed.

Luciano isn't scared of anyone, but even he thinks twice before crossing a Romano. Growing up, I never knew much about the business my father and brother were conducting, but I knew of the Romanos. Our two families have been on the precipice of a tumultuous rivalry for decades, neither one wanting to make the first move and plunge both families into a bloody war.

And what Santo did today—it's the most blatant act of disrespect.

Fuuuuck.

Massimo regards me coolly. He's handsome, but his looks are almost overshadowed by the coldness that pervades them. I picture a tiny stone dropping into a still lake and creating ripples that reverberate across the entire surface. I cannot imagine this cold face experiencing any disruptive ripples of emotion.