Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

04 | Santo

"I need to fucking kill someone."

Simo looks up from his computer slowly, his fingers still typing, as if I've just told him the sky is blue. My brother has never been one for extreme displays of emotion, but most of the time I have enough for the both of us. Like now. My pulse kicks, and I begin pacing his office. The ticking of his stupid fucking grandfather clock and the dull sound of my boots on the carpet fill the silence.

"Mm," he hums, looking back at his computer.

I barely restrain myself from swiping his fifteen-thousand-dollar personalized paperweights off the desk. In fact, let me just take down the whole desk while I'm at it. Everything is arranged perfectly, so clean and pristine, that it pisses me off.

"I'm leaving. I'll be back in a few days."

Now I have his attention. "It's not the sixth of the month yet."

"I know." I meet his resolute stare. Normally, the composure there cools me down, calms the rage licking up the insides of my stomach with its fiery caress. Simo is the only one who can get me to think clearly sometimes. He embodies order, control. It can be grounding for me, or it can be like throwing a bucket of water on a house fire.

It's the latter right now.

"You aren't doing this because of the girl?" My brother's voice is steady, but I can hear the warning underpinning it.

"I'm doing this because I need to fucking kill someone and I can't wait two more weeks for the Serpentine meeting," I press through gritted teeth. I'm not sure why he seems hellbent on mentioning Nina to me every other fucking second.

"The next Serpentine meeting is in twelve days."

"That rounds up to two weeks."

"You've waited more than twelve days befo—"

"It may as well be twelve fucking years!" I slam a fist on his desk, those ridiculous paperweights rattling.

Simo continues typing on his laptop. He looks like the picture of professionalism sitting here in his office, sending emails and taking calls. You'd never know he's ordering hits and sending his men to all corners of the country to conduct his bloody business for him.

My brother doesn't like to get his hands dirty. Which is fine by me, because I enjoy it a little too much.

My patience is past running out by the time he calmly shuts his laptop. "There's a man in Dallas who broke into his ex-wife's house. He shot her and her new husband in their own bed. He did it in front of their two young children, and then shot them too."

"And?"

"One of the children survived. He's a twelve-year-old boy and he has no other surviving family. He'll be thrown into the system."

My fists clench. "He's mine."

Massimo nods, and I run a reckless hand through my hair.

"I'll make sure nobody touches her," my brother says, and I know he's talking about Nina. I take a deep breath to quell the rage that begins to rise in my gut again. "But after your field trip, you need to deal with her. And Santo?"

I tilt my head impatiently.

"Be quick with this one. I don't feel like playing babysitter for too long."

I'm halfway out the door before he finishes talking. "Send me the man's name and address," I call out behind me, not listening for his response. My mind is already running over what will be awaiting me in Dallas.