Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

13 | Nina

I think that orders were meant to be disobeyed.

When you really think about it, there are a lot of things people tell you not to do. And there are one hundred million more reasons why to not listen. I mean, you can justify practically anything if you put a small amount of effort in it.

Don't steal.

But what if it's for a good cause? What if you're stealing to feed a starving family, and the establishment or person you steal from wouldn't be negatively impacted?

Don't hurt other people.

But what if they deserve it? What if they hurt you first, and that's justice?

Don't open the door if anyone knocks.

But... what if someone has been knocking for at least fifteen minutes, and it's a gentle knocking—not the aggressive banging of an intruder—which could signify that it's Santo and maybe he just lost his key?

The knocking is nonstop. I've been sitting still on the bed, wariness freezing me in place. But as the minutes pass, I start wondering. If maybe I should at least go check.

Sure, if it was him, Santo probably would've called out to me by now. But maybe he's trying. Maybe the doors are thick. Maybe... maybe he's bleeding out and doesn't have the strength to raise his voice.

I'm at the door seconds later. I'll just peek. I'll open it for a split second, only enough to see who it is. There's no peephole, so I'm resorted to relying on my lightning fast reflexes and unshakeable strength.

"Hello?" I call out weakly.

No response.

Well, here goes nothing.

"There you are, you little fuckin' bitch."

It's decidedly not Santo.

The man standing before me is much... wider. He's got a bristly beard and small, beady eyes that are set deep in a wide face. He looks like a rat. A strong, big rat.

"Oh, no you don't," he grins, bracing one hand against the door. I find with horrifying shame that, with only one hand, he can easily shove his way into the room and completely overpower any and all of my efforts.

I knew I wasn't particularly strong, but I didn't know I was this bad.

"I-I think you have the wrong room—"

"No, this is very right." He slams the door behind him, eyeing me amusedly as I scramble backwards, as far away from him as possible. "You're Santo's new plaything, are you not? Well, I'm an associate of another very bad man, one who would probably make a little girl like you shake in your boots. And I'm here to kill you."

"Way to lay all your cards out on the table. How disappointing."

He balks. "What?"

"I mean, you just told me everything. You're enemies with Santo, and you want to kill me to hurt him. I mean, God, first of all—is that all you men do? Go after each other's women to try and piss each other off? And secondly," I plow forward, interrupting the rat as he tries to speak, "I'm not even his woman! I'm literally nobody to him. If you killed me, the worst you'd do is annoy him by getting my blood everywhere. And even then, I mean, he'd just call the cleaning ladies—"

"Do you ever—shut the fuck up!"

I smirk, watching the man's face redden. He really does so easily turn the color closely resembling the ripest tomato. But I have to be careful not to piss him off too much. I have to keep him talking.