Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

44 | Nina

"Hold on," Samuel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, "we need to start from the beginning. How the hell is Antonio alive?"

"And," Tommaso pipes in, "how does he know her shitstain of a father?" He jerks his head at me. "Our family has literally been at war with the Genovese fucks forever. How long have they been best friends and how did we not know?"

"I don't think they're necessarily best friends," Samuel corrects, ever rational. "They seem to at least be allies on some front."

"What's he going to do with Santo?" Nico chimes in nervously. "What if he's already killed him?"

Leah sits next to Samuel with a shell-shocked expression, and I imagine I'm wearing a similar look. As soon as Massimo started talking, we all crowded at the table, desperate for answers. But now questions and emotions are flying, and I'm worried he's going to shut down again.

"Don't think like that," Leah murmurs to Nico. "We're going to save him."

"I just can't believe he's fucking alive," Tommaso leans his elbows on the table, eyes wide and disbelieving. "I didn't think—I mean, I always knew so little about him and now he's here? Where has he been all this time? Why—"

A low groan from Massimo's side of the table sends the room reeling into silence. The Capo is leaning forward, head bent, and every single one of his muscles seem to be tensed and straining. I watch as he raises his head, exhaustion carved into every line of his face. With the soot still coating his features, he looks entirely not put together. For a man who never has a hair out of place, it's jarring to see.

It's safe to say from the stunned silence around the table that nobody else knows what to do about it either.

Samuel clears his throat, reaching out to touch Massimo's shoulder. "Hey, man—"

It's like a gunshot goes off.

Massimo jerks away from his hand, banging the table and upsetting the few glasses on top of it. Water splashes across the surface and drips to the floor.

"Don't touch me. Don't."

All of us lean back at the danger in his voice.

With a shuddering inhale, Leah shoots to her feet, grabbing a towel and beginning to wipe up the spilled water. Massimo's chair screeches as he shoots to his feet, striding quickly from the room. Tommaso and Nico stare after their brother in horror, mouths popped open.

Silence envelopes us as we sit there, trading helpless looks around the table. 

Tommaso clears his throat. "Should we..."

"I think he needs to be alone," Nico whispers. 

Inaction makes me nauseous. I'm seconds from taking matters into my own hands, stealing one of their cars and driving my ass straight to Luciano's front fucking door. My muscles are tensed to do just that, when a noise from the doorway catches our attention.

Massimo calmly takes his place at the table. He's still disheveled and covered in soot but he looks more like the Capo we're most familiar with, the pain and exhaustion that was previously written all over his features now gone. 

Tensed muscles around the table tentatively relax, and suddenly I want to sob. I'm terrified that Massimo is too far gone, that he won't be able to survive this. We need him—his brothers need him—but how is he meant to lead us in this if nobody can handle it the second he shows an ounce of pain, of real emotion?

"Moving forward," he addresses the table, "you will listen. If you speak, do it one at a time. And do not touch me." He clears his throat, looking around at each of us. "We don't have time to waste."