Page 30 of Vicious Behaviors
Isobel
Surveillance on Marcello Romano has been quite dull, for lack of a better word. Not exactly what I expected when I was put on the case. With all the intel the Bureau had on him, about being one of the Outfit’s enforcers, I was sure it would lead me into some dicey situations. But so far nothing.
When I joined Carmine’s gym and took control of my own schedule, I thought I was setting myself up for prime recon hours. I envisioned myself spending most of the day shadowing Marcello, gaining front-row access to all his duplicitous dealings. But so far, I’ve come away with very little. And when I say little, I’m being generous with myself.
After tracking his every move for the past month, the only thing that I know for sure is that Marcello Romano is a creature of habit. Every morning, he’s up before the crack of dawn and at the gym within the hour. After putting in at least a solid three hours of workout, he heads toward the many nightclubs his family owns, often seen leaving with either the consigliereof the Outfit, Giovani DeLuca, or their head enforcer, Dominic Mancini.
Then it’s anyone’s guess where the morning takes us. They enter a variety of establishments, ranging from lawyers’ offices, down to friendly neighborhood and family-owned butcher shops.
I’ve put more miles in my poor car and taken more photographs than the famous Annie Leibovitz ever has. And still, there is nothing linking Marcello to any nefarious criminal dealings or the coveted crumb that might lead me to his involvement in Father Liam McDonagh’s disappearance.
After what feels like we’ve run down every corner in all of Chicago, Marcello breaks for lunch. It’s either a quick, thirty-minute meal with Mancini or DeLuca at some food truck, or a two-hour event at a fancy restaurant with his mother, Selene Romano.
Another thing I can say for sure about Marcello is that he may be a cold-blooded killer, but he’s also a world-class mama’s boy. The way he acts around her isn’t the same sharp-edged man I’ve become accustomed to. I’ve even caught him smiling on occasion. Something I was pretty sure he wasn’t physically capable of doing.
However, it’s during these moments that I catch rare glimpses of who the real Marcello might actually be under his fine designer suits. The man beneath the cold exterior. The version of him that isn’t guarded, or calculating, or shaped by obligation. His whole aura changes around his mother. Like he can finally take a breath and just be.
It’s so contradicting to the man I’ve been spying on that I almost fool myself into believing that maybe the cold persona he uses for the rest of the world is a mask forced upon him. After all, heissupposed to be his father’s successor. And aCapo dei Capiworth his salt can never show any signs of weakness. That’s how a man like him gets killed.
Once lunch is over, he rides around visiting known Outfit enterprises by himself, and then, without fail, picks up his younger sister, Annamaria, from Sacred Heart at precisely three o’clock on the dot. That’s when I usually lose him.
It’s beyond frustrating how I manage to track most of his every move, but once his sister gets into the car with him, poof! He vanishes into thin air.
I’ve even planted a bug on his car after his third disappearing act on me. But to my chagrin, it went silent within the hour.
That’s another hard lesson learnt about the man. Marcello is straight-up paranoid. The man takes every precaution there is. He knows fully well he’s being followed—probably by more people than me—but he doesn’t seem to care. Not until one of his siblings is in the car with him. When that happens, he becomes a ghost within minutes.
Luckily for me, I always know where he’ll be at five. That’s when he drives over to the Romano offices, a large monstrosity of a skyscraper downtown, and meets with theCapo dei Capihimself, Vincent Romano.
What goes on inside those meetings is a total mystery to me. It’s not like someone is going to invite me in to take a little peek and hear what they talk about. I bet security would be all over me the second I tried to set one foot in the building. My best bet is to wait it out and get ready for his last stop of the day.
Like I said, Marcello is a creature of habit. Even if he gives me the runaround during the day, or I lose him somehow, I know I can always find him at DeLuca’s gym from seven to ten in the evening, when the place shuts down. It’s there that I’ve been able to study him most.
Marcello is a gym rat. No—scratch that. Gym rats enjoy what they do. They lift, flex, joke around, and have a fun time allaround. Marcello, on the other hand, looks like he hates every second of it. Every punch, every kick, every drop of sweat is met with anger. It’s like he’s exorcising ghosts only he can see.
Not that he’s told me as much. My observations lead me to believe he doesn’t come to the gym to socialize or enjoy himself. It feels like it’s the opposite. As if this were his punishment. For what, only he knows.
We haven’t had much contact. Not since what I’ve dubbed as theincident,that is. He caught me red-handed snooping through DeLuca’s office the first week on the job, trying to find any files on him. Anything that might shed some light on what makes Marcello tick.
Safe to say theincidentdidn’t go well. Not only did I come up empty-handed, but I got on his radar. And not in a good way. The way he stormed out of the office, only to take it all out on a punching bag until he was sore, bruised, and bleeding? Yeah… that left me with a world of questions, none of which I’ve been able to answer.
After debriefing Haynes on theincident,he surprised me by looking excited about the whole fiasco. Even went as far as saying that it was a good thing. That animosity is as good as any angle to get Marcello’s attention on me. And that I should use it to start building rapport.
Rapport… right. Aside from his family, I haven’t seen Marcello willingly talk to anyone. Sure, he trades trash talk in the ring, but that’s the extent of his social interaction.
If I hadn’t seen it with my very eyes that he is made of flesh and blood, I’d think Marcello Romano was a ghost.
Honestly? I think that’s what he wants to be. How he prefers it.
‘Push comes to shove, you can always seduce him,’ Haynes had added. That’s another doozy of his. I’ve been tracking Marcello’s every move for a month now, and I haven’t seen asingle woman on his arm. Not one flirtatious smile, not even a casual glance.
It’s as if he runs on adrenaline and paranoia and has no time for hookups. Which makes building rapport… tricky. Especially if Haynes thought tossing me in as eye candy would seal the deal and fulfill the Bureau’s needs.
Now, I’m not proud of it, but I have made an effort for the past couple of days. Favorite yoga pants? The ones that make my ass pop? Check. Bright neon-yellow sports bra that can probably be seen from outer space? The one that lifts the girls and demands attention? Check. Hair in a high ponytail with just enough bounce to look effortless but still deadly? Check. Double… no, triple check.
I’ve been turning heads left and right all freaking week, except for Marcello’s. He hasn’t even looked at me twice. It’s like the guy is immune to every sexual cue in the book.
Maybe he’s gay? It wasn’t in his profile, but that doesn’t rule it out. A lot of men in criminal syndicates are forced to hide their sexuality since these organizations continue to cling to the outdated notion that ‘alpha male’ means being hyper-masculine and hetero by default. And if that’s the case, then no amount of low-cut tops or skin-tight leggings will make a damn bit of difference. In other words, my job just got a hell of a lot harder.
