Page 5 of Brutal Crown
Chestnut Hill looks the same from the outside. Wide lawns, towering trees, and stone sculptures of great men in our lineage. But I know better. Two years away doesn’t just change a man. It exposes the rot under the surface.
Two years. Two years since I drove out of here and into hell. Two years of burying my head in work, doing the family’s dirtiest tasks. Cutting deals in dark rooms, spilling blood with my bare hands, and making threats disappear without a trace.
And the latest, getting initiated into La Mano Nera.
The air carries the familiar, calming scent of wet stone after rain, thick with the weight of old money and secrets no one dares speak aloud. Everything feels the same, but now that I see things clearly, it’s different.
I sit back against the new leather seat as the car rolls up the driveway. I seem relaxed, but every part of me is wound tight beneath my calm facade. My fingers drum against my lap in a steady beat.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Home sweet home,” Marco sighs beside me. I feel his head turn as he looks at me. “You don’t look too excited to be back.”
“I’m not,” I grunt. I’m not particularly excited about the responsibilities waiting for me; even at thirty, there’s really nothing I am looking forward to.
“Not even to see your wifey?” His voice is teasing. And annoying. “I know she’s really excited to have you back. She hasn’t seen the love of her life in two years!”
My younger brother is stretched out beside me in the backseat, his boots kicked up on the divider without a care in the world. He flips his phone lazily between his fingers, that shit-eating grin of his glued to his face.
Silvia is not my wife. Yet. I don’t say anything, though. It’ll only egg him on.
“She texted me an hour ago,” he continues, his tone even more amused at my silence. Why did I think he would shut up?
“‘Tell your brother not to keep his future wife waiting,’” he reads. “Aw. That sounds really sweet. It seems like she’ll be the romantic one in the marriage, seeing as you lack in that capacity.”
I let out a low grunt. I’m not interested in whatever he’s reading, even though it’s a message from my wife-to-be. My mind is focused somewhere else.
Marco doesn’t take the hint. He never does.
“She even picked out a white dress for the occasion,” he adds with a sly grin. “Real subtle. I’m sure she’s already lit candles in your bedroom and carved your initials into soap.”
I roll my shoulder against the seat. “You know she doesn’t feel that way about me,” I mutter under my breath.
Marco’s laugh is low and clueless. He leans toward me. “So who’s she getting all dolled up for, then?” His eyes gleam like he thinks I’m about to spill some huge, scandalous secret.
I huff out a chuckle. He has no clue. Silvia’s heart is somewhere else. Just like mine—if I still have a heart, that is.
“I just got back,” I eventually sigh. “Can we not start?”
He sits back and raises his hands in mock surrender.
“You just got back,” he echoes back. “From slicing open some poor bastard La Mano Nera handed you on a silver plate. How did it feel? Did you have to drink the blood or some shit?” He snickers.
When I don’t say anything, his eyes widen in fake shock. “Fuck, you did. What did it taste like?”
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl, and he laughs in satisfaction.
“On a more serious note, we both know how much you wanted to get in. We should throw a party.”
I clench my jaw so tight it aches as the car crunches to a stop in front of the house. For a second, I stay still, taking deep, steady breaths.
Marco doesn’t understand.
Yes, I just completed my final rite to officially be initiated, but it wasn’t because I wanted it so badly. It was like a box I needed to tick before moving on to the next stage. I would never take over from my father as Don and eventually take my rightful position as the heir of the Romano household if I didn’t join La Mano Nera.
Getting initiated wasn’t as easy as I assumed it would be. To join, one had to spill blood. I’ve killed people without batting an eye, and I would do it again. It’s normal in our world.
But this particular time, it was different. I only killed people who hurt us or got on our bad side. However, La Mano Nera gave me a list of random names and told me to pick. I picked. He was an innocent, random man who didn’t deserve to die as brutally as he did. An innocent man who begged for his life, not knowing he was already marked for death a long time ago.
