Page 1 of Chicago Sin

Den of Sins

A Dark Mafia Romance

Chapter One

Armando

Is a sinner ever free?

Regardless of the answer, I’m as close as you can get. I’m no longer trapped in a cage.

The prison gates open, and I walk out with nothing but a paper bag that contains the few belongings I came in with.

My cousin, Marco, waits for me, standing in front of his SUV with an overly expressive smile on his face. I know him well enough to see right through it. Sure, he’s happy to see me, but he’s obviously uncomfortable.

Can’t say I blame him.

Marco visited me here on occasion. He would drive up from Chicago, our hometown an hour away, to spend an hour updating me on what was going on with the Outfit. He, and sometimes his brother Leo, are the only ones who visited out of the La Famiglia.

Again, something I understood.

Prison could be contagious. No one wants to catch it.

It’s a plague that once transmitted is hard to treat.

Even my mother didn’t visit—not being able to handle seeing her son treated like an animal. Her words, not mine.

As I hesitate outside of the prison gates, Marco eventually steps forward, breaking the silence. “It’s good to see you,” he says, finally giving up his painted smile.

“Yeah.” I'm not sure I’m up for small talk yet.

Marco seems to understand and moves on quickly, motioning to the car. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

We both climb into the vehicle, and Marco starts the drive back to the city.

I stare out the window, seeing nothing. Apparently hearing nothing until I realize Marco has been talking the whole time.

“...when you hit Rocco’s for a haircut and shave Friday. It’s the same old crew, of course, but I’ll bet they give you priority in the barber’s chair…. The florist shop is still next door, but Mary Alice sold the place to her apprentice, Hannah. Remember her? She was just a kid when you left, but she’s hot as fuck now….”

I tune him out. The places he’s talking about–our old familiar haunts–seem so far away and removed right now. I guess I’ll have to go there to feel anything.

“Some shit’s changed since you've been away,” Marco observes.

I don't answer, waiting for him to go on.

“The Outfit's getting more and more powerful, but it's losing its soul. A lot of the Made men are getting complacent. There's no more progress, you know? No old soul wisdom, as the don calls it.”

I absorb his words without comment. Marco is a smart guy. There's no one whose opinion I respect more, especially when it comes to Family business. He came into the Outfit about the same time I did, but he has good insight into it. He is far wiser than his age or experience.

He definitely possesses the old soul wisdom. Marco seems to be able to look at the organization objectively and notice what's really going on.

I try to focus on his words, on work, and on what will be my reality again now that I’m back in the fold of the family, but I fight an overwhelming tightness in my chest.

The sides of the SUV feel suffocating, reminding me of the prison cell.

I take a deep breath and crack the window. It's been a long time since I’ve been around anyone who hasn’t been jaded by the system. People in prison speak differently than people who are free.

Getting used to Marco—getting used to anyone—is going to be a challenge.