Page 56 of His Wicked Wants (West Coast Mobsters #6)

BEFORE

Sandro stood before the mirror, admiring the bandage-free bull that now reared up the left side of his chest, fierce and proud. “Perfect,” he murmured, tracing the edge of the still-tender skin.

Next to him, Nero tilted his chin up and smiled at the PER SEMPRE emblazoned across his throat.

Sandro caught his eye in the mirror. “She’ll lose her shit when she sees that,” he said, shaking his head. “Plus it must have hurt like hell.”

“I can handle a little pain,” Nero replied with a smirk. But privately, his stomach tightened. La Contessa’s disapproval was not something anyone sought lightly. Still—he was proud of the vows he’d taken, proud to be formally accepted into her organization after years of proving himself with Sandro. This would show everyone his commitment.

Forever .

His loyalty was branded into his skin where everyone could see it.

And hell, if she hated it that much, maybe she’d send him away with Sandro. That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“You’re insane,” Sandro said, but his voice held admiration. He pulled on his shirt. They were getting ready for his farewell dinner. Sandro was leaving tomorrow for America to spend time with his father and learn the Castellani business. “When do you head to Naples?”

“Next week.” Nero was to go out on his first real mission, to build up an underperforming area of La Contessa’s empire. “I’ll be there several months.”

“I’ll be back from America by then,” Sandro assured him as they both continued dressing. “How much can there possibly be to learn about the Castellani business, after all? Then we’ll take over the world together like we always planned.”

Nero threaded his black bow tie carefully. Maybe if he tweaked it high enough it would cover up the words a little—enough to escape La Contessa’s notice tonight, at least. He was careful not to look at Sandro as he said brusquely, “You’ll forget all about me, about Italy. You’ll be dazzled by Hollywood, or by the opportunities in America. Your father never took real advantage. You’ll see things he can’t.”

Sandro paused in buttoning up his shirt. “I’ll never forget who I am,” he insisted. “My name might be Castellani, but my heritage belongs to my mother.” He tapped the bull on his chest.

“I thought you only got that to show what a stud you are,” Nero laughed, ducking as Sandro threw a shoe at his head.

But Sandro was laughing, too. He came close and took Nero by the shoulders. “Whatever happens in the future,” he said, giving Nero a shake of emphasis, “we’ll be brothers forever.”

“Brothers forever,” Nero echoed. Sandro embraced him, arms tight and reassuring. And for a moment, Nero allowed himself to believe it. Brothers forever.

But forever was a very long time.