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ROMIRO

T he gravel crunches under my shoes as I step out of the car, the mansion looming ahead of me like a specter in the night. The rain has stopped, leaving everything wet and glistening, and the lights from the grand entrance reflect off the damp stone, casting strange shadows against the towering columns.

Nicolo’s place is just like him—cold, imposing, impenetrable. The kind of place you don’t get too comfortable in, the kind of place that keeps its secrets close, its doors always ready to slam shut. I glance up at the massive wrought-iron chandelier hanging from the high ceiling of the foyer. It sparkles like a web spun from glass, delicate but somehow dangerous like one wrong move could bring the whole damn thing crashing down.

I take a deep breath and push the door open, stepping inside. The air smells like polished wood and old money. My footsteps echo off the marble floors, and I can hear Nicolo's voice murmuring to someone in the next room. As I get closer, I catch a glimpse of him through the open door to the study, standing by the poker table, a glass of something dark and expensive in his hand.

He looks up as I enter, his expression unreadable, but his eyes are sharp, assessing. He’s wearing one of his usual dark suits, tailored to perfection, not a single hair out of place. He looks like he could have just stepped off the cover of some business magazine, but I know better. There’s a predator behind that polished facade.

“Romiro,” he says, his voice cool, controlled. “You’re late.”

I shrug, leaning against the doorframe. “Traffic,” I reply, keeping my tone light, and casual, but I can feel the tension thrumming between us like a live wire.

Nicolo gestures to a chair across from him. “Sit,” he says, not a suggestion but an order, and I obey, taking the seat, my eyes never leaving his.

He sets his glass down on the table, his fingers tapping against the edge. “You wanted to talk about her,” he says, and there’s a bite to his words, an edge that cuts deeper than the cold air in the room.

I nod. “Helen,” I say, the name feeling like a curse on my tongue.

Nicolo’s face remains impassive, but I can see the flicker of something in his eyes—a flash of anger, or maybe panic, quickly buried. “She’s like a cockroach,” he mutters. “She always finds a way to crawl back from the gutter.”

I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips. “She did teach us everything we know, didn’t she?”

He doesn’t smile. “Don’t give her too much credit,” he says sharply. “She didn’t teach us everything. She just forced us to learn faster.”

I nod, knowing he’s right. Helen was never a mother. She was a monster. But even monsters have their uses. “I’ve been thinking,” I continue, “about the Syndicate. About whether it was ever really eradicated.”

Nicolo’s eyes narrow, and he leans back in his chair, his hands steepling in front of him. “The Syndicate is finished,” he says, but there’s something in his voice, something unsure. “The arrests, the deaths… we wiped them out.”

“Did we?” I ask, my voice low, and challenging. “Or did we just cut off the head of the hydra? Two more heads in its place could pop up in the dark, waiting for a chance to strike.”

Nicolo’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “You think Helen is involved?” he asks, and I can hear the doubt, the worry that he’s trying so hard to hide.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But it wouldn’t be the first time she’s aligned herself with the worst of the worst.”

Nicolo is silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the wall behind me, lost in thought. I can almost see the gears turning in his head, the calculations, the possibilities. “The Syndicate…” he murmurs, almost to himself. “If they’re still out there—if they’re regrouping…”

“They’ll want revenge,” I finish for him. “And they know exactly where to hit us.”

Nicolo’s eyes snap back to mine, and there’s a fire there now, a determination that I recognize all too well. “We need to get to her,” he says, his voice low, urgent. “Before she gets to us.”

I nod. “Agreed. But we can’t do this alone. We need to be smart about it. We need to be prepared for whatever she’s planning.”

Nicolo stands, his movements quick and decisive, and I can feel the shift in the air, the shift in him. “I’ll see what I can dig up on my end,” he says. “See if they’ve heard anything. If Helen is working with anyone, they’ll know.”

“I’ll reach out to our contacts in the Camorra; Eli only knows about Helen—not the Syndicate,” I reply, standing as well. “And if the Syndicate is still out there, we need to know who’s running the show now. They won’t be the same without their leaders, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less dangerous.”

Nicolo nods, and for a moment, there’s a strange, almost reluctant respect in his eyes, a rare acknowledgment of our shared past, our shared scars. “Be careful, Romiro,” he says, his voice softer, almost concerned. “If she’s really back, she’s going to come for you first.”

I smirk, trying to hide the unease that curls in my gut. “Let her try,” I say. “I’m not a scared kid anymore.”

“No,” Nicolo agrees, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not. But don’t let your guard down. She knows you better than anyone.”

I nod, feeling the weight of his words, the truth of them. “I know,” I say quietly. “And that’s what scares me the most.”

We stand there for a moment, in the dim light of the mansion, two brothers bound by blood and pain, by a past that refuses to stay buried. And I know, deep down, that this is just the beginning. Whatever Helen has planned, it’s going to test us both in ways we can’t even imagine.

But I also know that we’re ready. That we’re stronger together. That we’ll face whatever comes, no matter how dark, no matter how dangerous.

Because we’re Esposito’s. And we don’t back down. Not ever.

* * *

The dim lights of the casino cast a soft, amber glow over the rows of slot machines. The air thick with the scent of smoke, mingling with the faint, stale odor of old perfume and the unmistakable clink of coins falling into metal trays. I lean against a pillar, my eyes scanning the room, every nerve in my body tense. It's a stupid tradition, this formality, but if it’s what it takes to be with Alessia, I’ll swallow my pride.

Toni is here somewhere, as is Tristan. The two men who hold the most sway over her life. The men whose approval I need, no matter how much I hate the very thought of it. I take a deep breath and rub my fingers over my lips, feeling the subtle prickle of stubble against my fingertips. My heartbeat thuds in my chest, steady but hard. I feel a certain level of anxiety, but I know it's more than that. I’m wired, like I’m bracing for something, for anything.

The sounds around me blur into a constant buzz — the beeps from the slot machines, the murmurs of gamblers, the occasional burst of laughter from a table across the room. But none of it matters. Not right now. My focus is on one thing—getting through this meeting and proving myself to them.

I spot Tristan first, sitting at a corner table, a drink in front of him untouched, his expression as cold and distant as ever. His eyes catch mine, and there’s no hint of friendliness in them. I walk over, feeling the tension in my shoulders increase with every step. His fists are clenched on the table, and I know I’m not in for a warm reception.

Before I can even speak, Tristan’s fist comes out of nowhere, catching me square in the jaw. Pain explodes across my face, my head snapping back as I stagger, tasting blood on my lips. I should have seen it coming. Hell, I half expected it. But I stay standing, refusing to back down.

"Is that how you greet all your guests, Tristan?" I say before wiping the blood from my lip, my voice steady, even though my jaw throbs.

Tristan just glares at me, his jaw clenched, eyes burning with a mix of anger and something deeper—a brother’s protective instinct. I get it. If I had a sister, I'd probably do the same, maybe worse.

Toni appears from the shadows, his face as stoic as always, watching me with that cool, calculating stare. He’s the one I need to win over, the real gatekeeper. He stands still, arms crossed, his expression revealing nothing. It's a silent challenge.

“Romiro,” Toni says, his voice low but carrying the weight of authority, “Why are you here?”

“I’m here because I want your blessing,” I say, holding his gaze. “To be with Alessia. Publicly, officially. I intend to marry her.” The only reason we can talk freely is because gamblers only focus on the dollars, not those who stand in the darkness.

A slight twitch of his mouth—a reaction, at least. “You think you deserve her?” Toni asks, his tone measured, his eyes unyielding.

“No,” I reply honestly, surprising even myself with the admission. “But I know I want her. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy, even if it means standing here and taking whatever you want to throw at me.”

There’s a beat of silence. The noise from the casino fades into the background, a dull roar, while Toni assesses me, his eyes searching for any sign of weakness, any hesitation. Tristan stands at his side, his fists still clenched, watching me like he’s daring me to make a wrong move.

“You’ve got the nerve, I’ll give you that,” Toni says finally, his voice still low, almost a growl. “But nerves aren't enough. I need to know you can protect her, that you won’t hurt her, not ever. Because if you do…” He steps closer, his eyes like steel, “If you even come close to hurting my little girl, they won’t find your body for centuries.”

I swallow hard, holding his gaze. “I understand,” I say, my voice steady. “I wouldn’t dream of hurting her. I want to protect her with everything I have. With my life, if I have to.”

He stares at me for a moment longer, and then, slowly, he nods. “We’ll see,” he mutters, his tone still cold but slightly less hostile. “We’ll see if you’re worthy of her.”

I exhale, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders. It's not a yes, but it's not a no, either. It’s a start, and right now, that’s more than I could have hoped for.

Tristan still looks like he wants to knock my teeth out, but I meet his gaze squarely. “I want her, Tristan,” I say, my voice firm. “And I will fight anyone, anything, to keep her safe. You know that.”

He watches me for another moment, and then, grudgingly, he gives a curt nod. He doesn’t smile, but it’s something.

Toni gives a final nod, his eyes still cold but maybe, just maybe, a little less so than before. “Don’t make me regret this, Romiro,” he says, turning away, signaling the end of the conversation.

“I won’t,” I promise, my voice strong, certain.

Toni turns away, disappearing back into the dimly lit depths of the casino, leaving me standing alone in the noise and haze. The blood on my lip still stings, and the metallic taste on my tongue is a reminder of the stakes I’m playing with. I watch his retreating figure, my jaw tight, my chest heavy. This isn’t just about winning Alessia’s hand in some old-school, antiquated tradition. It’s about proving that I belong in her world, a world where I’m still seen as an outsider, a risk. Even as a Camorrista, as the Enforcer.

Tristan stays behind a moment longer, his dark eyes never leaving mine. There's something in his stare — a warning, maybe even a challenge. I hold his gaze, unflinching, and after a beat, he inclines his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge me. This is the second time he’s given me a nod.

It isn’t his approval, not yet. But it’s something. A crack in the wall.

He turns and walks off, and I finally allow myself a deep breath. The tension in my muscles slowly starts to ease, but I know better than to think it’s over. It’s never over. Not when it comes to their family—, my family now by association, and all the tangled, twisted strings that bind us.

I wipe my lip again, feeling the sharp sting, but I don't mind it. Pain has always been an old friend of mine, a constant reminder of where I come from and what I've fought against my entire life. But this time, it’s different. This time, it’s for something—someone—worth fighting for.

The air around me feels heavy, almost suffocating, as if the weight of every decision, every step forward, is bearing down on my shoulders. Alessia is worth it, every single sacrifice, but the stakes have never been higher. The Camorra's ruling family eyes are on me now, their scrutiny as sharp as any blade, and one wrong move could cost me everything. Not just my life, but Alessia’s trust, her love—everything I've been trying to build with her.

I know I’m not done. Not by a long shot. Winning over Toni is just the first of many battles to come. The rest of the family, the Camorra itself… they won’t be so easily swayed. I have to tread carefully and play the game wisely. This isn’t just about love; it’s about survival. It’s about protecting what I’ve claimed as mine, and I’d be a fool to underestimate what I’m up against.

I glance around the casino once more, taking in the dim lights, the faces of the patrons lost in their vices, oblivious to the war playing out beneath the surface. It’s a fitting place for this kind of conversation—a battlefield disguised as entertainment, where the stakes are high, and every roll of the dice could change the game.

I shove my hands into my pockets, turning toward the exit. I need to get back to Alessia, to hold her, to remind myself why all of this is worth it. But as I step out into the night, I know that the real fight is just beginning. And in this world, a single mistake could cost me everything.

I won’t let that happen. I can’t. Because losing isn’t an option, not when the prize is the only thing that makes sense in this messed-up world. Not when Alessia’s heart is on the line—and mine with it.

So, I set my jaw and keep walking, the darkness of the city swallowing me whole. I’ve had a small victory today, but I know better than to celebrate. There’s still a long way to go and a lot more to lose. And I can’t afford to let my guard down—not for a second.