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6

ROMIRO

I stand in front of the mirror looking at the tattoos that litter my entire body, but the only one that has any meaning behind it is the blue heart, above the barcode those people had given me. I throw on a shirt before glancing out at the city outside my window. It’s alive, even at this hour. Lights glint from the skyscrapers like a million watchful eyes. I’ve always liked it up here, high above the chaos, where the noise is just a dull hum. My apartment is dark, after all, monsters thrive in the dark. The faintest glow from the skyline slips through the tall windows, cutting shadows across the floor.

I’m pacing the room, restless. Nicolo called me earlier and said he’d be coming over. That was enough to put me on edge. My brother doesn’t do house calls, not unless there’s a reason. And with Nicolo, the reasons are never good.

I check the clock—4:30 a.m. I shouldn’t be surprised he’d want to meet at this hour; the night is more his time than the day. I pour myself a glass of whiskey, just a finger to take the edge off, and lean against the glass, watching the city breathe.

A soft ding breaks the silence. I don’t jump, but my heart picks up speed. I knew he’d be here soon, but Nicolo always has a way of appearing like a ghost, moving quietly, always one step ahead. I press a button on the panel to let the elevator up, the doors slide open. There he is—tall, dressed in a tailored black suit, his dark hair slicked back, eyes as cold as winter. There’s a stillness to him; a control that makes him look almost carved from stone.

“Romiro,” he says, his voice calm, a bit too calm, like he’s already figured out every possible move I might make.

“Nicolo,” I reply, stepping back to let him in. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t nod. He just walks past me, his gaze sweeping the room as if he’s assessing for threats, even though we’re supposed to be safe here.

“Nice place,” he mutters, though I can’t tell if it’s a compliment or just an observation.

I turn to face him. “Yeah, well, it’s home,” I say lightly, trying to break through that cold exterior. My brother’s always been a cold fucker. A product of the abuse we endured. Interesting how polar opposites we’ve turned out to be. I lean against the kitchen island, watching him as he moves like a panther—careful, deliberate.

He’s not here for pleasantries, and I know it. “So,” I start, keeping my tone casual, “heard anything about the Outfit? They’ve been really quiet lately, only a few hits here and there.”

Nicolo’s eyes flick to me, sharp and unblinking. “Why would I know anything about the Outfit’s plans?” he asks, his voice cool and detached.

I shrug, trying to keep it light. “Why wouldn’t you? You have eyes everywhere; information is what you hold over everyone’s heads. Besides, it’s odd, them going silent like this. Makes me think they’re up to something.”

Nicolo doesn’t answer right away. He just watches me, his gaze like ice, reading me in a way only he can. “Maybe,” he finally says, his tone giving nothing away. “Or maybe they’ve just lost their edge.”

I snort. “You don’t believe that any more than I do, Nic. They’re planning. And you know something. So, spill it.”

He steps closer, and for a moment, I can feel the coldness radiating off him like a winter wind. “If I knew something, little brother, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t involve myself in the Outfit’s and the Camorra’s petty fights. And unlike your Capo, I’d actually handle shit.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken threats. Nicolo doesn’t handle things quietly. When he “handles” something, it usually means bodies drop. And quickly. “Fair enough,” I say, taking a sip of my whiskey, trying to keep the mood light. “But you didn’t just come here to chat about the Outfit, did you?”

He glances at his watch as if my time is running out. “I’m going back to Italy,” he says finally, his voice flat, emotionless. “Got some deals to take care of. I won’t be around for a while.”

I raise an eyebrow, a grin tugging at my lips. “You? Taking a vacation? I didn’t know you knew how to relax.”

His expression doesn’t change. “That’s not what I said, Romiro. It’s business. Serious business. I need to make sure that you can take care of yourself while I’m gone. No games, no screw-ups.”

I lean back, folding my arms. “What do you take me for? I can handle myself.”

He stares at me, his face hard, eyes narrowing slightly. “I know you can handle yourself. It’s everyone else I worry about.”

I chuckle, but it’s short, more to cover the tension than anything. “Got it. No messes while you’re away. You only just returned the other day, but I still expect you to bring me something nice from Italy. I hear the wine’s good this time of year.”

Nicolo’s lips twitch, just barely, like he’s considering a smile but decides against it. “Just keep your head on straight, Romiro,” he says, turning toward the door. “Don’t make me come back early.”

I nod, watching him go. “Safe travels, big brother.”

He pauses, just for a second, his back to me. Then he’s gone, the elevator doors sliding shut behind him. The room feels colder—and emptier—without him, but I don’t mind. I take another sip of whiskey, looking out over the city, and wonder what the Outfit’s next move will be… and if I’m ready to face it without Nicolo here. He may not be in the Camorra, but it always feels better knowing I have my brother backing me when I need him.

* * *

The diner is quiet tonight, just the way it’s always been. Velenci's has always been our spot—a little hole-in-the-wall place that’s been here for decades, family-run, and barely known to anyone who doesn’t stumble upon it by mistake. The walls are cluttered with old black-and-white pictures of families, faded wedding photos, and kids with ice-cream smiles. The light is low and warm, cast from vintage bulbs that hang from the ceiling, creating soft shadows across the tables. It smells like fresh coffee, sizzling bacon, and something sweet baking in the back—maybe the apple pie that’s always on special. I sit in our usual booth, tucked in the corner by the wall, where we have a little more privacy. The place isn’t full—just a couple of regulars sitting at the counter, old man Jacobs reading the newspaper, and Lisa the waitress humming along to the soft jazz playing from a vintage jukebox in the corner. The ambiance is intimate, almost secretive, like a hidden corner of the world where time moves a little slower.

I check my watch again. 8:15. Alessia is late, but that’s nothing new. Fuck! Did I shoot myself in the foot when I kissed her? I don’t regret it one bit, but maybe I should. I drum my fingers on the tabletop, glancing out the window across the diner at the flickering street lights outside. And then I see her—a flash of red hair, her silhouette framed against the glass of the door as she pushes it open. The bell above the entrance chimes, and I feel my heart skip a beat, just like it always does when she walks into a room.

She spots me, and her face lights up, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile that makes me forget, just for a moment, about everything else. She slides into the booth across from me, her cheeks a little flushed, probably from the heat outside. “Sorry I’m late,” she says, her voice breathless. “Got caught up at the hospital; you know how it is.”

I shrug, trying to play it cool. “I’m just glad you showed up,” I reply, a grin tugging at my lips. “Thought you might’ve found someone better to spend your time with.”

She laughs softly, a sound that makes the diner feel even cozier. “As if,” she replies, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Thanks again for the ride this morning, by the way. You didn’t have to wait for me, but I appreciated it.”

No mention of the kiss. I wave it off, leaning back in the booth. “It’s no big deal. I was in the area. Besides, I figured you could use some company after a long shift.”

She takes a sip from the glass of water the waitress left at the table, while her fingers brush her hair back behind her ear. “Well, I owe you one,” she says, her voice light. “Maybe I can make it up to you at Val and Eli’s wedding … if they ever actually set a date.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Knowing them, it’ll be last minute and chaotic. But hey, it’ll be fun. Those two know how to throw a party.”

She nods, smiling, but there’s something else behind her eyes—a look I can’t quite read. “Speaking of events,” she says, almost too casually, “my Nonna and Mamma have decided I need to be set up on another date. Tomorrow, actually. Some guy they know through his mother from a gardening club or something. I don’t know… I’m kind of dreading it. But I just thought I’d let you know, so guys won’t wait for me on Friday, for movie night.”

I feel a prickle of irritation at the back of my neck. I lean forward, my voice dropping a notch. “Don’t go,” I say, the words coming out sharper than I intend.

She blinks, surprised, and then laughs, but it’s a little forced. “Romiro, come on. It’s just one date. It’s not like I’m getting married.”

“I’m serious,” I say, my tone flat, no humor in my voice. “Don’t. Go.”

Her smile falters, and I see confusion flicker across her face. “Why not?” she asks, a touch defensive. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just to keep Nonna and Mamma off my back.”

I lean against the booth’s couch, my jaw tightening. Tension rises between us, the air thickening. “Because,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, “you don’t want to go. You just said it yourself. So, why waste your time?”

She crosses her arms, a stubborn look in her eyes. “Why do you care so much, Romiro? It’s just a date. You don’t get to decide who I see or don’t see.”

I feel something twist in my chest, frustration bubbling up. “I care because you’re my friend, Alessia. And I know you. You’re just doing this to make them happy, not because it’s something you want.”

She tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to read between the lines. “Is that all this is, Romiro? Just you looking out for a friend?” I don’t answer right away. The tension is crackling now, like electricity in the air before a storm. Her eyes search mine, looking for something, but I’m not sure what. Finally, she sighs, shaking her head. “You’re being ridiculous,” she says, but her voice is softer, almost uncertain. “It’s just one date.”

I feel a tightness in my chest, and I say, “I’m warning you Alessia, if you go through with this ‘date’, you won’t like the outcome.”

She looks at me for a long moment, like she’s trying to figure me out, and then she nods, her expression guarded. “I will do what I want Romiro. You don’t get to dictate what I do,” she says. Grinding my teeth, I hold back from shattering the boundary that’s been set between us for years. Yesterday’s awkward mishap only reinforced them. We fall into a tense silence, the air between us heavy with unspoken words. I glance around the diner, at the old photos on the wall, the flickering lights, and the waitress who keeps glancing over like she senses the strain between us. Alessia finally stands, grabbing her phone. “I should go,” she says, her voice tight. “I’ve got an early shift tomorrow.”

I nod, sliding out of the booth after her. “Yeah, okay,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral. “Take care, Allie.”

She hesitates for a moment like she wants to say something more, but then she just nods. “You too, Rom.”

She turns and walks toward the door, and I watch her go, feeling a strange hollowness settle in my chest. The bell above the door chimes as she leaves, but I stay in place, in our little booth, staring at the empty seat across from me. I know I’ve crossed a line tonight, but damn it, I meant every word. somehow, I know this isn’t the end of whatever just started between us.

* * *

The street is bustling, people moving in and out of buildings like ants on a mission. I’m leaning against my car, parked next to a white scooter that’s seen better days. I’m waiting for Eli, who’s running late as usual, and tapping my foot impatiently on the cobblestones. The late afternoon sun dips behind the clouds, casting long shadows across the square, and the smell of freshly baked bread wafts out from the restaurant nearby. I take a drag of my cigarette, watching the smoke curl up into the air, letting the familiar bitterness settle in my chest.

I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on a few transactions today, making sure everything goes smoothly, something that’s part of the job. But my mind isn’t on the job. It’s on Alessia and the way she looked at me last night. That look that was part confusion, part something else—something I can’t quite figure out. I keep playing our conversation over and over in my head, like a broken record, trying to make sense of it. Trying to figure out if she got the message I was sending.

I flick the cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with my heel, just as Eli finally comes into view. He’s got that cocky grin on his face, the one that says he’s in a good mood, which probably means he’s going to annoy the hell out of me today.

“Hey, Romiro,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Sorry, I’m late. Got caught up with Val.”

I grunt, not really in the mood for his excuses. “Yeah, whatever. Let’s get this done.”

He leans against the car next to me, pulling out his own pack of cigarettes. “You seem tense,” he says, lighting up, amused. “Something on your mind?”

I don’t answer right away, just glance at him, trying to decide if I want to get into it. but Eli’s always been nosy, he doesn’t need much encouragement to start talking.

“Had to drop off Val at Alessia’s apartment,” he continues, exhaling smoke. “She asked Val to help her get ready for some date.”

His words stop me cold. I turn to him slowly, my jaw tightening. “What did you just say?”

He looks at me, cautious by the edge in my voice. “Yeah, Valentina was helping Alessia get ready for a date. She also wanted me to tell you, that you don’t need to pick her up from the hospital tomorrow morning.”

My chest feels tight, and I feel the slow burn of anger starting to build, creeping up my spine like a fire. “Who’s the guy?” I ask, my voice low, dangerous.

Eli shrugs. “I don’t know, some guy my aunt set her up with. I didn’t get the details. Val just said she looked really nice, all dressed up and everything.”

I nod, my teeth clenched so tight I can feel my jaw ache. I told her not to go. I fucking told her.

I push myself off the car, pacing a few steps, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides. Emiliano watches me, his eyes narrowed. “What’s your problem, Romiro? It’s just a date. Why do you care so much?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. The words are stuck in my throat, tangled with the frustration and anger bubbling up inside me. I don’t care if it’s just a date. I care that she didn’t listen to what I said.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but it’s not working. “She’s going on a fucking date,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

Eli raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, so? What’s the big deal? She’s a grown woman. She can do what she wants.”

I glare at him, and he tilts his head, realizing he’s hit a nerve. “You don’t get it,” I snap. “I told her not to go.”

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Why the hell would you do that? Are you trying to keep her on a leash or something?”

“I’m heading off, I have something to deal with.” I shove past him, not wanting to hear any more of his bullshit. I don’t need a lecture from him, not right now. I stalk down the street, my footsteps heavy. My heart is pounding in my chest like a drum against my ribs, fighting to get out. People glance at me as I pass, clearly sensing the tension radiating off me, the fury I’m barely holding back.

I should be focusing on the job, keeping my head straight, but all I can think about is Alessia sitting across from some asshole, smiling, laughing, maybe even touching his arm. The thought makes my blood boil.

Why did she do it? Why did she go?

I round the corner, needing to move, needing to burn off this energy before I do something stupid. But the red, hot, blinding anger is growing, filling my veins, making my hands shake. I stop, pressing my palms against the wall of a building, trying to steady myself, trying to breathe.

But all I can see is her face, her eyes, the way they challenged me that night in her apartment, like she was daring me to say something, to make a move. And I didn’t. I held back. And now, she’s out there with someone else.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, my voice tight. Slamming my fist against the wall, pain shoots up my arm, but I don’t care. I need the release, need something to distract me from the thought that’s clawing at my brain.

She fucking went. She disobeyed me.