Page 1 of Vicious Behaviors (The Next Vicious Generation #3)

Marcello

“Promise you’ll call every day?” Stella asks Jude, her expression steady as she tries her best to hide any trace of vulnerability, even if her plea alone gives her away.

“Stella,” our father, Gio, starts gently, “your brother’s going off to college. You know he can’t promise to call every day when he’s got so much studying to do.”

“He can spare five minutes out of his busy schedule to call his sister,” Stella snaps, hands planted firmly on her small hips as she fixes our older brother with a pointed stare. “Isn’t that right?”

“Of course it is,” Jude replies with an easy-going smile. “And I’ll make sure to FaceTime you every Sunday, too. Promise.”

“See, Dad?” Stella rolls her eyes at Gio, earning a chuckle from Dom standing beside him. Only when she turns to Jude, her triumphant smile begins to tremble. “Don’t read too much into this, okay?” she says quickly, before flinging herself into his arms and hugging Jude as tight as possible.

Everyone stills as Stella clings to Jude with everything she has before pulling away just as suddenly. She wipes her eyes, trying to hide the errant tears that dared to make an appearance. She then takes our baby sister, Annamaria, in her arms and walks over to our brother.

“Say goodbye to Jude, Anna. We don’t know the next time we’ll see him again.” Her words hang heavy in the air, drawing quiet frowns from us all, especially from our father, Vincent.

We all know the real reason Jude is going off to college in London, and it has nothing to do with pursuing higher education.

It’s about putting an ocean between himself and our parents.

His way of standing his ground while also punishing them for not inducting him into the Outfit the minute he turned eighteen last year.

What he’s doing feels cruel, but part of me understands where he’s coming from.

Standing up to our parents is no easy feat.

Moving to another country just to make a point might seem extreme to most people, but for Jude, it’s probably the only way he can show them they no longer control his future—even if, in reality, they still hold all the strings.

I just wish this wasn’t the hill my brother has chosen to die on. In fact, I wish Jude didn’t want to be a made man at all.

Though I’ve never had the courage to say it to his face, I think Mammà ’s right. Our parents have given us every advantage in life. Enough that we don’t have to follow in their footsteps. We can be anything we want. Anything. So why choose a life where tomorrow is never guaranteed?

But then again, the Outfit is our family’s legacy. Which means it’s also Jude’s birthright.

This life is in his blood. And if that’s the life he wants… then I guess it’s the life that awaits me, too.

I’d follow Jude to the ends of the earth. Even if it means going against our parents’ idealistic vision for our future and picking up the metaphorical syndicate torch.

I keep watching from the sidelines as our four-year-old sister holds onto Jude, too young to understand what’s happening, but sensitive enough to feel the sadness hanging in the air around her.

He presses one last kiss on her cheek, his eyes shining with unshed tears—the very same he somehow miraculously manages to hold back.

After all, he can’t afford to look like he’s faltering now.

My parents wouldn’t hesitate to use even the smallest crack in his armor if it gave them an edge to sway his decision.

Not that it would do them any good. Even if Jude misses us terribly, there’s no turning back once he sets his mind on something.

I might not understand his stubbornness, but I do envy his courage to go out into the world on his own.

I’m not as brave. Unlike the rest of my family, boldness has never come easily to me.

Stella’s a year younger, and somehow, she’s always been the fearless one. Even the twins, at just seven years old, carry themselves like they could conquer the world without blinking.

Not me.

Confrontation makes my skin crawl. Being the center of attention? Even worse. I’ve always preferred the background, letting my louder, bolder siblings take the spotlight. The sidelines feel safer. Quieter. More like me.

Anna’s the same.

Mammà says Annamaria and I take after her mother.

Shy pacifists, both of us. She says we’re gentle souls in a family built on fire and iron.

However, she’s quick to remind us that our sensitive and kind nature isn’t a weakness.

Our grandmother may not have sought out fights, but she faced them when they came.

Mammà says her quiet inner strength helped her survive all the ugliness she had to endure.

The kind of strength that doesn’t need to be loud to be real.

I hope I never have to test that part of myself, though. I hope Annamaria doesn’t either.

After Anna’s goodbye, it’s the twins’ turn to say farewell to our brother. They barrel toward Jude, demanding all sorts of presents for when he gets back. I watch them from the corner of my eye as my gaze drifts to Mammà , standing stiffly, as if her heart were breaking but too proud to show it.

Their bond is different from the one the rest of us have with her.

Mammà practically grew up alongside Jude since she was even younger than he is now when she had him.

There’s history between them that we don’t share.

Maybe that’s why they fight so hard—because they love each other even harder.

And for the past year, fighting is all Jude and Mammà ever seem to do.

Shouting matches rooted in love, resentment, and fear.

Mammà doesn’t want to let her firstborn go without a fight. And Jude doesn’t want to be held back any longer. Neither one is showing signs of conceding.

When the twins finally run out of requests, it’s our fathers’ turn to hold their son one last time, unsure of when—or if—they’ll get the chance to do it again.

Dom steps forward first. He isn’t a man of many words, but the hug he gives Jude says everything. It says that he’ll miss him and wishes he didn’t have to leave just to prove a point. But it also says that he’s proud of him. That he loves him deeply, fiercely, and without question.

Jude doesn’t get the chance to respond to Dom’s unspoken declarations since Gio is already stepping in, ready to take his turn.

“I’m going to miss the hell out of you, kid,” he says, hugging Jude just as tightly. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind?”

“Could you change theirs?” Jude replies, his gaze flicking toward Vincent, whose arm is wrapped protectively around our mother’s waist.

“You Romanos,” Gio mutters, shaking his head, “are the most stubborn bunch I’ve ever met. Not even God, or the devil himself, could change your minds when you get something stuck in those thick skulls of yours.” But even though he’s smiling, his chestnut-colored eyes are weary with sadness.

Once Gio finishes, he steps back toward Mammà , taking Vincent’s place at her side so he can have his moment with Jude.

“There’s no shame in changing your mind,” Vincent says, his final attempt to keep his son stateside.

“You’re right. There isn’t,” Jude replies, standing tall, his expression steady and resolute.

“Fair enough.” Our father gives Jude a curt nod in reply before taking his face in both hands. “Just remember that you’re a Romano, Jude. Go out into the world if you must, but never forget your home is here. No matter what happens, I want you to know that we love you. That I love you.”

Jude’s hazel eyes soften as Vincent pulls him into a protective embrace. I can’t hear what our father whispers in his ear, but by the way Jude’s shoulders tremble slightly, our father’s words hit home.

When he finally steps back, Jude’s gaze instantly shifts to Mammà . Her face is unreadable as she walks up and presses a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Have a safe flight,” she says and then swiftly turns to head back into the house.

“I love you too, Mom,” Jude murmurs after her, so softly that only those close by are able to hear him.

“Come on, kids,” Gio announces. “Let’s give Jude and Marcello their moment and go inside to see what Lourdes is making for breakfast.”

Annamaria is still clutching onto Stella as they both wave goodbye, the twins trailing behind them reluctantly. Dom casts one last, sorrowful glance at Jude before hurrying inside, likely to check on Mammà .

That leaves just me and our father, Vincent, outside.

I don’t want to say goodbye to my brother. Maybe that’s why Jude saved me for last.

“Come here, Marcello,” he says softly.

I obey quietly, every step heavier than the last. I can’t let him see me cry. It would only make saying goodbye more painful for him, and it’s already been hard enough. If I can help my brother by being strong at this one moment, then I have to be. I just have to be.

Jude places his hands on my shoulders and lets out a long, steadying breath, and with a loving gleam in his eyes, he says, “I need you to do me a favor, little brother.”

“Anything.”

He displays the same easy, crooked smile that always made me feel safe. Always made me feel stronger than what I really am.

“With me gone, I need you to look after our brothers and sisters. You’re their big brother now. They’ll need someone to look up to. Someone to protect them. Someone they can turn to when life gets hard. You think you can do that for me? Protect and guide them when I’m not around?”

“Yes.” I nod without hesitation.

There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Jude. He’s always been the one I admired most in this family. His sense of right and wrong might be just as warped as our fathers’, but that’s never mattered to me. The way he moves through life—with quiet confidence and steady purpose—is what sets him apart.

I’ve met enough made men in this life who fear nothing and use it as an excuse to be cruel.

But not Jude. Never Jude. He might be fearless, but he’s also kind.

Thoughtful. Patient in ways most people wouldn’t expect.

And maybe that’s why I trust him so completely.

Maybe that’s why I’ve idolized him so. And maybe it’s also why saying goodbye hurts so much.

“Good. I’m counting on you,” he says. “But whatever you need, remember that I’m just a phone call away.”

“I know,” I reply on a strangled sob.

His eyes begin to water again, and before his tears can fall, he pulls me into a hug and whispers, “Be there for Mammà too, okay, Mar? She’s going to be hurting for a while.”

I bury my face into his chest. “She’s not the only one. We’ll all be hurting.”

Jude’s arms tighten around me as if that truth were too much for him to bear.

“I love you, little brother. I’m going to miss the fuck out of you.”

“Me too,” I choke out, unable to hold back my tears like he is.

Jude pulls away and wipes my eyes before looking at our father.

“Stay safe,” Vincent croaks, his voice thick with emotion.

“I will. And even though I’m leaving… even though I need to leave… I love you, Papà .”

“ Ti amo tanto, ” our father replies, crestfallen.

Jude’s jaw quivers as his gaze bounces from our father to me, and then to the house behind us where he grew up.

Finally, he turns and rapidly walks toward the black town car waiting to take him to O’Hare International Airport.

Our father pulls me close by the shoulders, steadying me as we watch Jude slide into the car and ride away.

Silent tears stream down my face as my father’s body shakes behind me. Then he turns me around and kneels in front of me, wiping my tears even as his own threaten to break his impenetrable dam.

“No tears, my little prince,” he says softly. “Your brother will be home before you know it.”

I look into his eyes and see the lie embedded in them. I’m just not sure if he’s lying to me… or to himself.

“But what if he doesn’t, Papà ? What if he never comes back?” I whisper, my tears streaming harder down my cheeks.

“He will,” my father says softly. “He’s a Romano. Just like you. And we don’t do well without family.”

He smiles, but it’s the kind of smile people wear when trying to hide how they’re bleeding inside from a cut that just won’t heal.

“ Papà ?” I start nervously, “What if I’m a bad big brother? What if I can’t be like Jude?” My voice cracks under the weight of it all. The fear, the pressure, the sinking feeling that my brothers and sisters are worse off now… because they only have me to protect them.

My father brushes away my tears with surprising gentleness, love shining in his eyes.

“You don’t need to fill Jude’s shoes, Marcello.

Just be yourself. You are one of a kind, il mio piccolo principe.

Your heart,” he places his hand over my chest, his palm large and steady, grounding me, “is just as pure as your mother’s.

As long as you follow it, you’ll be the kind of big brother they need. ”

I wipe my nose on my sleeve, the weight of his words almost too much to carry.

“But he’s so brave. And I’m—”

“You’re what?” he asks gently, brow lifted.

“Not.”

I drop my gaze, ashamed of how small the truth sounds when I say it out loud. But he tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“You give yourself too little credit, my son. One day, you’ll see what I see. You’re stronger and braver than you realize, Marcello. You just haven’t been tested yet. But when the time comes, you’ll rise to the occasion. Of that, I’m certain. Don’t rush the inevitable.”

A flicker of hope stirs in my chest.

“Do you think I’ll ever be like him, though?” I ask. “Like Jude?”

My father smiles again, though my question seems to trouble him.

“You don’t need to be like your brother. Nor do I expect you to. Just be you. Just be Marcello Romano. Because that’s enough. That’s more than enough. That’s everything.”

He pulls me into a hug and presses a kiss on the top of my head. I want to stay in his embrace forever, locked in that moment, held in the warmth of someone who believes in me so wholeheartedly that he almost made me believe in myself, too. Made me believe that I could be good as well as brave.

But all moments end.

If I knew that would be one of the last hugs I would ever get from my father, maybe I would have held on tighter. Though what would be the point since everything ends?

He was wrong about me. I didn’t grow into the boy he believed in. I didn’t become the man Jude hoped I would. I became something else entirely.

Something colder. Something sharper.

A monster born of love, shaped by loss and trauma, and forged to rule the Outfit.

I would never be the son my father wanted.

But I would grow to be the Capo Dei Capi our enemies all feared.