Page 12 of Vicious Behaviors (The Next Vicious Generation #3)

Marcello

Sunday lunch after Mass is usually a grand affair. My father likes hosting it at the old Salvatore mansion, partly as a tradition, partly as a reminder of where he came from.

Today is no different. The long table is packed with Lourdes’ finest home-cooked Italian dishes along with a few newer plates, courtesy of Frankie, Lucky’s girlfriend.

Darius, Frankie’s brother, is present along with Father Alejandro, Enzo’s date. Surprisingly, Nonno also made it. I say surprisingly since Nonno usually likes to spend his Sundays watching whatever game is on TV.

If Jude and Mina were here—along with her father and those asshole twin cousins of hers—we’d probably need to invest in a larger dining table just to fit everyone.

I like it when the house is full. It makes it easier to go unnoticed.

The only time I don’t like a crowd is when a new face shows up.

That’s when my hackles rise. I’m naturally distrustful of newcomers.

So is the devil inside me. It takes us a minute to warm up to strangers.

People have to prove they aren’t a threat to me or mine.

And when they can’t? Let’s just say they’re never seen again.

Like Stella, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my family. Protecting them isn’t just a priority—it’s the priority.

Speaking of which…

“I ran into your new hire this morning, Nonno, ” I say evenly, cutting into my porchetta . “The sun hadn’t even come up yet, and she was already working hard in your office, no less.”

Instead of the frown I expect from my grandfather, he just laughs. “Yep. That Izzie’s a real go-getter.”

Not exactly the word I’d use, but sure.

“You think it’s wise to give the keys to the gym to a total stranger and let her rifle through your things while you’re not there?”

“By the look on your grandfather’s face, it doesn’t seem like he has a problem with it. But sounds like you do,” my dad, Gio, interjects, a sly smile playing at his lips.

His all-knowing smile tells me everything I need to know.

He’s fully aware of Izzie’s existence and the changes she’s making to the gym.

Of course he is. Men like Gio always know what’s happening in their world, no matter how small the detail.

And Nonno wouldn’t have made a move without first running it by him and my father, Vincent.

I’m ashamed I didn’t consider that sooner.

“So you’re okay with this?” I turn to Vincent now. “With whatever this woman’s about to do to your gym?”

Technically, the gym belongs to Nonno, but we all know how it really works. Any business owned by a made man, retired or not, belongs to the famiglia. Belongs to the Outfit.

Instead of my father giving me an answer, he surprises me by directing his attention to Frankie. “Frances, sweetheart, would you mind helping me clarify something for my son?”

Frankie glances at Lucky, then me, then Stella. She hesitates but eventually nods. “Of course, Mr. Romano. Whatever I can do to help.”

“Thank you.” My father smiles, though it never reaches his eyes. “You’ve been to Carmine’s gym before, haven’t you?”

“Only once. With Lucky,” she answers, a bit uneasy.

“And what were your first impressions of it?”

She pauses again, flicking her eyes to Lucky, wondering if she should be honest. It’s only after he gives her a reassuring smile and threads his fingers through hers that she answers. “Honestly? I found it… intimidating.”

“And by intimidating, you mean?”

“Scary,” Frankie finishes, not missing a beat. “I found it a little scary.”

“You mean you felt unsafe,” my father says, cutting to the heart of it.

“Yes, sir,” she admits. “There was something… nefarious about the place. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.”

“What you felt,” Gio adds gently, “was the presence of made men. Lethal men who wouldn’t lose sleep over killing someone as innocent as you.” His tone is calm, almost soothing, which somehow makes it worse.

“Exactly,” Vincent says, now locking eyes with me, as if I should’ve seen his plan all along.

“After recent events, I thought I made it clear that this family should keep its head down. Stay inconspicuous. A gym that’s earned a reputation as a hangout for made men draws the wrong kind of attention.

When Carmine brought up the idea of adding new blood to the team and its membership, I saw it as not only helpful but long overdue. Does that settle your reluctance, son?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, having just been publicly reprimanded in front of my entire family.

If my father had done this to Jude, my brother would’ve had a few choice words before storming away from the table.

Me? I stay seated. I stay silent.

“Hold up… what does this mean? You’re letting girls into your gym now, Nonno? ” Stella asks, her voice laced with curiosity at this new development.

She’s trying to pull the spotlight away from me. And I’m grateful.

As Nonno launches into an excited explanation about expanding the gym and giving it a full makeover, starting with who he lets through the door, I still feel my father’s disappointment pressing into me like a weight.

So when lunch ends, I’m the first to rise from my seat. Needing space, I head into the woods in the back of the house, the cool winter air doing its best to ground me.

Funny, isn’t it? The devil is always quick to push me toward violence, whispering for me to burn it all down, but when it comes to my father—his reprimands, his judgment—he stays silent. I guess, like me, the monster respects him too much to lash out. Even if sometimes we both resent him.

That wasn’t always the case, though. There was a time in my youth when the monster inside me didn’t care for respect, honor, or loyalty.

He would bare his fangs at whoever dared cross him, no matter how minuscule the insult.

It took me years to condition him to distinguish friend from foe.

Who he could show himself to, and who he had to hide from.

However, that restraint came with a price. I had to feed it first if I wanted him to remain civilized.

A part of me was worried that since I hadn’t trained enough this morning, the devil would use my lapse in judgment to his benefit.

But he hasn’t surfaced, not since Izzie.

Izzie… Looks like she won’t be as easy to get rid of as I thought. But my gut instinct is never wrong. She’s not only untrustworthy, but she’s hiding something. I need to find out what before it blows up in our faces.

The only people in this house who can help me with that are the twins. I choose Enzo since he’s far better at being discreet than Lucky.

With a plan in place, I head back inside in search of Enzo, only to find my mother by the fireplace, staring at old baby photos on the mantle mixed with pictures of our departed.

“Are you just reminiscing, Mom? Or are you catching a bout of baby fever?” I tease, with a gentle nudge. “Anything I should know?”

“If you’re insinuating that I might be pregnant again, you’re wrong.” She laughs. “After all, I’m hitting fifty this year, so my baby-making days are well behind me. What I’m really excited about is having our home overflowing with my grandbabies.”

“And whose grandchildren are you referring to? Jude and Mina don’t seem to be in a rush. Lucky and Frankie haven’t even finished high school. Sorry to burst your bubble, Mammà, but I think you’ll have a long wait ahead before you hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet.”

“I’m nothing if not patient.” She smiles, but the warmth fades as her eyes fall to the next photo on the mantle, one of my father and his late cousin, Pietro.

“I hate that picture,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

“Why?” she asks gently, no judgment in her voice.

“Because it’s a reminder. Of him. Of them. ”

I don’t need to explain further. My mother knows exactly what I mean.

Pietro wasn’t just my father’s cousin. He was more like a brother to him. That is, until he betrayed him and almost married the one woman my father truly loved—my mother.

However, it’s not just Pietro’s betrayal that the photo reminds me of. It’s what’s missing from the frame, the invisible cloud that shrouds it. The missing cousin and Pietro’s bastard brother, Ciro LaSpina.

Ciro’s betrayal was far worse. He didn’t just try to steal my mother. He launched a coup that nearly killed my father and Jude in the process.

There’s nothing warm in that photo for me. Just a bloody history and ugliness.

And to make matters worse, I’m a carbon copy of Pietro. The man’s been dead for over thirty years, long before I was ever born, but when I look in the mirror, it’s his face that stares back at me.

“I never understood why Father keeps this photo on display. Why would he want it up here with the rest of the family?”

“I would’ve thought the answer was quite obvious,” she says softly. “Vincent loved Pietro very much. He still does.”

“Does he?” I ask, stunned that he could care for someone who betrayed him so deeply.

“How could he not?” she replies, a hint of affection in her voice. “I know you’ve heard a lot of stories about Pietro, but I was there, remember? Not only was he your father’s closest confidant, but he was my friend too.”

“How can you say that? He tried to steal you from him,” I say, astounded.