Page 13 of Vicious Behaviors (The Next Vicious Generation #3)

“Life isn’t linear, my sweet boy. You, of all people, should know that,” my mother answers patiently.

“Nor should we judge people by their worst actions in their lives. Not when the rest of it was filled with so much love.” She returns her gaze to the photo, a sad hue starting to dim her bright, green eyes.

“Like us, Pietro didn’t have a choice at that time.

He was just following Big Sal’s orders. Even if part of him had been disloyal to Vincent, he still loved him.

He still cared. And even though I didn’t see it then, he was my friend when I needed one.

” She then picks up the photo, presses a kiss to the glass, and whispers, “ Prego che tu abbia trovato la pace, Pietro. Grazie per tutto. ” Then she gently sets the frame back in its place and looks at me.

“You look so much like him, you know?” she says with a faint smile, cupping my cheek as she studies me.

“Except for the eyes.” Her smile falters for a split second, crippling sadness flickering across her features.

I’m thankful she doesn’t elaborate further. I know exactly who my eyes remind her of. I’ve seen photographs of The Thorn in old newspaper clippings buried deep in my father’s office. Ciro’s eyes… his empty melancholy stare—my stare—is unmistakable.

Sometimes I wonder if my father’s lack of love is because he knows the devil dwells inside of me, or because I look like the devil that tormented him all those years ago. When he looks at me, does he see me, Pietro, or Ciro? Can he even tell the difference anymore?

My mother must read the thoughts in my mind, because her hand slowly drops from my cheek, her sad smile gone.

“Oh, how silly of me. I forgot. Your father’s looking for you. I think he’s in his office with Gio and Dom.”

Not wanting to keep him waiting or sit through any more of my mother’s stroll down memory lane where ghosts still linger, I kiss her cheek and head to my father’s office.

“Good,” Vincent says the second I walk through the door. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to.”

“Mom said you wanted to speak with me,” I say, stepping in front of his desk.

“Yes.” His tone sharpens. “I think it’s time you move beyond shadowing Dominic and start learning the other areas of the business.”

“I don’t understand,” I retort, confused.

“And that’s part of the problem,” he replies, disappointed. “Dominic has been an excellent tutor in the art of enforcing Outfit law. But now it’s time for you to learn how to be the law.”

“What your father’s cryptically trying to say,” Gio chimes in, “is that you’re being promoted, son. Starting tomorrow, you’ll begin training to be his underboss.”

“You want me to be underboss?” I croak, heat blooming beneath my skin like the beginning of withdrawal.

“I do,” Vincent says without hesitation.

“Under Gio’s guidance, you’ll learn the trade and what’s expected of you.

Once you’ve proven your merit in that role, I’ll officially name you.

From that point forward, every capo in this city will have to go through you to reach me.

It will be the final phase of your… let’s call it education.

When I’m satisfied that you can lead, that you have earned it, I’ll announce my retirement and your succession as Capo dei Capi. ”

Bile creeps up my throat at how fast all of this is moving.

“Don’t worry,” Dominic offers from the sidelines, sensing my apprehension. “This part takes time. You’ll have to earn your stripes, which won’t happen this decade.”

Even knowing I’m still a long way off from taking full control of the syndicate, anxiety coils tight in my chest. Because without my usual outlet as the Outfit’s enforcer, what will happen to him? What will happen to me?

My demon needs blood. He craves death. How am I supposed to feed him if I’m wearing suits and dealing with syndicate politics all day?

“You don’t look pleased,” my father notes flatly.

“It’s just a lot to take in,” I admit. “Especially after you tore into me at lunch.”

“You think I was berating you?” he asks, stepping out from behind the desk to stand opposite me.

“Far from it. Don’t you see, Marcello? Everything I say, everything I do…

it’s a lesson—one I’d rather you learn from me than from failure.

Do you understand?” His face stays neutral, but his hazel eyes are almost pleading.

“I understand, Father.”

“Do you?” he presses, brows furrowed.

I nod.

“Good,” he says, satisfied with my answer, returning back to his seat.

“Tomorrow morning at nine, you’ll meet Gio at the club.

He’ll walk you through your duties and begin introductions to our most loyal and influential affiliates.

I expect a full report on your progress every day before I leave the office. Understood?”

“Yes, boss,” I reply and remain in place, staring directly at him.

“Is there something else you’d like to discuss, Marcello?” Gio asks, since my father doesn’t.

“There is,” I say, still holding Vincent’s gaze. “With your permission, boss, I’d like to continue using my skills as an enforcer whenever suited.”

“You want to moonlight as an enforcer?” Gio asks, puzzled.

I’m not offended by Gio’s question or confusion. Unlike Dominic and Vincent, Gio doesn’t like getting blood on his seven-piece Gucci suits. Oh, he’ll get his hands dirty if he has to, but like Lucky and Enzo, he’d rather outthink his enemies than outfight them.

A long, pregnant pause follows as my father debates whether to let me continue my enforcer duties. Outwardly, I remain calm and unreadable, just like he taught me. But inside, I’m chaos incarnate.

There must be a flicker of desperation in my gaze because all too soon and not soon enough, do I hear the magic words spill from his mouth. “You have my permission.”

“Thank you, boss.”

I don’t wait for him to change his mind and make a quick exit, eager to get out while I still can. But I barely have time to get to the door before Stella storms in, fire in her veins and fury in her voice.

“That’s it?!” she shouts, glaring at our father, who now pinches the bridge of his nose. “You make Marcello an underboss and let him keep his enforcer job? That’s two jobs under you, Dad! When is it going to be my turn? What else do I have to do to prove I deserve to be inducted?”

Wincing at her pain, Dominic starts, “Stella—”

“No, Dad. You’re not the one I want answers from,” she snaps, pointing at Vincent like she’s ready to draw blood. “He is.”

But Vincent gives her nothing. Just silence. And somehow, that hurts her more than a thousand no’s.

Everyone in the room hears her heartbreak as if it had weight. As if it shattered something sacred in all of us.

I don’t know what drives me to do what I do next. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s impulse. Or maybe I just love my sister too much to watch her dreams be crushed so callously. Before I can stop myself, I step forward and meet our father’s eyes, stance firm, voice steady.

“Do it. Induct her.”

Stella whips her head toward me like I’ve grown a second one. Gio and Dom speak at once, trying to pull me back, but I tune them out.

My eyes are locked on Vincent, my will resolute.

He leans back in his chair, calm and cool as ever. “Did I mishear you, Marcello? Did you just order me to induct your sister into the Outfit?”

“You heard me correctly, Father.”

“And why should I do that? Why should I break decades of tradition and stain my legacy with such blatant nepotism?”

It’s a test. Of course, it’s a test. It’s always a test with my father.

He doesn’t give a damn about tradition. If he did, he wouldn’t have named me as his successor.

His second-born son. Someone whom most of his men fear rather than respect.

No. Vincent Romano plays by his own rules. That’s what makes him the boss.

“Traditions have been broken before. By you, in fact.”

“True,” he admits, lips curling. “But why should my past choices dictate the one before me now?”

Maybe it’s not a trap. Maybe… it’s a lifeline. Perhaps he just wants to see if I’m smart enough to see it for what it is and grab it. And for once, I believe that I am.

“Over twenty years ago, you outlawed arranged marriages and condemned any type of domestic violence. You made it clear to every capo that anyone caught violating your laws would feel the full wrath of his syndicate brothers.”

“I did do that,” he nods, “and many other things. Your point?”

“You gave women a voice. Women who, through no fault of their own, were born into this life. You gave them power where there had been none. But here you are, trying to strip that very power away from your own daughter.”

“I am doing no such thing,” he growls, clearly unhappy with my choice of words to state my case.

“But it feels like you are, Papà, ” Stella cuts in, her voice trembling with emotion, using her pain and frustration as an arsenal against our father. “Can’t you see that?”

“That isn’t fair, principessa, ” Gio says quietly, catching the hurt in Vincent’s eyes.

“Life isn’t fair, Dad,” she replies, not backing down.

“Especially for the women and girls born into the Outfit. We watch our fathers go to war, while our mothers have no choice but to stay home, praying for their safe return. That’s not the kind of life I want.

That’s not the kind of woman I am. I’m my father’s daughter.

” She points to each man in the room, ending on Vincent.

“Don’t ask me to be someone I’m not. All I want is a chance. ”

I can see it. He’s wavering. But not enough. Not nearly enough to change his mind.

“It wouldn’t be the first time a woman held a position of power in a crime family. The Firm’s boss is your own daughter-in-law, and we all know Mina is an exceptional leader. Even the cartels have their sicarias and plaza bosses. ”

“Those famiglias are not the Outfit,” he retorts, digging in his heel.

I frown at his response, sensing Stella’s hope slip away.