Page 14 of Vicious Behaviors (The Next Vicious Generation #3)

“You can either induct her now, set that precedent, or—”

“Or what, Marcello?” my father interrupts, his tone sharp. “And tread carefully before you answer. I don’t respond well to ultimatums.”

“Or when that seat,” I point to his throne-like chair, “is mine, I’ll induct her myself.”

Stella’s eyes go wide like saucers, stunned to hear me challenge our father so openly. But Dominic and Gio stay silent. They know the only voice that matters right now is Vincent’s.

Another tense silence drapes the room as my father considers his choices but finally asks, “How are your grades, Stella?”

“Come again?” she replies, thrown by the out-of-left-field question.

“Your grades,” he repeats, irritation creeping into his voice. “Will you or will you not be graduating from college this year? A simple yes or no will suffice.”

“I’ll graduate in May,” she answers evenly, reclaiming her usual fearless poise.

“Then, when that day arrives, you, Stella Sofia Romano, will be inducted into the Outfit.”

The joy that wants to burst from her is palpable. Everyone in the room can see it. But Stella has enough sense to know that she’s not speaking to her father right now—she’s speaking to the Capo dei Capi.

“Thank you, boss,” she says with a proud, barely restrained smile.

“Don’t thank me. Thank Marcello.” His gaze slides to me. “From here on out, you are his responsibility. Everything you do, every mistake you make, will be a direct reflection of him.”

If he thinks that worries me, it doesn’t. Stella was born for this life. Unlike me, she doesn’t have any baggage to hold her down. No. Stella will be a force to be reckoned with.

Inducting her was always a no-brainer to me. And I think my father knew it, too. If he held out this long, it’s only because he fears our mother’s wrath more than he fears Stella’s. But that’s his war to fight. I’ve got my own battles to win.

“If there’s nothing else… or are you planning to make the case that I should induct sweet Annamaria next?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, a rare smirk flirting at the edge of his lips.

“No, boss,” Stella and I say in unison.

“I didn’t think so. Now leave me to my business. There’s much to discuss,” he says, glancing toward Gio and Dom. In other words, he’ll need their backup when he breaks the news to our mother.

Stella and I exit the office, and just before the door shuts behind us, she launches into my arms, clinging to me with all the joy she held back inside.

“I fucking love you, Mar!” she squeals, practically vibrating with excitement.

I wrap my arms around her, smiling earnestly. “I’m glad,” I say, gently placing her back on the ground. “But don’t think he’s going to make it easy on you. If I know him, he’ll station you far from real danger. Don’t expect any time soon to be placed under Dom like I was.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she sings. “As long as I get my foot in the door, I’ll do the rest.”

“Good. That’s what I want to hear. Just remember that May is a long time away. He can change his mind if you do anything that jeopardizes his trust.”

“Like what?” She cocks a defiant brow.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe your friendship with a certain Russian kingpin might give him second thoughts.”

Her shit-eating grin slips instantly.

“Lucky has a big mouth,” she mutters, arms crossed.

“Lucky didn’t say a word. I overheard him talking with Frankie after you three got back from your impromptu vacation in Russia.” And by that, I mean when the Petrovs thought it was a good idea to kidnap my brother and sister just before Christmas break.

“Still doesn’t mean Lucky should be talking about me behind my back.”

“You’re getting defensive,” I note, my scowl now mirroring hers. “Why? Is this Kirill someone I should be concerned about?”

“No,” she answers flatly.

“Are you sure? This is your future we’re talking about. No one will back your induction if they think you’re in bed with the enemy.”

“Kirill’s not our enemy.”

“Yes, he is. He’s Bratva. And you’re being defensive again.”

I watch my sister take a beat, exhaling slowly as she forces her tense muscles to ease for my sake.

“He’s not our enemy any more than Frankie is. He’s her uncle. And if Lucky gets his way, soon enough Kirill and every other Petrov in Russia will be tied to our family forever. That’s why I don’t consider him an enemy.”

“Jude’s married to Mina—the boss of the Firm—and still, if her cousins so much as looked at our family sideways, I wouldn’t think twice about slitting Remo’s and Rolo’s throats.” My voice is steel, unwavering.

“Jesus, Mar.” She rolls her eyes. “I get it. I get it. Relax. I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, I do.” She softens, smiling warmly. “But you’ve got to stop seeing enemies where there aren’t any. Not everyone’s out to get us.”

“Debatable.”

“But plausible,” she says with a wink, brushing past me. “Now, I need to tell Anna the big news. Better she hears it from me.”

I wave her off, not envious of her task.

Much like our mother, Annamaria won’t take the news of Stella’s induction lightly.

The poor girl spends more time in church praying for our souls than most fifteen-year-olds spend on their phones.

She should be out living her youth, not carrying the weight of our sins.

Not everyone is out to get us. Stella’s words echo like a slow burn in my chest. Maybe she’s not totally wrong.

Maybe. But if my instincts are correct, which they usually are, then there’s at least one person who is.

And there’s only one person in this house who will tell me if I’m just being paranoid… or if I’m actually onto something.

I head upstairs and knock on Enzo’s door, fully aware he’s not alone. A few seconds later, the door swings open.

Enzo grins like a cat who got into the cream. “Hey, bro,” he says with a chuckle.

He steps aside to let me into his room, which looks like a hurricane just hit it.

The bedsheets are twisted, there’s a bedside lamp knocked over on the floor, and the air is so thick with the smell of sex, I almost choke on it.

Alejandro, aka Father Torres, stands by the window pretending to admire the view, instead of facing the embarrassment of meeting my eyes after walking into such a disaster area.

“Alejandro.” I nod.

Calling him Father feels wrong, especially when I’m pretty sure he let my brother fuck him six ways from Sunday not too long ago.

“Marcello,” he greets me with a sheepish smile.

I don’t look at him for long. Not when old images of me snapping Father McDonagh’s neck begin to flash behind my eyes.

“So what’s up?” Enzo asks, dropping into his desk chair.

“I need a favor,” I say flatly, snapping out of the haze.

“Okay,” he says easily, already waking his computer. “What kind?”

“The intel kind. I need you to look into the woman Nonno hired. The new trainer.”

“Let me guess,” he smirks. “You don’t trust her.”

I frown, hating to have, apparently, become that guy—predictably paranoid, suspicious, always circling in defense.

“Something like that. So… can you help me or not?”

“Have a seat, big brother, and watch the master work.” He grins, fingers already flying across the keyboard.

“You don’t even want her name?”

“Why?” He shrugs. “You said she works for Nonno, right? That’s all I need.”

Instead of sitting, I hover behind him, watching as he breaks into our grandfather’s HR files with disturbing ease.

Within seconds, he pulls up Izzie’s social security number and uses it to grab her birth certificate, high school diploma, college records, and all her military enlistment documentation.

On his second monitor, he scrubs the internet, finding her footprints faster than she could ever delete them.

Tagged photos, posts from friends, and even metadata from removed files are all up for grabs if Enzo decides they are.

“You’re really good at this,” I admit, genuinely impressed.

“This?” He scoffs. “Child’s play. Give me something hard next time.” If I weren’t so on edge, I might have laughed. “Well, that’s odd,” he says all of a sudden, making my heart jump.

“What is it?”

“Just give me a second,” Enzo says while typing. “Hmm,” he mutters after a while, spinning in his chair to face me. His friendly smile is now erased, replaced by a grave and intense look instead. “You were right. This Izzie chick is definitely hiding something.”

“Show me,” I demand.

He turns back and pulls up two military documents on the screen. “Nothing looked off at first, but then I found this.” He toggles between them. “This one says she was honorably discharged a few months ago. But this one?” He clicks again. “It says she’s been stateside for over three years now.”

“Could she have done another tour abroad and come back?” I ask, unfamiliar with military protocol.

“Technically, sure. An honorable discharge doesn’t preclude reenlistment,” he allows. “But there’s a problem with that theory.”

“Which is?”

“I’ve got her tagged in a few Instagram posts over those three years.

One in D.C., another in San Francisco, and one where she’s clearly helping her parents move from Chicago to Florida after their retirement.

Not exactly what you’d expect from someone actively deployed abroad.

The army isn’t known for handing out vacation days to staff on tour for family brunch and beach pics.

” I scowl, the weight of the info settling hard in my ribs.

“I can tell Nonno had someone run a background check on her recently, but it wasn’t thorough enough.

And why would it be? On the surface, she’s spotless. ”

“And under the surface?”

Enzo doesn’t hesitate. “She’s hiding something, alright. You think it’s enough to bring to Dad?”

He doesn’t say it outright, but I hear the question in his tone—should we be worried?

“No. Not yet. Let me handle it,” I say, turning toward the door since I’ve got what I came for.

“You know where to find me if you need backup.”

“I know.” I flash him a rare smile. “Thanks, Enzo.”

“Anytime.” He grins.

I’m halfway down the hall when I hear Alejandro call out my name, making me stop cold in my tracks.

“Do you need something, Father Torres?” I ask flatly, turning around slowly to face him. But to my surprise, he doesn’t seem fazed by the change in my tone.

“I was glad to see you at Mass this morning,” he says with a genuine timbre in his voice. “You haven’t been in weeks.”

I don’t respond. What would I even say? That I feel like a monster sitting in pews after killing the priest who used to stand at that altar with him? That I’m a fraud, and don’t deserve to enter a house of worship? That the devil inside me has taken too much of my soul for it to be saved?

No, I can’t say that. So instead, I say nothing at all.

Not discouraged by my silence, Alejandro steps closer, lowering his voice. “I never thanked you for saving me that night,” he says, eyes sincere. “But I can see it’s wearing at you… just as it wears at me.”

“Father—”

“Please,” he interrupts gently. “Call me Alejandro. You and I are past formalities.” My jaw tightens.

The way he’s looking at me, like he sees straight through me, into the rot I keep buried, it’s too much.

“I want you to know that no matter your transgressions, you are always welcome at St. Mary’s,” he adds.

“Is that right?” I scoff.

“It is,” he says without flinching. “And when you’re ready, I’d be honored to hear your confession.”

“Confession? You already know what I did. What’s the point in confessing a crime you witnessed?”

“To unburden your soul, Marcello,” he says, his voice low but firm. “The weight you’re carrying… it’s too much for any God-fearing man to bear.”

“You think I fear God?” I step closer, until we’re nearly nose to nose. “God forgot about me a long time ago. It’s not Him I have to answer to.”

“Then who is?”

I don’t answer. I don’t need to. My silence gives it away.

Alejandro lets out a long exhale. “ El Diablo has played more than a role in my life, too, Marcello,” he says, the devil’s name thick with his native tongue.

“But by God’s grace, I escaped the grip Satan had on my soul.

You don’t know enough about me to know this, but you and I are not so different.

There was a time when I walked a similar path as you are now.

But I overcame el demonio, and I believe you can, too. ”

“If that’s true, then you know God has very little say on the matter.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. God is love, Marcello. And He loves all His children. Even you.”

“Don’t preach to me about love and redemption,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. “It’s too late for me.”

“I don’t believe that. No one is beyond saving.”

“Then I guess that makes you a better man than me, Father,” I say, voice low and tight. “Because in my book, not everyone is worth saving. Some people deserve to burn.”

“You can’t be judge, jury, and executioner forever, Marcello.”

I smirk bitterly. “Oh no? Just watch me.”

And with that, I turn my back and walk away because if I stay and listen to his hopeful words any longer, I run the risk of actually believing them.