Chapter 22
Chapter 22
Santino Romano
“Finally,” I muttered as I answered the call. “Someone worth a damn.”
A familiar voice crackled through the receiver. “Well, well… the heir of Famiglia Nera returns.”
Alexandro Tarascio’s smirk bled through the line.
I brought the cigar to my lips and took a drag. “I didn’t return to visit. I’m here to take back what belongs to me.”
“It never stopped being yours, Santino. And my men still stand behind you.”
Smoke drifted from my mouth as I narrowed my eyes. Tarascio had always been slippery—my father used to say doing business with him was like dancing with a snake.
“Cut the pleasantries, Alexandro. What do you want?”
A brief pause followed. “How do you plan to put Don Salvatore’s enterprise back on the throne?”
“You worried?” My voice was sharp. “I’m already making moves. The city’s going to remember who ruled it long before the Bontardes, the Lo Russos, or the Rosettis got cocky.”
“Be cautious,” he warned. “The Machinni crew are ruthless, and with the Rosettis under their wing, Italy’s criminal pulse beats in their favor.”
I exhaled slowly. “And you think I’ll let all that my father built get swept out from under me? Nah. That’s not how I operate. I’ve got a plan. And it’s already in motion. Capisce?”
Alexandro chuckled lowly. “Spitting image of your old man. Just watch your back, kid. The Machinnis are expanding—quietly, but deadly.”
I tapped ash into the tray. “Let them come. I’m not some rookie street punk.”
Another warning came, but I ended the call before he could finish.
Then I hit Vito’s number. He picked up instantly.
“Get every soldier at the compound. Tonight.”
“Yes, Boss.”
I ended the call and let my eyes drift to the fish tank across the office. Bright, clueless creatures spinning in circles. Oblivious to war.
Like the Rosettis. Like the Machinnis.
Idiots.
This city belongs to me. And no one—not Matteo Rosetti, not Alejandro Machinni, not anyone—is going to steal what the Romanos carved with blood.
My phone rang again. Vito.
“They’re all here, Boss.”
“Good. I’m coming.”
—
I stepped out into the courtyard under the July sun, glass of champagne in hand, grass crunching under my shoes. The compound buzzed with the presence of loyal men—gritty faces, leather jackets, tattoos carved from pain and prison.
I raised my voice. “This is my city.”
A storm of cheers erupted around me.
“Listen up,” I growled, scanning their expressions. “The Romanos are back, and we’re done sitting quiet while the world forgets who we are. Don Antonio built this empire. And now—” I paused, letting the weight of my words land. “Now we take back what’s ours. No mercy.”
More cheers. Louder this time. A storm swelling.
“We’re not negotiating with snakes. We crush them.”
I turned to Ryker—tall, inked, arms crossed like a statue.
“Get me every dirty cop in this city. I want names. The ones who bend when money talks.”
He nodded once.
“They’ll be useful.”
As he turned to go, I stopped him.
“Also—those bastards who sided with the Machinnis. I want a list. Every family. Every rat. They all bleed the same.”
Ryker’s face tightened. “Understood.”
I was walking toward the house when I heard the voice.
“Santino.”
Lucia.
She sat just inside, perched like she’d been waiting for hours.
“What now?” I sighed.
“What are you really doing?” she asked.
“I’m rebuilding what was taken from us. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I do,” she said sharply. “But keeping her locked in the basement… That isn’t justice. That’s obsession.”
I stopped. Turned toward her. “You don’t get it, Lucia. You never have. This isn’t just revenge. It’s war. And I’m the only one with the guts to see it through.”
She stood now—facing me, fire in her eyes. So much like Madre it almost shook me.
“Colina Rosetti is your prisoner,” she said. “But you’re the one trapped. You’ve lost yourself.”
I stepped closer. “No. I’ve found who I was always meant to be.”
“She’s not the enemy,” Lucia whispered.
“She’s the daughter of the man who helped destroy our parents. That makes her just as guilty.”
Lucia’s voice cracked. “They would never have wanted this.”
I clenched my jaw. “Don’t speak for them.”
She looked away, lips trembling. I grabbed her chin gently but firmly, forcing her to meet my eyes.
“Stay out of my way, Lucia.”
She yanked free, eyes burning. “My brother died with our parents. Whoever you are now… I don’t recognize you.”
She stormed down the hallway, heels hitting the marble like gunshots. “Lucia!” I called out.
No response.
She didn’t understand what this took. The weight I carry. The enemies I’ve already buried to get this far.
Ryker appeared at the doorway again. “Boss.”
“What’ve you got?”
“The list of corrupt officers. And a warning—it’ll cost.”
“Pay whatever. I want them owned.”
He nodded. “Also, Vito’s tracking the defectors.”
“Make sure they don’t wake up.”
As he left, I stayed behind in the shadows of my office. The night pressed against the windows. I poured bourbon over ice and watched the cubes dissolve.
Colina.
I should’ve broken her by now. That was the plan. But she’s harder to destroy than I expected.
The fire in her eyes… it stops me. Slows my hand.
If I had gone through with it, she’d be a whisper by now. But she isn’t. She’s still here. Still fighting.
I switch on the TV. Let the noise distract me from the thoughts.
I have a city to reclaim.
I don’t have time to feel.
⸻
I woke to the sound of shouting outside.
Throwing on a jacket, I walked out to chaos. Cars dented. Men bleeding. Doctors scrambling.
Vito and Ryker stumbled from a blacked-out SUV, both bloodied but standing.
“What the hell happened?”
“The Morettis,” Vito spat, “and a crew from the Machinnis. Hit the Brooklyn warehouse. Tried to rob us blind.”
My fist collided with the brick wall beside me.
“Enzo Moretti wants a war?” My voice was venom.
“He’ll get one.”
I looked over my compound—wounded soldiers, sirens in the distance, blood soaking into the grass.
“We end this,” I said, voice low but final. “Get ready.”
This time, no one walks away.