Tasha?
Natasha?
Who the fuck cared?
“I wouldn’t want to piss him off,” I added. Lying was part of the process.
I didn’t give a shit who she was deep throating as long as I got my answers in the end.
“Tristian,” she replied with no hesitation. “But he’s been really busy lately, especially since the Russians decided to turn and—”
“Wow,” I interrupted. “You’re just full of surprises, is that it? I fuck you hard enough, and you sing like a goddamn canary?”
She threw her head back and laughed. Her fake brown hair slid off her shoulder before her ember eyes locked onto mine. “You have a certain reputation for bringing the little death, Romeo. How could I say no? Especially if it means that I get another night in your arms—I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just don’t stop what you’re doing with your dick inside of me.”
“Hmm, you drive a very, very—” I thrust deep “—hard bargain.”
I didn’t let up. The slapping sound of my balls against her ass echoed around the room, along with the noise of her pussy soaking down my shaft.
I waited until she was on the brink of the edge.
Hanging.
Ready.
Eager.
“Who’s he working for?”
“Tristian?” Her back arched off the bed.
“Yes.”
“The highest bidder. You know who that is.”
I thrust with more determination, hitting her G-spot.
“Oh, Romeo…”
Her mouth parted.
Her legs shook.
Her core locked up.
“I’m coming…” she moaned.
“No shit.”
Her cunt clamped down on my cock.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
They all loved me; it was part of my charm.
I gave her a devious smile. “Thanks for the fuck.”
Our eyes connected, becoming one. Before she loudly gasped.
Toes curling.
Chest seizing.
Heart stopping.
I watched as blood oozed out of her mouth and down her chin. Getting lost in the symmetry of her death.
I did what I had come to do.
Fuck her senseless.
And then…
I slit her throat.CHAPTER ONE“Sometimes the only way to stay sane, is to go a little crazy.” —Harley Quinn
Romeo
Then: Six years ago“You’re so full of shit!” Tristian gave me a shove while he nodded to the bartender for two more shots. “That’s physically impossible, and you know it!”
“Ah, but you don’t. Because you’ve never tried it, you’re too afraid your dick will fall off, you pussy. By the way, it won’t. Though with your small dick, I do worry if you can hit the exact spot where her eyes start rolling to the back of her head like she’s seeing motherfucking God.” I winked, knowing I was getting to him.
By sibling standards, my brother and I had a normal relationship. There was rivalry as much as there was love. He was older but not wiser. I had inherited that trait. Which was why our father loved me best, and Tristian knew it too. Even our baby sister, Juliet, was aware of it. Everyone was; he didn’t try to hide it.
Our mother was more discreet when it came to displaying her love and devotion toward us. However, she loved me more, as well.
Don’t get me wrong, they both adored Tristian. He was their firstborn, their pride and joy, the apple of their fucking eyes. With him, everyone knew what they were getting. He was stable, complacent, safe. The Famiglia’s accountant, his job was to ensure the money went where it was supposed to go.
Hidden.
Making ruthless sons of bitches richer by the day.
I was not given the same leniency as my older brother. From the moment I was born, I was Romero Sinacore.
I killed.
Avenged.
Made panties wet.
“Ugh!” a familiar sultry voice expressed, bringing my attention to the redheaded beauty walking into the bar. “Can you get any more vulgar, Romeo?”
“Depends on how much more liquor I chug down.”
She smirked, narrowing her piercing blue eyes in my direction like we were the only two people in the wide-open space, which happened a lot when we were together. Especially when it came down to the three of us. Despite the years of trying to avoid the way she looked at me, pretending as if I didn’t see her face light up when I walked into the room.
Playing off the way I made her laugh.
Smile.
Cry.
And fuck, did I ever make her cry.
Eden De Rossi, the daughter of Bartollo, the head of our security. We’d known her all our lives; she’d practically lived with us since her father’s job was to make sure we stayed alive. Eden grew up with us. She was my age, twenty-one. Tristian was two years older than me, while our baby sister Juliet was only sixteen. Already proving to be a royal pain in the ass.
I watched out for her.
For all of them, including Eden.
Especially from me.
Our mother wanted Tristian and me to be close in age in hopes we would be there for one another. In the Italian mafia, family was everything.
Loyalty and trust, end of fucking story.
The Sinacore ancestry only knew blood and violence. Generations upon generations killed in the name of The Famiglia. We were one of the Five Families, which meant no one crossed us and lived to see another day.