A fake priest and a Sicilian mob boss at odds. What could possibly go wrong?
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Roman is a life long slacker and a hardcore gambling addict. After learning there's a hit on him, not to mention his fiancé just dumped him two days before their weddi...
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Clarendon Memorial Gardens 7:34a.m
"You are late." Saint said to his brother, Nico. "I have important places to be this morning."
He was clearly annoyed because he'd been expecting Nico two hours ago. On top of that, Saint had a very bad feeling about it. His brother was a lot of things but tardy wasn't one of them.
"Yeah," Nico grumbled, shoving a bottle of Krug into Saint's folded hands. "I took a scenic route to get here."
Unfortunately, Saint's bad feeling turned out to be correct.
It had taken his eyes mere seconds to zoom in on a patch of fresh blood soaking through Nico's tee—strategically hidden by one of those expensive leather jackets he favored too much.
"Minchia! What is the meaning of this?" Saint pushed the jacket aside, revealing an alarming amount of blood underneath. "Did you get hit?"
"It's just a graze," Nico's voice gnashed over his teeth. "Not a big deal."
"That's a lot of blood, man," Saint paused for a moment with an intention of inspecting the damage but Nico wouldn't let him. "You shouldn't have come here. Did you get in touch with doc?"
"And miss my chance to pay my final respects to Don Bertinelli?" Nico glared at his father's headstone.
Memory of a loving husband and father Ciro Bertinelli...
The youngest Bertinelli didn't share this sentiment, made clear by a stream of urine let loose upon his father's grave, still bound to the old man by contempt and hate.
Nico shifted his gaze to an amused Saint, his lips twisting into a satisfied grin. "When you gotta go, you gotta go."
The father-son relationship had been marked by a spiral of violence, a defining characteristic of their entire family.
"You know we should've had him cremated," Nico was tucking himself up feeling very much pleased with his handiwork. "Collect his ashes, dump them in the toilet, shit on him and flush him. A fitting ending to a terrible human being."
Saint's expression remained unmoved. "Too much work for a piece of trash like Ciro."
"Agreed," Nico swallowed a lump forming in his throat.
Ciro Bertinelli's death remained a mystery ever since he was found cold inside his bedroom not more than three weeks ago. The media had a field day brainstorming all the possibilities of how one of the biggest tycoons had passed—of which most of them were totally off the rails.
However, the only people in this world who knew exactly what had happened to Ciro were the two brothers. It was a binding secret for them to take back to their graves.
