Turning Point||Book 2

36: Romano.

"I know you're trying your damnedest to be tough... but the truth is, you're scared shitless."

Max's words had got me hooked for a solid fifteen minutes, cycling endlessly like a skipping vinyl.

He wasn't wrong, was he? Even though I refused to admit it.

After spending my whole night yesterday and the early hours of this morning in a car, drinking and smoking, trying so feebly to hold on to my last thread of equanimity, I was sure even a halfwit already knew I was a finished man when met with the reality of losing that woman.

The added disgust for my men surely stemmed from her status as a threat to the family, still I cared for her nonetheless. Had it not been for my silent directive lingering in the air around them, they might've filled her with lead, pumped a few rounds into her to end this continuous chain of misery.

They'd gotten a fill of what our affiliation the first time had resulted to. Anyone would be scared that I would fail them again, because when a man can't pull the trigger on someone who poses a threat, he's as good as dead.

And after Max's probing question, which I had avoided answering by walking out, I realized the reason they all stood aloof in the garden at this very moment.

"You're in love with her, Diablo. Aren't you?"

Love.

A word that still felt foreign on my tongue. I grasped the concept of addiction, comprehended the depths of obsession. But love? I struggled with its interpretation and boundaries. The reason stood clear.

I hungered for her complete submission, sought to control her every action just to safeguard myself from potential ruin. This wasn't love; love isn't rooted in selfishness. This was the ugly side of myself that I had always shunned, the side known only to a Rossi.

I scrutinized the men intently as they occupied various spots—two lounging by the pool, absorbed in their phones, two pacing the garden in opposite directions, drinks in hand. Only two were in close proximity to each other: Ponzio and Davide, engrossed in a game of cards. Umfredo was somewhere in the house.

Failing them would be treacherous. But above all, failing myself would utterly devastate my life. Ever since Vilma's death, I had whispered to myself that I was not a pussy, not as my father had implied. But mere whispers were no longer sufficient; I needed to action to prove it.

"Ponzio! Davide!" They both jumped to attention as I called, their card game forgotten as the cards slapped down onto the table. Their laughter was fleeting. "Secure the woman and her son."

"Yes, boss," said Davide and he grabbed his colleague towards the door.

I still held Xenia's phone in my hand, which I opened to locate Jerry's number. Only when Renata and Jonny stumbled out of the house, groggy and flanked by my men, did I dial the bastard's number.

He had failed the first test, failing to pick up after the first ring.

I detested being dared, you know.

Attempting the call again, his voice sliced through the line. "Finally! The silence was killing!" he exclaimed, sounding momentarily disoriented. It was a video call, so I could see his bloodshot eyes and swollen face. At least I wasn't the only one not getting any sleep. "Are they okay? Can I hear from Jonny? Let's negotiate this, Romano. No one needs to get hurt."

"It's Rossi to you!" I reiterated firmly. Somehow, I didn't want to be addressed as Romano, not by him. Maybe all that man ever did was cling to false hope. "Yes, we're going to negotiate."