Chapter 22 Francesco
FRANCESCO
Iwatch her from the balcony above the east courtyard, half-shadowed by the pillars.
Lia walks with Marco through the gardens, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, a soft smile carved across her face like it belongs there.
She’s slipping easily into the role of his future bride.
A little too easily. She looks perfect by his side. They look perfect together.
She should be by my side.
I’m slowly losing it. Not only am I forced to watch my brother claim my Lia, I’m forced to watch him claim my unborn child as well.
My hands are chained behind me, and there’s nothing I can do.
I hate it. I hate how helpless I am, how a man who commands so much power cannot do the one thing that means the world to him.
The first few days were the hardest, or at least I thought they were.
I left the house, unable to watch Marco flaunt her in my face. Unable to watch him hold her, touch her, kiss her. Unable to watch him have her publicly the way I crave to.
I slept in my office, in my bar, in my car. I smoked for hours straight until it felt like my lungs were giving out.
But my absence was starting to get noticed. Silvia was calling. The Morettis hadn’t heard from me and were worried. I still have my own wedding to plan, after all.
So I got my shit together and returned to the house. And that’s when the real challenge began.
Watching and not being able to do anything about it.
For the past few days, I’ve felt like a prisoner in my own home.
I’m trapped in the clutches of my responsibility.
In the clutches of honor, of obedience, of loyalty.
To my family, the mafia, and the Society.
I have never rebelled. As a child, I wasn’t allowed to just be like other children my age.
I was painfully aware of the role I had to live up to as the heir to the Romano family.
I was told it was an honor, the best thing to happen to any man. Well, it didn’t fucking feel like it.
It never has.
All I’ve gotten in return are more responsibilities, more expectations, more rules. I’ve had to make bitter sacrifices.
I could handle it.
But now I’m supposed to stand by and applaud as the one thing I want the most gets taken away from me? Fuck that.
I’m done playing it safe. I will find a way to get myself out of this mess, even if I die in the process.
I clench the stone balustrade firmly until I feel it almost crush my bones.
Just then, Lia glances up, and her eyes meet mine.
It’s brief, but I savor the moment before she remembers she shouldn’t be looking at me.
She says something to Marco, and they walk away.
Later that evening, after they’ve returned from another event—they attend a lot of those now—I pass them in the corridor. Marco laughs loudly at something she says. Too loudly. A childish attempt to rub it in my face.
The infuriating thing about Marco is that all his attempts at getting me riled up work.
Lia is smiling at him. It’s a soft and perfect look that has never been directed at me. But then her eyes flick toward me, and for a moment, it’s just the two of us in that hallway.
I move past them without a word, my jaw locked so tight I can barely breathe.
I welcome the bite of the cold night air as I slip out of the house. I enter one of my cars and drive out of the estate.
The man I’m meeting goes by Matteo now. He’s the son of a former Elder, Veritas Quintus, who was exiled for disobedience.
Matteo deals in whispers and secrets these days. They serve as favors for currency and blackmail as insurance. It would be an abomination to be seen with him, but I don’t care.
We meet at a small shack behind a butcher’s shop near the port. The alley stinks of wet wood and rotting meat.
As I step into the room, I spot him leaning against the wall and smoking something that isn’t a cigarette. His dark coat is hanging open despite the chill. When he sees me, he smirks.
“Francesco Romano,” he drawls, tossing his smoke aside. “I never thought the day would come when you’d walk into my fine establishment. Never thought you had the balls.”
I toss a thick envelope at his feet. He picks it up with a gleeful smile, rips it open, and starts counting the bills casually.
“You must really want answers,” he whistles when he’s finished, folding the envelope and shoving it into an inner pocket in his coat.
“I want to know the true origin of La Mano Nera, the first founding families, any buried rites or oaths that were never made public. Any single detail that didn’t reach the history books.”
He raises a brow. “No one has come to me with such an impossible request. It’s always about how they can break one rule or another.”
“This is not an impossible request.”
I didn’t just get myself drunk, smoke, and host pity parties alone in the past few days. I spent a large chunk of my miserable days looking for hidden Society history. There had to be something no one knew, something so dark that it had to remain a secret for La Mano Nera to thrive for centuries.
Every strong covenant bound by blood has secrets. The Romanos and Morettis have a dark secret buried beneath centuries of alliances. If the Society ever finds out about it, our lineage would be wiped out. But this secret is the main reason we still exist today.
I found some old records in the library, but I couldn’t piece all the bits and pieces of information together. I had to reach out to Matteo, the Keeper of Secrets, as some people called him. I told him what I wanted, and he asked me to meet him here.
I expected a little… more from him based on all the rumors. Maybe a little eeriness. Maybe a shrine instead of a shack of a house where, by the looks of things, he lives.
I didn’t expect a money-hungry secret keeper.
He studies me for a beat, then nods. “I’ve got something. But you didn’t get it from me.”
Or a fearful one.
He passes me a long, rectangular envelope, sealed and marked in wax. The symbol stamped into it is old. I’ve seen it in a book somewhere.
“The old Society symbol,” he says, answering my unasked question. “Every man loves money, and if I didn’t prioritize secrecy, the Elders would have killed me a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be here.”
Wait. Does he… read minds?
“Yes, I read minds. A special, olden gift.” He winks at me, flashing a hint of brown teeth.
“You open this,” Matteo continues, “you’ll find out why your name was written in blood before you were even born.”
Before I leave, I hear his voice behind me.
“These secrets are deeper than they appear on the surface. They always stay hidden in plain sight. Only a select few people can know the full truth.”
Back at the estate, I lock myself in my private study. I open the envelope in the silence of the night.
They look like old letters. Not one or two. Almost ten of them. Faded ink, handwritten Latin, and signatures carved in red ink. I spend hours translating and cross-referencing with old Society ledgers from the library.
And then I see something.
According to the official Society narrative, the Six Great Families united to end the brutal massacre of their bloodline during the 1700s. Over the years, they strengthened their influence across Europe through faith, loyalty, and tradition. That’s the version I was taught.
But these records say something else.
They formed the Society during the height of the transatlantic slave trade. They wanted to end the chaos at first, but eventually, they began to profit from it. Some wanted to covet power over others. Over years and generations, what began as protection twisted into domination.
I freeze when I see the last word scribbled in the margins of one page.
‘In a few centuries to come, a prophecy that will change the course of things will be revealed.’
My mind flashes back to Cassian’s words to Lia on the night of my engagement ceremony.
‘…vessel not yet full for your purpose… the bloom before the blood.’
Matteo wasn’t exaggerating. This goes deep.
I fold the letters and slip them back into the envelope before locking it in my safe. If anyone finds out I have this, I’ll be dead. I remain seated in the dark, the weight of centuries pressing against my chest.
Over the next two days, I go over more books and documents trying to draw more parallels, but it seems I’ve reached my wit’s end. So when Silvia texts me about a new restaurant in the city we should try out, I oblige.
La Verita is one of those places that looks like it was built to impress. The atmosphere is sleek and modern, with dark wooden floors and dim lighting that casts an almost moody glow over the room.
Silvia’s already waiting by a table when I arrive. She’s dressed to kill in a fitted black dress that hugs her curves, her long hair cascading over her shoulders. She waves me over as soon as she spots me. Her smile is a mix of warmth and something else I don’t care to decipher.
“You look exhausted,” she observes, her eyes scanning me up and down as I approach her.
I peck her on the cheek. A big rock I bought her is sitting on her finger, after all.
“It has been a long couple of days,” I reply, sliding into the chair opposite her.
She raises an eyebrow. “Something on your mind? You’ve been distracted lately.”
She must’ve been there. They all were. So I know she believes Lia is pregnant with Marco’s child and that they’ll be getting married. But she doesn’t say a word about it.
If I wasn’t sure she suspected something before, I am now. A normal fiancée would congratulate me on her future brother-in-law’s engagement.
Yet, I’m glad she doesn’t say anything.
“I’ve been busy with work. There’s a project that has been giving me sleepless nights,” I say.
Thankfully, she doesn’t press the issue. Instead, she signals the waiter. “You’re here now. Let’s forget about whatever you’re tangled in for one night.”