Chapter 2
Jude
Nineteen Years Old
I take a deep breath and lean back on the grass, gazing up at the endless stretch of sky. It’s not the same blue fabric that hovers over the people I love, but for now, I let myself believe that it is.
Out here in Kent, far from the city’s glow and towering skyscrapers, it’s easy to pretend.
Even the heavy clouds rolling in, thick with the promise of rain, don’t bother me. If anything, the approaching storm feels fitting—an echo of the emotions swirling inside me. I never really thought about how homesick I’d be when I decided to go against my parents’ wishes and come here.
But here I am, sitting on the damp grass as the first drops of rain kiss my cheeks, wondering where it all went wrong.
It doesn’t help that I feel like I’m living a double life.
By day, I’m just another university student, blending in with the crowd, attending lectures, and taking notes like any other business major.
But when night falls, everything changes. That’s when I shadow Crane’s capos, learning the ins and outs of his organization. For now, it’s grunt work—making sure gun shipments arrive on time, collecting earnings from his gambling enterprises, nothing too flashy. Not that I expected Crane to throw me straight into the deep end. I have to earn my stripes first, which means starting at the bottom.
I get it, and I accept it.
But no matter how eager I am to learn, my thoughts drift back to my family in the quiet moments—the dead hours. I hate being away from them. Especially my brothers and sisters. FaceTiming and phone calls help, but they’re not the same. I knew coming here was the right choice for my future, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Chicago is in my bones… it’s in my blood. No matter how lively London’s nightlife is or how much culture this city offers, it’s not home.
It will never be home.
I guess it’s true what they say—you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.
Damn.
I sound like a fucking emo kid.
Snap out of it, Jude.
You’ve got to find something to do in your spare time before you go insane.
That’s easier said than done, though.
Crane won’t give me any work on the weekends. He says I need time to process everything I’ve learned. It’s not like this is a nine-to-five job, but I guess he doesn’t want to throw more at me than he thinks I can handle.
That’s fine.
I can be patient.
I think.
God, I hope so.
The rain starts coming down harder, and I take that as my cue to head back to the manor. It still astounds me that this is where the Boss of the London Firm lives and where I’m supposed to kick back and relax on the weekends.
But how is anyone expected to relax here?
The place looks more like a castle than a home—cold, imposing, and the exact opposite of the cabin my parents built in the woods.
Funny how freedom comes in different forms. My parents found theirs in isolation, while Crane found his in a fortress two hours away from the city chaos.
Balance. That’s the one thing they have in common—keeping family and business separate.
Maybe I’m the foolish one who still believes the two go hand in hand.
The Outfit is family to me.
It’s everything I’ve ever known.
It’s my father, Vincent Amato Romano, Capo dei Capi— the man who made sure to continue with the Romano name while breaking with its old misogyny rules and finally bringing the Outfit into the twenty-first century.
It’s Giovanni DeLuca, my father’s consigliere, and Dominic Mancini, his head enforcer—the other two men in my life that I love as deeply as I love my own biological father.
And then there’s Selene Romano—the red queen herself, and my mother. The mafia princess whose heart was so big she fell in love with all three men, birthing six children to ensure the Romano lineage would live on.
If it wasn’t supposed to be a family affair, why the hell would they call crime syndicates the famiglia?
To be fair, in England, they don’t call us that.
Here, they call it The Firm.
It feels clinical. Impersonal. Like this is just a job, and not a way of life.
Different strokes for different folks, I guess.
Though I know which one I will always belong to.
Which one has always felt right to me.
With the thought of home still swimming in my head, I walk up to my room, eager to get out of my wet clothes. But when I reach the corridor leading to my room, a chill creeps up my spine the minute my gaze lands on the twins loitering by my bedroom door, aimless yet deliberate.
Hmm.
They’re up to something.
I haven’t spent much time with Remus or Rolo, but I already know they’re trouble. From what I’ve heard, their mother, Pippa Crane, convinced Victor to let them move into the manor when her husband passed away from a heart attack over a decade ago. Even at five years old, the twins were too much of a nightmare for her to manage alone, hence the need for a male figure like her brother to help with the challenges of raising them. In fact, I’ve heard her say countless times that if she is a widow, she has her boys to thank for it. I’m unsure if she says this because she truly believes it or enjoys the sympathetic attention it brings.
Regardless, during every dinner I’ve shared with them, their mother consistently scolds them for being a handful. On the other hand, Victor never calls them out in front of her, though I can tell some of their antics get under his skin.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” I ask, making my presence known as I walk toward them.
“I don’t know. Can you?” Rolo smirks.
I don’t know which twin unsettles me more—Rolo, with his psychotic grins, or Remus, the quiet one, the thinker of the two.
Remus.
Definitely Remus.
Unlike his brother, he doesn’t flaunt his crazy, which makes him more dangerous in my eyes.
I know what to expect from Rolo.
Remus, on the other hand… who the fuck knows what he’s thinking.
I know that Victor is grooming the twins just like he’s grooming me.
The difference between us?
When they turn eighteen, they’ll be inducted as capos. Meanwhile, I’ll still be a soldier—if I can even call myself that.
Remus leans against the door, the heel of his boot tapping idly against it.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Do you need something?” I ask again when their silence stretches too long.
“Hmm. Do we need something, Remus?” Rolo taunts.
“Nope,” Remus replies, dragging out the ‘p’ at the end.
“Then I’d like to go into my room now if you don’t mind. Please.”
By their smug grins and chuckle, it’s the ‘please’ that gets them, and I kick myself for even uttering the word.
Capos never apologize. For anything.
Mina told me that the very first day I arrived here. If made men don’t apologize, then they sure as fuck don’t say please either—a lesson both Rolo and Remus are determined to teach me.
Apparently, good manners are a sign of weakness in their world.
“Move,” I growl, my patience wearing thin.
Remus holds my gaze, testing me, waiting for me to blink first.
I don’t.
“I said move,” I repeat with gritted teeth, inching closer to Remus’s face only to feel cold steel dig at my back.
“He heard you the first time,” Rolo whispers in my ear behind me, his dagger dangerously close to puncturing my spine.
“Doesn’t look like it,” I bite back, keeping my voice razor-sharp.
It’s not the knife that rattles me. It’s the twin in front of me—the one who’s watching me like he’s trying to decipher every thought in my head, needing to see just how far I could go if pushed. When I refuse to give him anything, Remus shifts his attention to his brother.
“Come on, Rolo. There’s nothing to see here,” Remus finally says.
Just like that, the blade vanishes. But not before Rolo leans in one last time.
“See you around, Yank.”
I watch them walk away, waiting until they turn the corner before letting out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Great.
So I’ve landed on their shit list.
Good to know.
I step inside my room and shut the door behind me, but something feels… off.
Someone’s been in here.
So that’s what they were up to. I must’ve caught them just as they finished going through my stuff. I’m not even mad about the invasion of privacy. If I had a stranger living under my roof, I’d want to know everything about them, too.
I get it.
And though the twins clearly don’t like me, I can’t fault them for wanting to ensure they protect themselves and their family. Especially their cousin.
They dote on Mina at dinner like it’s their life’s purpose. Anytime their mother even thinks about reprimanding her, one of them is there, ready to defend her.
It reminds me of Marcello and Stella.
My chest tightens as I glance over at my family’s picture frame, yearning to look at their faces, wishing they were here with me. I check my watch and calculate the time difference. By my count, everyone has just come home from Mass and is getting ready to go out for lunch—our family’s Sunday tradition.
After I’ve taken off my wet shirt and pants, I lie on the bed and call home.
Marcello answers on the second ring.
“Hey, little brother. Don’t you look sharp,” I say, smiling, taking in his Sunday best.
“Thanks,” he replies, sheepish as always.
My brother has always been shy. Too sensitive for the world we live in. But lately, there’s been something else—something dimming the light in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He hesitates, looking away from the phone screen for a split moment. Then, in a small voice, he asks, “Do you believe in the devil, Jude?”
I blink in astonishment. “Where’s this coming from?”
“Father McDonagh’s sermon today. It kinda messed with my head a little.”
I suppress a groan. Of course it did. Father McDonagh is a damn fanatic.
I can get on board with people living their lives by their beliefs and deep faith, but Father McDonagh takes it to the extreme. As far as he’s concerned, everyone is a sinner, and soon we will all burn for it. He preaches fear when most of his parishioners need hope.
However, that’s not even the worst part. Aside from being a damn zealot, he’s also a hypocrite.
At Mass, he preaches that everyone should live a righteous life or suffer in hell for eternity. But behind closed doors, he’s all too happy to receive my father’s donations to the church—a man who doesn’t just dabble in sin and crime but has made a fortune out of it.
“What did he say now?”
“He said the devil only knocks on the doors of the weak and feeble-minded. He said that we either invite him in willingly, or he’s already inside us from the start.”
Fucker.
“He really said that?” I grit out.
Marcello nods. “So… do you believe him?”
I exhale slowly. “No. I believe people—good or bad—make choices. And sometimes good people make bad choices. It’s not about whether we’re born good or evil. It’s about the way we live. The choices we make every day. Does that make sense?”
His shoulders relax slightly.
“I miss you,” he says softly.
“Miss you too, kiddo.”
“When are you coming home?”
“You know I can’t. Not yet.”
He lowers his gaze. “Because of Father?”
“No one’s to blame.” I force a smile. “Sometimes, we have to do things we don’t want to get where we need to be. Do you understand?”
“I guess,” he mumbles.
Before I can ask what else is troubling him, a familiar voice chimes in behind him.
“Who are you talking to?”
My heart instantly swells. “Is that Stella?”
Marcello nods and hands her the phone.
“Hey, troublemaker.” I grin.
“Hey to you too, big brother,” She smirks. “Guess where we’re going for lunch?”
“Where?”
“ Casa Bella. ”
I groan since I could definitely go for some creamy risotto with truffles.
“Damn. Now I really am homesick.” I smack my lips.
“You should’ve gone to college closer to Chicago like Mama wanted. Then I could’ve saved you some leftovers.”
“Maybe you can FedEx it to me.”
“I doubt you can FedEx food.” She giggles. “But I could persuade Mama to make a care package with your favorite treats.”
“You’d do that?” I ask, my homesickness loosening the knot around my heart a bit.
“It all depends. What’s in it for me?” she retorts, with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“How about the satisfaction of being the best baby sister in the world?”
She wrinkles her nose, disappointed with my answer. “Annamaria’s the baby. Not me.”
“You’re nine.”
“So?”
I laugh. “Nothing, squirt. Just miss you like crazy.”
“Of course you do. I’m fabulous,” she sings, flipping her red hair behind her back.
I can’t help but laugh at her sass.
“Yes, you are.”
In the distance I hear a melodic voice calling out my sister’s name—the same voice that used to sing me to sleep when I was not much younger than Stella is now.
“Crap! Gotta go, big brother. Love you.”
“Love you too.” I chuckle, but as soon as her face disappears from the phone screen, a crushing loneliness settles over me.
It feels like I’m in purgatory, being this far away from them.
And that reminds me—Father McDonagh.
I quickly call my father, hoping I can still catch him.
“Jude,” he answers, sounding a bit wary.
“Hi, Papa.”
“Is everything alright?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because you usually call later in the day and…” he hesitates.
“And what, Papa?”
“Give me a second,” he says before I see him walk into his office and close the door behind him. “And because I know about your recent clandestine activities,” he ends.
Shit.
“Crane told you,” I mutter, pressing my fist against my forehead.
“Of course he did. Did you really think he wouldn’t?”
Hoped …
I hoped he wouldn’t.
“Don’t act surprised. He’s a Boss training another Boss’s son. Things like that get found out quick. Or did you honestly believe that decades’ worth of an alliance would just dissolve because my son decided to go behind my back and defy me?”
“That’s not what I did,” I defend. “If you let me explain—”
“Spare me, Jude. It’s exactly what you did. Don’t try to even deny it. I raised you better than that,” he says, his voice edged with steel.
And then it hits me—I’ve been working for Crane for over a month, and my father is only bringing this up now.
Which means he could have told Crane to send me packing at any time he wanted to.
But he didn’t.
“Did you tell Mom?”
“There are easier ways to get killed, son. Less terrifying, too.” He chuckles.
“So you didn’t tell her?”
“Of course not. She only agreed to let you attend college in England because she wanted you as far away from my world as possible. If she knew you were working for The Firm, she’d be knocking on your door to bring you home before day’s end.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted too.”
“It is.” He exhales, his voice quieter now. “But I’d rather you get this out of your system where she can’t see it.”
“You still think me wanting to be inducted is a phase?”
“I think you’re stubborn, just like your mother. Once you get an idea in your head, not even God himself can stop you. So I’d rather step aside and let you figure it out for yourself.”
“And what exactly do you think I’ll figure out?”
“That this life isn’t for you. That Gio, Dom, your mother, and I have bled and fought to give you more than this life could ever bring you. A life where you don’t need a gun to fight your battles.”
“You sound just like her,” I mutter, the bitterness slipping through before I can stop it.
My father’s gaze sharpens instantly.
“Let’s end this conversation before one of us says something we’ll regret,” he warns.
I don’t argue. Because he’s right.
In fact, long before I left for London, saying things we then regretted was starting to become the norm.
“I have to go. We’re about to head out to Casa Bella for lunch.”
“So Stella told me.” I try to smile.
“You talked to your sister today?” His tone softens at the mention of my sister.
“I did. And I spoke with Marcello, too.”
His expression shifts, hardening somewhat. He’s been doing that a lot lately. It seems that whenever my brother’s name comes up, my father quickly puts on a mask—one I cannot decipher.
“Speaking of which, I think you should have a talk with Father McDonagh,” I add. “His sermons are putting things into Marcello’s head.”
“Are they now?”
“Yeah. He didn’t come right out and tell me what he was thinking, but I got the gist. Somehow, Father McDonagh has convinced Marcello that the devil lives inside him.”
My hackles rise when a heavy silence stretches between us.
“We all have demons, Jude. Marcello isn’t immune to his.”
My stomach twists at how cold he sounds.
“He’s a kid, Papa.”
“No. He’s my son. And as his father, I know what is and isn’t best for him.”
“So you’re not going to talk to the priest?”
“That’s for me to decide. Not you.”
“Dad—”
“I have to go. We’ll talk soon.”
And just like that, the line goes dead.
“The fuck?” I curse, punching the mattress at my sides.
But my puzzlement with my father’s behavior has to take a back seat when I hear a muffled groan coming from under my bed.
I jump up off the bed and flip the covers, only to find Mina Crane squirming out on hands and knees.
“So… this is happening,” she says awkwardly, brushing herself off.
I cross my arms over my bare chest and narrow my gaze at her, only to realize that I’m in my boxers… alone… with the Boss’s daughter—the Boss’s sixteen-year-old daughter.
She must realize it, too, since her eyes fall away from my face and onto my abs.
“Turn around,” I bark before her gaze lowers any further than that. In seconds, I find a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants and put them on. “You can turn around now,” I say after I ensure there is nothing for her to ogle. “Now… mind explaining why you were hiding under my bed?”
“I wasn’t hiding,” she tries to deny, but when I arch an I-caught-you-in-the-act brow, she lets out a defeated huff. “Fine. I was hiding. But I can explain.”
“Can you now?” I start to call her out on her bullshit, but then it clicks. “Wait. So that’s why the twins were standing outside my room? They were your lookouts?”
“Kind of, yeah,” she admits, her porcelain skin turning every shade of red.
“And?” I prompt. “Are you going to tell me what you were doing in my room?”
“I was just… curious.” She kicks the air at her feet, unable to meet my eyes.
“Curious?” I echo, unimpressed with her justification. “Most people ask questions to quench their curiosity. They don’t go rummaging through other people’s stuff.”
“I know that. I know what I did was wrong. I guess I just got carried away.”
But when her gaze flickers toward my journal on the bedside table, I fucking lose it.
“You read my journal?!”
“Just a page. I swear,” she pleads, looking genuinely guilt-ridden, but I don’t want to hear anything she has to say right now.
“Get out. Get the fuck out of my room.”
Her eyes widen, startled by the venom in my voice.
Before she has time to devise some lame-ass excuse, I swing the door open, making it clear that I’m done.
In fact, I’m done with this shit of a day altogether.
That night, during dinner, both the twins and Mina are uncharacteristically quiet. So much so that Victor notices it.
“I can’t remember the last time we all had a silent meal together,” he says, trying to gauge why his daughter and nephews are so quiet during our meal.
“Agreed. Isn’t it marvelous,” Pippa chimes in before eating a forkful of Beef Wellington.
Victor stares at his daughter, whose head is basically on her lap and then turns his attention over to Remus and Rolo.
“What did you three do?” Victor asks, his stare fixed on the twins.
“Absolutely nothing,” Rolo says with a shark-like grin. “We’ve been acting like choirboys all day.”
“Choirboys. That will be the day,” Victor retorts sarcastically.
“Oh, Victor, stop harassing the boys. Let’s be grateful that the house is still intact. How bad could it have possibly been?”
“That’s what I intend to find out,” Victor says, ignoring his sister. “Remus? The truth, now. What did you and your brother do? And how did you get Mina involved?”
“We didn’t do anything, uncle,” Remus says with a straight face. “And if we did, we wouldn’t be stupid enough to bring Mina into our shenanigans.”
“Right.” Victor scoffs. “Because you three have never gotten in trouble before.”
“Not today, at least.” Remus smiles at his uncle, but the goading grin Rolo throws my way catches Victor’s attention, making it evident that the twins were absolutely up to no good and that I was their main target.
“Ah, I see. Jude, you wouldn’t by any chance know the reason why my nephews and my daughter aren’t their usual rambunctious selves this evening?”
Rolo gives me a scowl while Remus pretends to ignore me. However, by the way he’s holding his knife in a death grip suggests otherwise.
It would give me no greater pleasure than seeing the twins get a good telling off by their uncle. But if I were to venture to guess why they are both acting so demure this evening, it’s because their cousin already gave them more than an earful.
I take one last look at Mina, her shoulders laden with guilt, which only amplifies my own.
Fuck.
I could have definitely dealt with the situation better. She didn’t deserve me yelling at her and throwing her out of my room. It was just bad timing, finding her when I did. I was still too riled up by the conversation with my father about Marcello to mitigate my emotions.
I mean… is what she did all that bad?
So she came into my room without my consent? It’s not like I was making the best decisions when I was her age. Besides, she was just curious to know more about the man her father invited into her home.
There was no actual malicious intent.
I can’t say the same about the twins.
But do I really want to get Mina in trouble just so I can stick to Remus and Rolo?
“I wish I could help,” I begin to reply, having made my decision. “But I’m at a loss, too, since I spent most of the day alone in the garden or in my room.”
Mina’s head flings up at the lie with a confused expression on her face.
“Hmm, very well. Looks like you two got lucky,” Victor says, pointing a finger at the two boys.
I turn my attention back to my meal, feeling Mina’s eyes on me for the rest of the night.
Once dinner ends, I excuse myself as I always do—since this is when I usually call my family—and start heading back up to my room.
But just as I’m climbing the staircase, Mina calls out my name.
I turn around to find the confident version of Mina that I was introduced to the first night I met her.
“You didn’t have to do that. We deserved whatever punishment my father had ready for us.”
“Is that all you have to say?” I ask, wondering if she has it in her to apologize for her actions.
Mina inhales a deep breath as if the words are stuck somewhere inside her, unwilling to budge or come out.
“I’m… sorry,” she finally says.
“Thank you. That’s all I wanted to hear.”
“I should have said it before. I promise not to get in your way again.”
She then starts to turn around as if needing to flee as fast as she can from the person she just had to humble herself for. I guess humility, along with good manners, isn’t a Crane forte.
“Mina, wait,” I say, taking a step closer in her direction. “I’m not mad at you. In fact, I understand why you did what you did.”
“You do?” Her brows pull together in confusion.
“Of course I do. But next time, instead of going through my stuff, just come and ask me what you want to know. Truth be told, I could use someone to talk to. I could use a friend.”
“A friend?” she repeats as if the word were totally new to her.
“Yeah, a friend.” I smile, which seems to do the trick in lowering the walls she had built up high around her. “You think you can handle that?”
“I guess we’re about to find out.”