Chapter 26
Mina
What is it with mafiosos and Sunday Mass?
It boggles the mind how men who kill for a living still believe that sitting in a church pew will somehow cleanse the blood from their hands. That reciting prayers and making the sign of the cross will miraculously balance the scales between righteousness and sin. Their religious devotion has always perplexed me, especially today.
The air inside the grand St. Mary’s Cathedral is thick with incense and the faint scent of burning candles. Golden light streams through the towering stained-glass windows, casting fractured halos over polished pews and the solemn faces of the congregation. Chandeliers hang high above, swaying ever so slightly, their flickering flames reflecting off gilded arches. The heavy silence is broken only by the priest’s steady voice as he delivers a sermon on righteousness, his words echoing against the vast stone walls.
And yet, despite all this talk of virtue, everyone here will leave this church in less than an hour and return to the Romano mansion, where we will all witness an eighteen-year-old boy being sworn into a life of bloodshed, forever condemning his soul.
Come what may, Marcello will pledge his life to the Outfit today. And God will have no say in the matter.
I scan the packed pews, feeling a sharp unease settling in my gut. I have never seen a church so full of made men before. The weight of their collective presence is suffocating. If our enemies knew we were all gathered here under one roof, what would stop them from lobbing a few grenades through the stained-glass windows and reducing us all to ash?
Bugger.
I never should have accepted Vincent’s invitation to stay for this. I should have packed my bags and left for London the moment Dimitri took his last breath.
I had half a mind to do just that until Vincent convinced me to do one last favor for the Outfit.
Or maybe , just maybe , the reason you stayed was because you wanted to see Jude one last time.
I hate that the thought even crosses my mind. Hate it more that my gaze betrays me and flickers straight toward him.
Jude stands near the front, his posture rigid, his attention fixed on the priest. He looks striking in his navy blue three-piece suit with sharp lines and broad shoulders. I see the faintest hint of tension in his jaw when he disagrees with something the priest just said. His hands grip the pew in front of him, slightly flexing his fingers as if resisting the urge to scoff.
Not that I’m paying much attention to the sermon to know why Jude looks pissed.
No.
I’ve somehow reverted to being seventeen again. Going to church at the time was the highlight of my week because it meant I could steal glances at the man I love. How I loved back then, letting my mind wander where it shouldn’t, like imagining his hand gripping my throat instead of the pew, twirling me around and fucking me from behind in front of God and the rest of the world.
Nope. Not doing that.
Get it together, Mina.
You will not be daydreaming about getting railed in a church.
Have some shame, woman.
My reprimanding thoughts are abruptly disturbed by a familiar groan beside me.
“This fucking blows,” Rolo grunts under his breath, shifting in his seat like a restless child.
“No one forced you to come,” I whisper back.
“He wanted to see if some of these bastards would burst into flames the second they walked through the doors,” Remus murmurs from the other side, clearly amused with his brother’s suffering.
“It could happen,” Rolo mutters, crossing his arms.
Remus chuckles, earning a glare from Rolo, who promptly flips him the bird.
I elbow the idiots in the ribs before they do or say something that will embarrass us.
“Behave. Both of you.”
“But what if we don’t want to? I’m so fucking BOOORED,” Rolo whines dramatically, his voice carrying through the quiet sanctuary like a child mid-tantrum.
If I didn’t love him so much, I’d smother him with a pillow in his sleep.
A wave of uneasy silence washes over the congregation. The priest has stopped talking, his gaze now fixed on Rolo, disapproval radiating from his stern features.
Clearing his throat, he resumes, his voice laced with pointed warning. “As I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, the act of contrition is the closest any of us will come to feeling the presence of God. Those who do not repent for their sins and crimes will live a life absent of His love. And a soul without God’s light is reduced to its most primal, savage state—a heathen. A devil among men.”
Remus leans behind me toward Rolo, smirking. “I think the wanker’s talking about you, dear brother. Should we show the cunt just how savage we Cranes can be?”
“Don’t—”
But before I can stop them, Remus and Rolo turn on their heels, drop their trousers in the middle of the congregation, and slap their bare arses at the priest.
“Eat me, Padre! ” Rolo bellows, grinning like the devil himself.
Chaos erupts. Gasps. Mutters.
I think I even hear someone let out a horrified ‘ Madonna mia!’ as the scandalized whispers ripple through the pews.
I bury my face in my hands, half mortified, half struggling to suppress the laughter bubbling in my throat.
When I dare to glance up, I meet Jude’s gaze across the church. I half expect to see annoyance or exasperation at the very least. Instead, his hazel eyes gleam with amusement as he lifts a hand to his mouth, feigning a cough when, in reality, he’s stifling a chuckle, which only makes it harder for me to keep a straight face.
Before I know it, I’m smiling at him… genuinely smiling and giggling at him.
Jude’s eyes soften as he lowers his hand from his mouth, uncaring who sees his quiet chuckle melting into mine.
And for that fleeting moment, I forget why I ever hated him, preferring to only remember why I fell in love with him in the first place.
A few hours later, the Romano mansion is filled to the brim with mafia-affiliated men and their families. The living room buzzes with lively conversation, everyone seemingly animated to have been invited to today’s big event. But through all their smiles and boisterous laughs, I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels the undercurrent of unexpressed tension lingering in the air, hinting at the weight of unspoken expectations.
The catering staff weaves through the crowd, balancing trays of mimosas, espresso, and an assortment of brunch delicacies—freshly baked pastries, smoked salmon canapés, and delightful frittatas. The scent of coffee and warm brioche lingers in the air, mixing with the sharper undertones of expensive cologne and burning cigars.
While everyone mingles, I stand at the sidelines, my gaze flickering to the archway living room entrance whenever someone walks through it.
Still no sign of the Donatos.
Though I didn’t know of their existence until a few days ago, I’ve tried to remedy that fact and do my homework. The twins were also extremely helpful in obtaining more information about why Vincent Romano seems to have such triggering animosity about the name.
From what I could gather, Vincent came dangerously close to losing his entire empire almost twenty years ago. I heard the tales of why people whispered in the shadows the name Red Queen behind his wife’s back, but I never had the full story of how that came to be. Just that she killed her traitorous father and Vincent’s cousin when they both tried to raise an insurrection against him and tried to steal Vincent’s rightful role as boss.
Apparently, they had some help that encouraged their efforts.
Not only did Ciro, Vincent’s cousin, aim to steal his wife and throne, but he also managed to turn one of the Outfit’s greatest rivals, the Cosa Nostra , into allies. Allies that would back his claim as the legitimate Romano heir and Capo dei Capi.
Of course, that never came to pass—thanks to Selene’s role in this major clusterfuck—and the Cosa Nostra was left with egg on their face for backing the wrong horse.
If I were in Vincent’s shoes, I would have scorched the earth of every last Donato at the time, even if that meant starting a new war between the two famiglias.
However, Vincent chose to take a different route.
Perhaps after the attempted coup, he had grown weary of bloodshed, or maybe he thought peace would be a better option because he had his tesouro back in his life, as well as the son he never knew he had.
Whatever his reasoning, instead of unleashing his full wrath on the Cosa Nostra , he sat down with the Donato famiglia and made them an offer. He would not retaliate against them if they pledged their allegiance to the Outfit as they had been so eager to do if Ciro had succeeded in becoming king. All the Donatos heard was bend the knee or die. It’s no wonder that they chose the former.
So even when Vincent’s fealty treaty meant that the Cosa Nostra was forced to abdicate parts of New York to the Irish mob, just so they could keep a vigilant eye on the Donatos, they reluctantly abided his terms, fearing themselves outnumbered thanks to Ciro and his schemes. And now that the Donatos are being exposed for secretly working with the Bratva’s underboss behind Vincent’s back, I can only imagine the chaos that will erupt if they dare to show their faces today.
Not that they know what awaits them.
As far as they are concerned, they have just been cordially invited to attend a ceremony that has been closed off to outsiders since the dawn of time.
A privilege, if there ever was one.
Unlike the rest of the families, they hadn’t attended church this morning. It wasn’t a requirement, but their absence had not gone unnoticed by the famiglia.
New York is just a stone’s throw away, far closer than Montreal, where the French-Canadian mob hails from, or Boston, home to the Irish.
So why the delay?
Could they suspect we are on to them?
The longer they take to arrive, the heavier the weight in my chest grows.
My pensive thoughts are put on hold when I feel the silhouette of the Red Queen herself appear beside me.
“Today’s mass was certainly… interesting,” Selene Romano remarks, announcing her presence with an elegant ease. “I usually find Father McDonagh’s sermons rather tedious. Sometimes even borderline offensive. However, today was quite entertaining, I must say.”
I bite the corner of my lip, barely restraining the smile that threatens to escape.
“My apologies, Selene. The twins… well, let’s just say my family isn’t quite as pious as yours. Hence, their behavior.”
“Oh, I gathered that much.” She giggles, eyes alight with mischief. “And, as I said, I thoroughly enjoyed watching them stand up for themselves. Though I imagine they don’t often find themselves in situations where they even need to. One look in their direction, and only a fool would pick a fight with them. A fool or a priest.” She takes a sip of her espresso to hide her smile.
She then places the small cup back on its saucer, her smile shifting into something a bit more wistful. “I’ll be sad to see you and the twins leave for London. Vincent mentioned you’ll all be returning home tomorrow.” She studies my face, searching for something. “So soon?”
“My visit to Chicago was always meant to be a short one,” I reply, suddenly aware of how intently she’s watching me. It makes me a little flustered. “As you know, my father is ill. I’m eager to return home and see for myself how he’s faring.”
“Of course,” she replies smoothly, her expression softening as if the explanation satisfied her. Then, after a beat, she adds, “However, if I may be so blunt, I was hoping you’d stay with us a little longer.”
“Why?” I ask before I can stop myself, the bluntness in my reply overshadowing hers.
Selene’s smile only broadens, though.
“My family has grown quite fond of you. Ever since your arrival, your name has been on everyone’s lips.” She laughs lightly. “Even Remus and Rolo have gained more than an ecstatic fanbase in my Enzo and Lucky.”
“I’m glad to hear that. The twins aren’t usually everyone’s cup of tea. They can sometimes be an acquired taste,” I reply, unable to hide the pride in my voice for them to make such a good impression.
“Yes, I can see how they might be,” she agrees, still amused. “Perhaps you could visit us again soon? Perhaps your father could also join you next time? I’ve spoken to him several times, but nothing beats a face-to-face connection.”
“I’m not sure if that will be possible,” I hesitate, hoping she takes the hint as I purposely used if instead of when.
‘It hurt, didn’t it?’
Yes, it did. Hence why I have no intention of ever returning to Chicago again. However, Selene seems undeterred by my response.
“No need to give me an answer now,” she says airily, though her gaze sharpens ever so slightly. “But I hope you’ll consider it before you walk down the aisle.” Her eyes flick pointedly to the engagement ring on my finger.
My throat tightens at that.
I swallow dryly, suddenly very aware that my gaze has begun scanning the room—for what?
For who?
Who are you looking for, Mina?
“Jude is with Marcello,” Selene answers the question I hadn’t voiced, her previously playful tone fading into something unreadable. “He’s giving his brother some last-minute pointers on what to expect at his induction.”
The amusement in her expression is now fully gone, replaced with motherly concern.
“I have to admit, I’m quite envious of you today,” she admits before placing her espresso cup and saucer on a nearby table. “Women are not allowed to witness an omertà ceremony. In all the years the Outfit has existed, not once was a woman permitted to attend such an event—until you, that is.” There is so much sadness in her beautiful green eyes that it takes me back a bit. There’s no malice in them. She’s not angry at me, just deeply, deeply sad. “As your father’s successor, the syndicate was forced to break its decades-long rule, and as a result, Marcello and Jude won’t be the only of my children to attend the event. Stella will be there too.”
“How?” I ask, completely bewildered by the unexpected news.
“Seems my rebellious daughter managed to sway Marcello into naming her as his witness. She always was the clever one.” Selene displays that heartbreaking smile of hers.
I don’t know how to react, but I find myself reaching for her hand and giving it a light squeeze.
“If you’re worried that she won’t be safe, remember that her brothers and father would never put her in harm’s way. I, myself, will keep an eye on her for you.”
Selene then holds my hand in both of hers, turning to look straight at me.
“Won’t you consider staying in Chicago a little longer?”
“I…” I open my mouth but remain speechless, staring into such hopeful and desperate eyes.
“He loves you, Mina. Though my son refuses to confide in anyone, much less me, a mother knows when their child has met his soulmate. And my Jude has met his in you. He might have wronged you, but give him time to undo the pain he’s caused. Give him another chance at happiness, for I fear Jude will never find it here.”
My jaw is still on the floor when Stella and Annamaria interrupt us, calling our attention to the five men who just entered the room—the Donato family.
“They’re here, Mammà. What do we do?” Stella asks, eyeing the villains standing across the room.
“Get your fathers, Stella. Annamaria, come with me to greet our guests,” Selene orders, utterly unaware of her slip of the tongue.
I don’t call her out on it either. Instead, I quickly lock eyes with Remus and Rolo on the other side of the room, signaling that I need them asap.
“I’m coming with you,” I say, already walking in step with her.
She gives me a curt nod, gratitude written all over her face.
By the time we reach the five men, Remus and Rolo are flanking behind me with their game faces on.
“ Benvenuti a casa nostra, Don Carlo ,” Selene says, the smile on her face as fake as Carlo Donato’s teeth.
“Grazie mille, signora.” Carlo Donato Senior thanks, his gaze darting away from his hostess to fall on me. “And this must be Crane’s principessa, Mina.”
“Actually, Don Carlo, it’s Lady Crane ,” I correct swiftly, my smile just as practiced and artificial as the ones plastered on everyone else’s faces. “And I’m the Firm’s underboss, not a princess.”
His grin is as insincere as one would expect from a snake like him, but it’s the man standing at his side who truly sends a sick feeling to crawl up my spine. His gaze is as black as his soul must be.
“Don Carlo, I see you brought your sons with you. Maybe you can introduce us,” Selene quickly interjects, and I get a sense she is just biding some time until her husband appears.
“ Le mie scuse, but of course.” Don Carlo straightens his spine, eager to introduce his four sons.
“This is my firstborn, Carlo Junior,” Don Carlo introduces, proudly patting his son on the back. “He’s the one who will take over for me when I retire. Isn’t that right, son?”
Junior nods in agreement, though he refuses to even crack a smile at us.
“Retire? I wasn’t aware that the Cosa Nostra believed in such things. I thought the only way to leave the famiglia is in a body bag,” I chime in whimsically, urging to prick the bastard.
“Ah, and you’d be right, Mi… Lady Crane, ” Don Carlo laughs, not one bit annoyed with my comment. “Though the Cosa Nostra isn’t as, shall we say, progressive as your beloved London Firm, we have started to incorporate a few twenty-first-century ideologies, and retirement is one of them. Yes, my Carlo will have to step in for me in a couple of years. I fear these old bones no longer have much fight in them. Best make use of them while I still can before enjoying the Floridian sun like the rest of the retirees.”
“Oh, I very much doubt there isn’t some fight in you, Don Carlo,” Selene counters, her voice so saccharine sweet I nearly gag at the sound of it.
“You’re too kind, signora ,” Don Carlo replies smoothly, making no effort to disguise how his gaze lingers on Selene for a little too long to be considered polite.
“Don’t be rude, Father,” Carlo Junior smartly interjects, pulling his attention away from his rival’s wife. “You have other sons to introduce.”
“Yes, yes, quite right.” Only Carlo doesn’t take too much time introducing his other three sons, having apparently wasted all his pride on his first. “This is Matteo, followed by Niccolò, and of course, my youngest, Raffaele.”
When all three men nod in unison, it hits me that Don Carlo must have been married twice. Either that or Carlo Junior had the bad luck of not only inheriting his father’s throne but also his lackluster genes. While I wouldn’t give either man a second look, Don Carlo’s younger sons deserve better inspection, each one more striking than the other.
Raffaele looks to be Annamaria’s age and just as blond and blue-eyed as she is. And like the youngest Romano, he also has that natural beauty that will surely break more hearts than mend. Unlike Raffaele, Matteo and Niccolò share the same dark features as their father, but that’s where the resemblance ends. Everything else they must have inherited from their mother.
Though the boys look to be between eighteen and twenty, they have this mysterious and oddly seductive quality about them, one that says they have matured well above their years. And though Niccolò’s expression doesn’t hide his distaste from being summoned to Chicago, it’s Matteo’s pitch-black eyes that continue to cause me concern—they have been fixed on a silent Annamaria this entire time.
I’m about to confront him when Don Carlo’s eyes sparkle up, staring at someone behind us.
“Don Vincenzo!” he all but shouts, slicing through Selene and me to greet his host. Carlo grabs hold of Vincent’s shoulders and plants a peck on his cheek, thanking him again for the honor of inviting them.
Vincent never smiles.
In the ten days I’ve been in Chicago, I can count on one hand the times I’ve seen Jude’s father even smirk. So imagine my surprise when he grins—wide and unwavering—his eyes locked onto Carlo Senior like a predator sizing up its prey.
“Glad you could make it, Don Carlo. Today’s ceremony wouldn’t have been the same without you. I’m eager to begin.”
Then, without another glance, Vincent turns his back on his esteemed guest and steps forward to announce the start of the event. But that grin? It twists into something far darker—a sinister slash of a smile that all but promises the Donato name and all those who hold it will cease to exist by the day’s end.