Chapter 27
Jude
I take advantage of our father being momentarily distracted—his attention fixed on whatever Gio just whispered in his ear while sliding a phone into his coat pocket—and pull Marcello into a quiet corner of the cabin.
“How do you feel?”
“I’m good,” he replies, lowering his eyes to the ground.
“Hey, look at me,” I say, grabbing his shoulders.
Marcello lifts his head, his nervous gaze locking onto mine. And just like that, I don’t see the young man ready to pledge the omertà standing before me—I see the timidly shy and sensitive little brother who used to trail behind me everywhere I went.
Memories crash into me at full force as I recall watching him sleep in his crib, his tiny fingers curling around mine. Up until I was nine, it had just been me, my mother, and my stepfather, James, the only family I knew. Then Vincent, Giovanni, and Dominic came into my life, and my world suddenly expanded so fast that it took me a while to find my place in it.
However, when Marcello was born, everything clicked. I wasn’t just another piece of the puzzle anymore—I was his big brother. I knew in my bones that was the role I was meant to play.
I’m protective of all my siblings, but Marcello holds a special place in my heart.
Maybe it’s because he was the first brother to enrich our family. Or maybe it’s the bond we built early on before Stella, the twins, and Annamaria came into the picture.
“What?” he chokes out, his nerves laid bare.
I take a slow, steady breath, forcing my expression to stone.
“The minute we step outside this cabin, I need you to do something for me.”
His brows knit together, confusion flickering across his face, a perfectly understandable reaction considering the timing. Why ask him for a favor at the eleventh hour when he’s moments away from being initiated?
I don’t give him a chance to question it. Instead, I lean in, pressing my temple against his, shutting my eyes as I tighten my grip on his shoulders.
“Whatever is the place you go to—the one where you hide, and the devil comes out—I need you to go there now.” I don’t even need to look at him to know that my words set off all kinds of alarms in his head. “There are over a hundred men outside this cabin, waiting to hear you pledge your life to the Outfit. Most of them are veterans, highly esteemed syndicate men. But some are not.” I pause for emphasis. “Today, our father has put you in an unforgiving position. Out there, every move you make will be under scrutiny. Some will watch with pride. Others will be looking for cracks in your armor. They want to see weakness, Marcello. Because the minute they do, a dangerous thought will take root inside their cruel and ruthless hearts. One that whispers maybe our famiglia isn’t as infallible as we claim. That maybe we aren’t as indispensable or as indestructible as we’ve made them believe. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
“You’re saying that the Outfit is only as strong as its weakest link.”
“Yes,” I exhale, placing my hand on the back of his head to press his forehead tighter to mine. “Do not be that link, brother. Today, you become a made man. Show them what it means to be made and a Romano.”
I then let him go and take one whole step back.
When Marcello looks up at me, his blue eyes shift into a darker shade, his boyish features disappearing before my very eyes, turning into strong lines and sharp angles, perfectly accompanying the vacant stare in his dead eyes.
My soul dies a little, knowing that I’m forcing him to become this monster—the same one that must torment him so. Still, I would rather have it face the savages that await us outside than the real Marcello.
The only thing that pulls my focus away from him is when I see Stella skip over to us, sporting her shark-like grin, with Dom following her step close behind.
“It’s almost showtime!” Stella squeals in excitement, only for her enthusiasm to falter for a fraction of a second when she comes face-to-face with Marcello’s alter ego. If I hadn’t looked directly at her, I wouldn’t have noticed the slight quiver of her lip betraying her sadness.
“I can’t believe I’m really here!” She starts jumping up and down. “Talk about breaking glass ceilings! And it would never have happened if it wasn’t for you. Thank you, Marcello,” she says before swinging herself into his arms and giving him a hug. “I’ll never forget how you made my dreams come true, Mar,” I hear her whisper in his ear, unaware of the fact her voice was not soft enough for the rest of us not to hear. She squeezes her eyes shut behind him, tightening her hold around him. “I love you so much. I’m so proud to be your sister, Mar. So damn proud.”
Marcello pats her back, but there is no real emotion behind the gesture.
It’s fucking heartbreaking to watch.
“Enough of that, sweetheart. Your brother needs to have his wits about him,” Dom chides while pulling Stella off Marcello.
Dom’s frown reflects the same feeling we all have inside for seeing Marcello like this. But hopefully, like me, he understands it’s a necessary evil.
Stella takes a step back, but not before wiping the tears out of her eyes.
“Marcello, tell your father that you’re ready. I’m sure he’d like to speak to you before we start.”
Marcello gives Dom a curt nod before turning around and walking toward my father, who still looks occupied plotting with his consigliere.
“ That your handiwork?” Dom asks clipped at my side, his gaze never leaving Marcello.
“I had to do something, Dad. I couldn’t just send him out to the wolves unarmed, now could I? This was the only way I found to protect him.”
Dom shakes his head disappointedly.
“You underestimate him, Jude. Marcello could have held his own without—”
“Calling the demon possessing him to come out and play?” Stella finishes the sentence for him. “You’re wrong, Dad. I would rather have that demonic spirit unleashed on every capo here than continue to devour my brother’s soul. I’m with Jude on this one. I say let it feast tonight.”
When the air in the cabin becomes too goddamned suffocating, I loosen my tie and yank it off my collar, preferring to go without.
“Thank God you took that stupid tie off. It’s been bugging me since we got here. I wasn’t going to say anything, but who comes to an omertà ceremony wearing their Sunday best?”
“Well, excuse you. Some of us didn’t have time to change after Mass,” I tease back, feeling the anxious knot in my chest loosen somewhat with her light ribbing. “Unlike you, I was too busy taking orders from our father to ensure this ceremony went off without a hitch.”
“Boo-fucking-hoo.” Stella rubs her eyes with her fists, pretending to cry. “At least you had something interesting to do. I had to act like a good and proper little principessa and entertain our guests over brunch. Believe me when I say I would have gladly traded places with you, stronzo. ”
“Stella, language,” Dom reprimands, but neither of us takes the warning to heart.
How can we take his threat seriously when he is personally responsible for teaching us at least half of the curse words in our vocabulary?
I can tell Stella has another zinger in her pocket, but when Dom pushes forward, making a beeline toward his boss, she keeps whatever is on the tip of her tongue for a rainy day.
“Now it’s show time,” I tell her with a little nudge.
“Holy shit. This is really happening,” she says in awe as if she couldn’t believe her luck. “You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this day.”
“You do know it’s Marcello’s big day, not yours, right?”
“Shh.” She waves me off before following Dom. “Don’t ruin the moment.”
I chuckle under my breath and follow her. But my high spirits suddenly crash and burn to the ground with the nefarious look in my father’s eyes.
“You all know that this day is much more than what we allowed everyone here to believe. It’s not only a celebration of decades of Outfit tradition, but a day we send all our would-be enemies a message.”
“Yeah, the message being fuck with us and find out,” my sister says under her breath, which is clearly a bad idea.
“ Figlia. ” My father levels Stella with one look. “Am I going to regret letting you be here?”
Stella instantly straightens her spine, head held high with a deadly expression on her face. “No, Father. This is precisely where I’m supposed to be. I won’t fail you, boss.”
My father gives Stella an approving nod, her green eyes sparkling with glee under his silent praise. He then turns to Marcello, wraps his arm over his shoulder, and says, “Are you ready, son?”
“Yes.”
Dom throws a knowing glance Gio’s way, worry marring Gio’s features. However, he doesn’t have time to dwell on why his son looks so detached for long since my father gives us all the green light to start the show.
Dom and I step out the door first, entering the woods, with Marcello following close behind and Stella at his side as his chosen witness. Bringing up the rear are the Capo dei Capi of the Chicago syndicate and his right-hand man and consigliere.
Before us stands a large circle with every high-ranking capo and allied family boss. I don’t linger on their faces for long since my gaze goes straight to Mina, who has Remus and Rolo at her side as usual.
I take my rightful spot on top of the stairs on my father’s right while Stella halts her step to stand beside me. Dom, Gio, and Marcello go to stand on his left.
“First and foremost, I would like to thank all who accepted my invitation to attend this time-honored tradition. As you well know, it is a rare thing to invite unaffiliated syndicate members to attend such a sacred occasion. However, fate dictated that this should pass, so I took the initiative to do just that on the day my son will pledge his life for duty, honor, and loyalty above all to the Outfit.”
As if he knew his cue, Marcello takes two steps forward to place himself at the center of the circle, not so much as flinching with the weight of all the eyes on him.
“I have been blessed with many children,” my father continues, “but it gives me enormous pride that each one carries their birthright as heirs to my legacy with such valiant courage and diligence—none more so than my Marcello. Gentlemen, ladies,” my father adds poignantly. “Today, we might break from tradition to a certain extent, but never let it be said that the young man who vowed to uphold everything this famiglia holds dear isn’t worthy of the sacrifice.”
Gio steps forward after my father’s words, knowing this is his cue to start Marcello’s initiation. He passes Marcello at the center of the circle, stopping at the small wooden table at his side, where a gun, a knife, and a card are laid for everyone to see. Gio grabs both weapons and raises them slowly, putting them back on the table after displaying them to everyone present. He then grabs the card with a familiar patron saint and slides it into his coat pocket.
“Marcello Adriano Romano, you are here today to be baptized into your new family, under God, and in the presence of your new brothers. You have shown your worthiness throughout your life that the Outfit and its rules are in your blood. Today, you will vow and give the oath to your new family that you will maintain and uphold these rules as long as there is breath in you and blood running through your veins.”
Gio then turns his back on my brother just long enough to retrieve the knife from the table. But when he turns around and sees Marcello already extending his wrist out for him as his offering, without encouragement or provocation, I see Gio hesitate.
It happens so fast that you’d miss it if you blinked.
Gio—now fully recovered from his momentary lapse—takes Marcello’s wrist, to which my brother, in turn, opens his palm for Gio to slice open with one smooth swipe.
My focus is momentarily pulled toward what I think is a gasping sound coming from somewhere in the mob-filled audience. I scan the crowd, searching for the person whose sensibilities are delicate enough for a bit of blood to unsettle them, my brows knitting together in frustration for not being able to find them.
“Don’t worry,” Stella whispers beside me. “It’s just Mammà. ”
I keep my face as impassive as possible when faced with such tidings.
“You really didn’t think she’d miss this, did you?” Stella adds. “She didn’t miss your initiation. Why would you think she’d ever miss Marcello’s?”
My jaw clenches as I shove my hand into my right pocket, requiring my queen to ground me before I do or say something that will narc out my mother’s presence.
With Mina here, I could have looked to her beautiful face for solace. But if I caught even a hint of contempt in her eyes, it would only mess with my head more than it already is. The thought of my mother hiding out in the woods, risking exposure to any of these capos , is enough of a mindfuck.
“Please tell me she’s alone?” I whisper back, always keeping my spine ramrod straight.
“Doubtful,” Stella replies in that same discreet and low tone, ensuring no one suspects our conversation. “The twins definitely tagged along. As for Anna, your induction was more than enough for her. She’s probably back at the mansion entertaining Raffaele Donato.”
Hmm.
How come that alternative doesn’t please me, either?
My sights go straight to Don Carlo Senior and his other three sons.
They have no idea what’s coming to them.
The only person who does has been very tightly lipped on the matter, preferring to keep his vengeful plans close to his vest.
My attention has been pulled in so many directions these past two minutes that I miss Gio instructing Marcello what to say next. Thankfully, I don’t miss him reciting the omertà.
“The spilling of my blood means that we are now one famiglia. I live by the gun and the knife, and I die by the gun and the knife. This drop of blood symbolizes my birth into our family and the knowledge that we are one until death.”
Marcello’s words come out sharp and steadfast, his expression holding onto that same empty stare as if he were blind to everything around him, solely focused on his oath.
Now looking like a proud father, Gio takes the card from his pocket and holds it high for everyone to see. He then turns once again to Marcello and utters the same words he said to me not five years ago.
“This is Saint Jude, the Patron Saint of Lost Souls. As a member of this family, in this life and beyond, your soul is ours and therefore never lost.”
He then takes a lighter out of his pants pocket and flicks it, feeding the flame to burn the card’s edge, but not before passing it to the nearest capo as Marcello’s cue to pledge the omertà.
“As burns this saint, so will burn my soul. I enter alive, and I will only get out when dead. I will hold the rules of the Outfit above all man made. In my heart, first comes my syndicate brothers, followed by my God, my family, and then all else. I will care for my brothers, as I will care for their families should any depart nobly. I will show no mercy to traitors. I will lay no hand on a brother’s wife, sister, or woman. I will prefer death to snitching on any of my new-forged kin. And let it be said—after my death—that I, Marcello Adriano Romano, lived and died a loyal and honorable made man till the end.”
With so many men here, Marcello doesn’t wait for someone to hand him the flaming Patron Saint, stepping forward to snatch the card out of none other than Matteo Donato’s hand.
With the card more than halfway up in flames, Marcello fists his sliced hand with all his might, blood pouring onto the card until all its flames have been extinguished with it.
Everyone begins to cheer and clap, all eager to congratulate the new addition to the famiglia, when my father walks down the two steps off the cabin’s porch until he’s standing in front of the Donato clan, with Marcello at his flank.
“You are now an intricate part of this great family, Marcello, and as such, you have a duty to defend it against any foe that is foolish enough to come for us. Do you understand?” my father asks, his eyes never leaving Don Carlo’s.
“Yes, boss,” my brother answers with the cruelest of conditions.
“Good. That’s very good,” my father retorts, pleased. “For now is when the real highlight of this day begins. Dominic! Jude! Bring Marcello…Carlo Donato… Junior!”