Chapter 3
Luciano
I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, the deep purple and blue swelling around my eyes mocking me.
In all my eighteen years, no one has ever dared to lay a finger on me—primarily because of my last name. Yet here I am, living proof that someone didn’t give a damn that I’m the son of the notorious Capo dei Capi, Vincent Romano.
Someone clocked me anyway.
A girl.
I got fucking punched by a girl.
In front of the whole class.
I’ll never live this down. Walking the halls of Sacred Heart will be hell.
I’m beyond pissed.
“Huh,” Enzo muses behind me, his arms crossed, also staring at my reflection. “I guess now I really am the hotter twin.”
“Fuck you,” I growl, turning away from the mirror. I lean against the sink, crossing my arms to stare my twin down. “Even with this shiner, I’m still the better-looking twin.”
“Sure,” Enzo snickers, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Then he waltzes out of our shared bathroom with an annoyingly cocky bounce in his step.
“I am!” I call after him as he grabs the doorknob to his bedroom door.
“Sure you are, Lucky. Sure you are,” he taunts, disappearing into the hallway and heading downstairs.
I shove my hands into my pockets, scowling, because the worst part is that he’s not wrong.
Enzo and I may be twins, but we’re not identical. And yeah, maybe I am a little vain, but in a family full of people with standout qualities, it was nice thinking I had most of them beat in at least one department.
Fine. Maybe not Marcello—he got dipped in the same bottle of divine genetics as Annamaria. But he doesn’t even use it. The guy won the cosmic beauty lottery, and what does he do with it? Hides at the gym, head down, wasting a perfectly good face.
If I looked like him—brooding, chiseled, all mysterious and shit—I’d be drowning in pussy.
But that’s neither here nor there.
I’m the one who has to walk through Sacred Heart with a mangled face.
And it really was a pretty face.
Argh.
Frances O’Malley just skyrocketed to the top of my shitlist.
And to make matters worse?
Now, I’m all but being blackmailed into tutoring the heathen.
Kill me now.
I saw right through Sister Agnes’s inspired solution yesterday. She took one shit show of a situation and thought she could kill two birds with one stone.
She had been hounding me all day, asking if I had thought about her idea of tutoring as a way to get my hundred hours.
I, of course, continued to turn my nose up at the idea, saying that I’d figure something else out.
In all honesty, I wasn’t spending much time thinking about what to do to get my community service done. I’ve been more concerned about how I was going to up the ante of our last prank without getting caught. I didn’t have time to think about anything else, much less do something to win me brownie points with the Mother Superior.
Guess Sister Agnes got tired of my shit and took matters into her own hands.
Now I’m left with two problems—how to make our last prank legendary and figure out a way to ditch tutoring that savage.
“There you two are! You’re running a little late, aren’t you?” Our mother calls from the kitchen, flashing a bright smile as Enzo leans in to kiss her cheek.
“With the way Lucky drives, we’ve got plenty of time,” Enzo teases as I step up to give my mom a peck on the cheek.
“You’re a riot today, Enzo. A fucking riot,” I grumble, but instead of getting chewed out for my language or my dangerously fast driving, my mother cups my cheeks in her hands, inspecting my face.
“Oh, Lucky,” she sighs. “It looks even worse than it did yesterday.”
“Gee, Mom. Way to make me feel better.”
“I’m just saying, maybe we should have Dr. Goldberg take a look at it. I’m not sure if the school nurse was right in saying your nose isn’t broken.”
“He’s fine, Red,” my father, Dominic, chimes in from the kitchen table. “It’s just a black eye. The boy won’t die from a bruise. His pride, though? Now that’s a different story.”
“A girl!” Stella laughs, munching on a strip of bacon. “You got hit by a girl. ”
“Like that’s new,” my other dad, Giovanni, teases as he winks at my older sister. “You do it all the time.”
“But I’m his sister, Dad! It’s expected! Lucky got hit by a nun!”
“What are you talking about? She is not a nun!” I snap.
“Not yet, ” Stella smirks. “But everyone knows that Sister Margaretta is like a mother to Frances, which means she’s been groomed to be a nun practically since birth. It’s only a matter of time.”
My brows knit together.
I didn’t know that.
In fact, up until yesterday, Frances O’Malley had never crossed my mind.
She was just another orphan from St. Mary’s, one of the many who attended Sacred Heart. I tend to avoid girls from there. They’ve already started life at a disadvantage, so fucking them and then ghosting them afterward would be a dick move on my part.
I’d rather stick to those spoiled, trust-fund princesses with huge daddy issues.
My conscience sleeps better that way.
“I’d like to meet her,” my mother suddenly announces, causing my blood to run cold.
“What?” I splutter, dropping the piece of bacon to the floor. “You gotta be fucking with me.”
“Language,” Gio scolds.
“I don’t see the problem.” My mother shrugs, unfazed.
Instead of appealing to her, I turn to my father instead.
“Dad, come on. Mom has to be joking. Why the hell would we invite the girl who did this to my face over for dinner?” I point to my fucked-up face.
“Why do you want to invite her over?” Gio asks, raising an intrigued brow.
“Why not?” My mother grins as she pours herself some coffee. “If this girl lashed out at Lucky, maybe she’s having a hard time. And if that’s the case, then maybe there’s something we can do to help.”
“I love this idea!” my baby sister, Annamaria, piles on. “I’d love to pick Frances’ brains on something.”
“For the last time, Anna,” Stella groans, rolling her eyes, “you are not becoming a nun.”
“You don’t know that.” Annamaria pouts, hating Stella for going to the crux of why she wants Frances to come over to our house. “I could be if I wanted to.”
“You’re a principessa, Anna. Principessas don’t become nuns. They marry mobsters,” Enzo teases with a wink. “Even Stella will have to settle down eventually. Poor bastard.”
“Fat chance that’s happening,” Stella quips.
“You sound confident,” I say with a mischievous grin, “but if Anna can’t be a nun because she’s a principessa, then you can’t be an old maid either. It goes against the rules.”
“What rules?” she snarls back.
“Uh… every rule in the mafia handbook, duh?” I retort.
“Oh, bite me, Lucky. There is no such rule.”
“Of course, there is. Tell her, Mom.”
Our mother’s face turns red, clearly regretting this entire conversation.
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how the Romano family does breakfast—landmine topics everywhere.
“We can talk about that later,” my mother says, quickly steering the topic away from my baby sister’s potential holy vows and Stella’s probable and more precarious impending nuptials. But when she turns her attention back to me, I honestly would have preferred to continue discussing the futures of both my sisters locked away in a convent.
“Ask Frances if she’s free for dinner next Friday.”
“Nope. Not happening.” I cross my arms.
“I’ll invite her,” Enzo offers, relishing my suffering.
“The fuck you will,” I shoot back.
Before I can argue further, my father, Vincent, strides into the kitchen in his finest Armani suit, looking more like a high-powered businessman than the Capo dei Capi of the Chicago syndicate.
“Who are we inviting to dinner?” he asks, pressing a kiss on my mother’s lips.
Yeah. They’re sappy like that.
“The girl who punched Lucky’s lights out,” Stella chirps.
“She did not knock me out!” I protest, already fearing that news of me getting punched will be highly exaggerated before I arrive at school this morning.
My father glances at me, amusement flickering in his light hazel eyes. “Are you sure? Looks to me like she got you good, kiddo.”
He reaches out, tipping my chin up to inspect the damage himself.
“It was a sucker punch. I never saw it coming,” I try to explain, doing my utmost best not to shrink under his inspection.
“Ah, music to any made man’s ears—that his kid got sucker punched by a girl, ” Stella says, sipping on her latte.
“I doubt her gender adds anything more to the insult. If it had been a male classmate, the end result would have been the same,” my father says stoically, still eyeing me carefully.
In other words, my shame would have been the same.
“Not if the girl in question is going to be a nun,” Stella smirks.
“Enough, Stella,” Dominic warns. “No need to pour salt on the wound.”
“I’m not, Dad. All I’m saying is, how is Lucky supposed to be inducted next year after graduation when he can’t even see a punch coming?”
“Stella,” my father, Vincent, cautions, letting go of my chin. “That’s enough.”
“Is it?” She bats her eyelashes at him to look innocent. “Or is it time you considered someone else to take the omertà instead? Someone more qualified, perhaps? Someone who is never taken by surprise?”
Of course, Stella would use any excuse—even me getting punched in the face—as a way to further her attempts at getting our father to break years of tradition and induct her into the famiglia.
Even if that means making me look like a chump in our father’s eyes.
Before I have time to defend myself, my mother interjects, “Can we please have one meal where I don’t have to hear about one of my children being inducted into the Outfit? Please?”
The kitchen falls silent at the sound of frustration in her voice.
We might be a bunch of hard-headed assholes, but no one likes pissing off Mom, much less making her sad.
I take my seat at the table, loading my plate with scrambled eggs and bacon. Not that I have much of an appetite anymore.
My father settles into his usual spot at the head of the table while my mother takes the seat opposite him.
The silence stretches until my father’s gaze drifts toward the two empty chairs at the table. One is Jude’s, which is unsurprising since my eldest brother lives in England with his wife, Mina. However, it’s the second empty chair that has my father frowning.
“Marcello left early for Nano’s gym, Dad,” Stella says before he even asks. “You know he likes to work out in the morning.”
“I assumed as much,” he replies, still not looking pleased. “Though I do wish we could all have a meal together. Like a family should.”
“We’ll have dinner,” my mother offers.
“Maybe,” he mutters, just as Lourdes, our cook and housekeeper, fills his coffee mug with his favorite Colombian blend.
No one says anything because we all know the truth—Marcello will probably be a no-show for dinner, too. Lately, he’s been skipping family meals altogether, only showing up for Sunday lunch after Mass. But that’s not all. Marcello has been staying over at Jude’s place more frequently instead of coming home.
It’s like he can’t stand living with us anymore.
I mean… I get it.
Marcello’s twenty-one now. He needs his space, and in this house, no one has privacy.
Our dads probably see him more than we do, as he’s been working as an enforcer since his induction. In a few years, our father will appoint him as underboss, and when he retires, Marcello will take his seat as Capo dei Capi.
That’s a lot to put on a guy’s shoulders, knowing his whole future is already mapped out for him.
Not that Marcello seems to mind. If anything, I think he likes the structure.
Me?
I’d fucking hate that shit.
I enjoy my freedom to fuck up as much as I want to.
While Enzo and I plan on taking the omertà after graduation, we know our role in the Outfit won’t be busting heads.
We want to use our brains.
The Outfit has been running things the same way for decades, but the world has changed. Crime can be safely conducted from behind a screen.
There’s an entire industry the Outfit hasn’t even touched yet. Hacking. Ransomware. Cybercrime could bring millions upon millions to the syndicate.
That’s what Enzo and I plan to bring to the table.
I’ll leave it up to Stella and Marcello to get their hands dirty.
Don’t get me wrong. If I had to kill someone to protect my family, I would. In a fucking heartbeat. But why go through all that trouble when you can just destroy an enemy’s life online?
Seems way cleaner and way easier to me.
But all of that will have to wait since our father has a strict rule that no one in this family gets inducted before their eighteenth birthday and—not or—graduates with a high school diploma.
It used to be a college diploma, but after Marcello’s induction, Dad couldn’t exactly enforce that rule anymore.
Not that Mom seems to care to remember.
She’s always placing college brochures around the house hoping we take the hint.
Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind going off to college for a year or two.
I mean, how hard could it be? If I couldn’t graduate in that time frame, then I’d just drop out.
I’m too in a rush to take the omertà to sink my teeth into all that code.
And Enzo?
He basically gets a stiffy just thinking about it.
“So, what do you think?” I hear my mother ask my father, pulling my attention away from my future plans.
“About what?”
“Inviting the girl Lucky had the misfortune of pissing off,” Stella answers with a goading smirk.
I groan since the glimmer in my sister’s eyes is going to get tired real fast.
My father hums in thought. “The idea does have some merit. It would bode well for Lucky if he showed no ill feelings toward the girl.”
“Hello?” I point to my black and blue shiners. “Yeah, there are ill feelings.”
My father lets out an exhale, setting his coffee down with a deliberate clink.
“So, what I’m hearing,” he says, his voice calm but firm, “is that you don’t want to graduate?”
I straighten immediately in my seat.
“No.” I shake my head. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“Really?” He lifts a brow. “Because from what your mother tells me, Sister Margaretta is strongly considering holding you back another year.”
My stomach drops.
Shit.
“I’ve been patient with you and your brother,” my father continues, “I didn’t say anything when you two refused to transfer to a different school, even though it meant you wouldn’t be academically challenged. I understood the reasoning behind it. I hold grudges, too. But don’t let sheer foolishness keep you from getting your diploma, son.”
I lean back in my chair and push my plate away.
“I’ll graduate.”
“Make sure that you do,” he warns. “Because if you don’t? You won’t be taking the omertà next year. Or any year, for that matter. That, I can guarantee you.”
Fuck.
I guess I have no choice.
I really am going to have to tutor Frances.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
How the fuck did I get myself in this mess?
“Don’t worry, brother. You got this,” Enzo whispers beside me, sensing my anxiety.
“I better, or otherwise, I’m fucked.”
“So you have to tutor Frankie. Big whoop. As punishments go, that isn’t so bad.”
“Hello?” I point to my face, trying to prove that it can, in fact, be that bad.
“Stop.” He chuckles. “You’ll heal. And who knows, maybe you’ll even like spending time with her.”
“I think I’d enjoy plucking my eyes with this spoon better.”
Enzo bites his knuckles to prevent breaking out in laughter and grabs the attention of our ball-busting sister. When he’s simmered down, he leans in and says, “What did Mother Superior say the other day to our dad, Gio? The Lord works in mysterious ways. Who knows, maybe you’ll like tutoring the soon-to-become nun more than you think. Don’t know if you noticed, Frankie’s kind of hot.”
“I hate nuns,” I remind him with gritted teeth. “Hot or otherwise.”
“So you keep saying,” he chuckles under his breath. “Hmm… wouldn’t it be ironic if you actually fell for one?”
As my eyes widen in horror, Enzo is no longer able to keep his amusement in check and starts laughing at my misery, leaving everyone looking at us as if we have a few screws loose.
Fuck.
There goes my senior year if I have to spend half of it with a nun.
This is going to suck.
Luck had always been on my side until Frankie stomped into it.
Now, I’m positive I’m cursed.