Chapter 5
Luciano
When the final bell rings, I don’t budge. Just sit there, planted in my seat, as if moving an inch might somehow make things worse.
The last thing I want is another run-in with Frances O’Malley.
I’m not sure why, but the girl grates on my last nerve.
Actually… I do know why.
It’s her mouth.
She’s got a huge one and wields it like a weapon, always aiming straight at me. I’ve never met anyone as infuriating as she is. I mean… doesn’t she know who the fuck I am?
“Yo! Are you coming or what?” Enzo asks, nudging my shoe with his foot to snap me out of my stupor.
“Do I have a choice?” I grumble, dragging myself up from my seat.
I don’t hurry to my locker either.
As far as I’m concerned, my community service hours start the second the final bell rings, and my mind is already full of the pest waiting for me in the library.
That’s not how this works, a little voice in my head whispers.
It’s my conscience.
Sometimes it likes to show up at the most inopportune times just to piss me off.
Shut up, I grumble while shoving it back into the darkest corners of my mind, where it belongs.
It should know better than to try to crawl out of its hiding spot to make me feel guilty.
I don’t believe in guilt.
Neither my conscience nor some would-be nun is going to change that.
Enzo leans against his locker, watching students rush past, impatient to start their weekend. A week ago, I probably looked that eager, too.
But this week? I’m stuck here like a damn chump.
“Shiner’s looking better today,” Enzo comments, nodding toward my face.
“Yeah, instead of blue and purple, it’s turning some shitty shade of yellow. Fantastic,” I mutter sarcastically.
“Jesus, you’re in a mood.” He snickers.
“I wonder why that is,” I snap, slamming my locker shut.
“Come on. She can’t be that bad.”
“She can, and she is, ” I growl. “It’s days like this that I wish we were identical. That way, I’d send you to tutor her instead of me.”
“Nope. I didn’t do the crime, so I’m not doing the time. It’s your own damn fault for humiliating her in class.”
“I did not humiliate her.”
“No?” He raises a brow. “That’s not what I heard.”
“This school gossips too much.” I frown.
“Never seemed to bother you before,” he smirks. “Or is it only a problem now because you came out looking like the asshole?”
“Shut up,” I grumble, hating how my twin and my conscience are apparently on the same damn wavelength.
I didn’t mean to embarrass her.
It’s just that she was taking forever to solve the easiest fucking equation known to mankind. Watching her hesitate at the whiteboard felt like having my brain clawed at—as if someone was scraping chunks of intelligence straight out of my skull, making me stupider by the second.
If people knew what it was like to be smarter than everyone else, they’d understand how painful it is to sit through mundane conversations and situations, pretending not to be bored out of their goddamn mind.
The only one that understands my plight is my twin, but the fucker has an endless well of patience which only makes me look like an arrogant ass sometimes.
“Hey, I know how to turn that frown upside down,” Enzo says, studying me.
“Oh, yeah? How?”
“Follow me.” He winks, slapping his backpack.
I watch as he veers off in the opposite direction of the library, my gaze flicking between what I should be doing and what I want to do.
Fuck it.
No contest.
I follow Enzo down the hall, out of the building, and into the small chapel beside the Virgin Mary fountain statue. The place is empty—just like always.
“What do you got?” I ask after we’ve dropped onto a pew.
“Oh, brother, what don’t I have?” he grins, pulling his laptop from his bag. He opens it, presses a few keys, and suddenly, lines of code flood the screen.
My eyes scan the numbers, my heart picking up speed.
“Fuck. Is this for real?” I ask, grabbing the laptop.
“It’s not finished yet, but I’m so close I can taste it.”
I stare at the code, my body humming with excitement as the numbers dance in my head.
“Give me a couple more days, and it’ll be done,” he says. “Then I just need you to hack the mainframe of the largest banks in America and sneak in your Trojan horse and release the virus.”
“Not a problem.” I grin, ear to ear.
I’ve been hacking computer systems since I was twelve. This will be child’s play—even if it is ambitious.
The plan is simple. A fraction of a cent skimmed from a bank on every foreign transaction—Merrill Lynch, Morgan Stanley, take your pick. Just a thousandth of a cent per exchange. Untraceable. Undetectable.
And if someone does notice? They’ll chalk it up to a system glitch. Currency conversions fluctuate daily—who’s going to question a few missing decimals?
They’ll never be able to trace the IPs.
They’ll never see the attack coming.
And if by some fluke someone does pick up on the untraceable virus, we’ll already be swimming in millions.
It’s fucking beautiful.
A crime that pays endlessly, without a single drop of blood being spilled. No bodies. No risks. Just a seamless siphoning of money, flowing right into our hands.
See?
You don’t have to bust heads to make money for the Outfit.
Just give Enzo and me a computer, and we’ll be making every famiglia in the syndicate richer beyond their wildest dreams.
“You know we have to talk to our father first,” I say, still eyeing the gorgeous code. “We need his green light.”
“Already two steps ahead of you. I ran it by Gio last night, and he promised to back us up when the time comes. Dominic won’t care either way since he’s never been money-driven, but the boss? ” Enzo smiles assuredly. “There’s no way he won’t love this. Once he has proof of what we can bring to the table, he won’t be able to deny us the omertà. ”
“I’m not so sure. He looked pretty pissed at me yesterday.”
“That’s because you dropped the ball,” Enzo reprimands. “I told you that you should’ve come to the soup kitchen with me last year. But nooo, you had to go play with fire.”
“If I ever start doing what’s expected of me, put a bullet in my head,” I smirk. “I like playing on the edge.”
“If you say so.” He pulls a jay from his pocket and lights up right there in the chapel.
Say what you will about my brother, but he’s just as rebellious as I am. Maybe even more. He just hides it better.
“Gimme a hit.” I reach for the joint. “Gonna need to be in a better mood for what I have to do next.”
Enzo chuckles but passes it over. I take three slow drags, letting the smoke curl in my lungs, the tension in my body easing as I swat away any thought of Frankie and her incessant mouth.
We stay there for a while, passing the jay back and forth, going over the code, and letting the rest of the world fade away.
By the time I take the last drag, I’m relaxed—way more prepared to deal with Frankie for the next hour or two.
“Gotta go. The she-devil awaits,” I tell my twin, standing up. “You coming?”
“Nah,” Enzo mutters, eyes closed, arms stretched behind his head on the pew. “I’m going to hang back and enjoy the silence.”
“Suit yourself. See ya at home.”
He salutes me lazily, still basking in his buzz while I head for the library.
Except when I get there, she’s nowhere to be found.
“The fuck?”
I glance at my watch and realize it’s already three thirty—half an hour past the scheduled time.
Okay, so maybe I’m a little late, but did she seriously bail on our tutoring session?
Bail on me?
No way. No fucking way.
She ditched me?
The fuck is she playing at?
Not wanting to jump to conclusions, I scan the library, searching every corner before scowling when I confirm she’s not there.
Maybe she got sick. Maybe she went to the nurse’s office.
That theory dies a quick death when the nurse informs me Frankie’s last visit was a few days ago when she sucker punched me.
My mood nosedives from mellow to downright pissed.
Where the hell is she?
I search the entire school, top to bottom, going as far as checking the girls’ bathroom and locker room.
Still nothing.
She really fucked off without so much as a ‘Hey, asshole, I’m ditching today.’
The nerve of this girl.
Well, if she isn’t here, there’s only one place she can be.
I leave my car in the parking lot, choosing to walk to the orphanage instead since it’s only a ten-minute walk from Sacred Heart anyway.
If I thought the walk would calm my temper, though, I was dead wrong. Midway to the orphanage, the sky decides to crack open, the pouring rain drenching me in seconds. My uniform clings to me like a second skin by the time I reach the orphanage doors and ring the bell.
When they swing open, I’m met with a nun I’ve never seen before.
“Yes?” she asks, not even pretending to be hospitable despite the fact that I’m soaked to the bone.
“Is Frances O’Malley here?”
“I’m not sure. I’d have to check.”
But instead of doing just that, the nun just stands there, frowning at me, making zero effort to find the pain in my ass.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” she has the audacity to ask.
“Are you going to check or not?”
“That depends.”
Fucking hell.
“On?” I grit out, forcing a smile.
“On whether she wants visitors or not. Frances has never had one before.”
No surprise there.
She’s a menace. Who in their right mind would want to visit her?
You, moron.
Oh, right.
“Tell her it’s her tutor,” I add with a fake smile.
“Oh, I see.” The nun’s tone shifts. “Then please, come in before you catch your death.”
Now she’s worried about my health? A second ago, she was ready to let me drown.
Fucking nuns.
“Darius,” she calls out to a passing boy who looks to be around ten if he’s a day. “Keep Mr…”
“Romano,” I supply, the nun’s face paling instantly.
Yeah, that’s right. As in the Romanos.
“Please keep Mr. Romano company. I’ll see if Frances is in her room,” the nameless nun finally manages to say once she gathers her wits.
“She’s in the kitchen,” the kid pipes up.
“Ah, of course. Thank you, Darius.” The nun glances at me suspiciously. “I won’t be long.”
Darius and I watch her hurriedly disappear before he turns to me, his eyes sharp with curiosity.
“What do you want with Frankie?”
“That’s none of your business, kid.” I glance around, taking in my surroundings, trying to figure out exactly where the devil’s spawn sleeps at night.
“She’s my sister, so yeah, it is my business, buddy.”
I blink.
Kid’s Black. Frances is pale as hell.
“Sister, huh?” I smirk. “How come I find that hard to believe?”
“We’re not blood, but she’s still family, asswipe,” he counters with a bite.
My brows shoot up.
Do all of them have mouths like this? Is that how the nuns educate them?
Nah.
It’s years of abandonment issues hardening them up. I get that.
“Fair enough. I’m her tutor.”
“Bullshit,” he snorts. “You look like the kind of guy that gets tutored, not the other way around.”
“Gee, thanks for the ego boost, kid.”
“Anytime, fuckface.” He grins, showing a gap where a tooth used to be.
I can’t help but laugh until I hear two sets of footsteps approaching—one belonging to the nun and the other to Frankie, who ditched her school uniform and swapped it for an oversized, holey knit sweater that barely covers her thick thighs and clings loosely over a pair of tight leggings that hug her long legs. The sweater hangs off one shoulder, revealing the thin strap of a white tank top beneath and a glimpse of her creamy porcelain skin, dusted with tiny freckles like constellations scattered across a night sky.
Okay, maybe Enzo was right.
Maybe she is hot, with all those curves and her untamed blonde hair that flows effortlessly down her back.
Too bad her personality does a damn good job of camouflaging it.
“Thank you, Sister Betty. I’ll take it from here,” Frankie says to the nun with a smile, throwing a wink at Darius before ruffling his hair.
The kid beams at her, and the second the nun turns her back, he points two fingers at his eyes, then at me—a silent I’m watching you.
I almost laugh at his sass.
Almost.
If it weren’t for the girl currently glaring daggers at me.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she growls, slamming a hand against my chest and shoving me back into the door. “You can’t just show up at someone’s house like this. Uninvited.”
“First of all, this isn’t a house —it’s an orphanage. Also known as an institution. A patrimony, if you wanna get fancy with it,” I bite out. “And second, it’s not like you gave me much choice. Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice you bailed on our session today?”
She yanks her hand back from my chest but keeps scowling at me.
“I didn’t think you’d care since I waited a full fucking twenty minutes for your ass.”
I snicker. “There you go with the fuck bombs again. Seriously, how do you plan on becoming a nun when you curse like a damn sailor?” I chuckle. “Be honest. Fuck is your favorite word, isn’t it? You sure say it enough.”
Her nostrils flare, and before I can blink, she shoves me aside, yanks open the door, and points outside.
“Get. Out.”
“Nope. Not happening. We had a deal.”
“No, our deal is with Mother Superior. You tutor me so we can both graduate. But nowhere did she say I must wait for you to show up. You think your time is the only one that matters? Newsflash, it isn’t, you big jerk.”
I sigh dramatically. “Gotta say, I’m not loving all these cute little nicknames.”
“Oh, really?” she deadpans, crossing her arms over her impressive chest.
Jesus. How big are those things?
“Which ones don’t you like? Jerk? Asshole? Dick? I could go on.”
“I’m sure you could,” I mutter, hating that some higher power gave her those huge knockers only to ruin them with her personality.
Maybe if I found a way to shut her up, she’d let me…
Nope. Nope. What the fuck am I thinking?
I wouldn’t touch Frankie with a ten-foot pole. Not only would it break my number one rule of not messing around with girls who come with truckloads of baggage, but any pleasure I might get from her body would instantly evaporate the second she opened her mouth. Talk about a limp dick.
“Hello?” She snaps her fingers in my face. “You were invited to leave. Get.”
“Did you just say get? What am I, a dog?”
“You are named after one.” She smiles.
See? A menace.
“Fine, I’ll leave. But I’m counting today’s tutoring session toward my community service hours.”
“Fine. Try it. See how fast I tell Mother Superior you were a no-show.”
“But I did show up.”
“ Late. ”
“Fine! Whatever! God, you’re—”
“I’m what?” she interrupts, her smirk downright evil. “Insufferable?”
I grit my teeth. “I was gonna say aggravating.”
“Ha!” She grins wider. “So you did get that thesaurus after all.”
“Frankie,” I warn, my patience hanging by a damn thread.
“What?” She steps closer, pressing her chest to mine so I can feel every inch of her against my abs.
Yeah, abs, because Frankie is short as hell compared to me. But as she cranes her neck back to glare at me, I get caught on her lips—full, cherry pink, way too distracting.
And to my shame, she catches me staring.
We both quickly step back at the same time.
“I’m gonna go,” I say, jerking my thumb toward the door.
“Good.” She clears her throat. “You do that.”
I turn, ready to leave, but at the last second, I spin back around.
“Give me your phone,” I order.
“Why?” She narrows her eyes.
“Jesus, Frankie, does everything have to be a war with you?”
“Do you always have to rise to the occasion?”
Fair. I do do that. But it’s because she’s so goddamn infuriating.
“Just give me your phone so I can drop my number and get yours.”
“Why the hell would I want your number?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I shrug. “So you can call me an ass when it suits you?” I exhale. “I just want your number so that if I’m ever running late, I can give you a heads-up.”
“Or… you could just not be late. Problem solved.”
“You’re really not gonna give me your number, are you?”
She shakes her head.
I scowl. “Why the fuck not?”
“Because I don’t have a phone, asshole,” she blurts out, her pale skin turning a shade of red so bright it almost glows.
Shit.
Now I do feel like an asshole.
Of course she doesn’t have a phone. It’s not like the nuns are out here handing out iPhones to every kid who walks through their doors.
“Sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for?” she mutters.
For being an inconsiderate prick, but I keep that to myself.
“I won’t be late again,” I say instead.
“Good.”
“Great.”
“Wonderful.”
“Amazing.”
We stare at each other, tension still thick, but there’s no heat behind her voice anymore.
“We done here?” she asks.
“Yeah, Frances. We’re done,” I say on a defeated exhale. “See you Monday.”
She doesn’t say goodbye. Doesn’t even look at me as she slams the door in my face.
What else did I expect?
It’s not like I didn’t deserve it.
Go away, conscious.
You’re dampening my already sour mood.
And before I let my guilty conscious come out and say anything else, I dive headfirst into the pouring rain, wondering if a touch of pneumonia will kill the fucker for good.
Even though Father McDonagh’s booming voice echoes through the church, I manage to tune him out. It’s a skill I mastered early in life—not just zoning out the priest of our parish but pretty much any adult who tries to shove their rigid beliefs down my throat.
Yeah, this whole church thing? So not me.
But alas, Sunday Mass is a Romano family tradition and we all attend together.
I’m not sure if it was my mother who enforced that rule or one of my fathers. Honestly, I think they only come out of habit—like muscle memory. It was something that was ingrained in them from early childhood and took root. Skipping Sunday Mass now would feel unnatural to them. However, my family isn’t the only mobbed-up famiglia in attendance. Syndicate families are always hella Catholic when it suits them, especially on Sundays.
After a week of killing, lying, and cheating, I get why a mafioso would want to hedge his bets—just in case heaven is real and a smiting God is waiting for them at the pearly gates.
Me?
I figured out by the time I was five that it was all a load of crap.
Yeah, there’s no big guy in the sky watching over us sinners.
When we die, the worms eat us, and that’s that.
You get one life. Might as well enjoy it.
That’s my philosophy anyway.
Jude, Marcello, and Annamaria, though? They like to believe in a higher power. That maybe something or someone out there might absolve them of their sins.
Enzo, Stella, and I?
We’re a little more logical.
But hey, whatever floats their boat. Who am I to tell them otherwise?
As usual, St. Mary’s Church is packed to the brim—mostly with syndicate families, plus the odd parishioner who isn’t involved in the life. The ten o’clock mass also brings out the nuns from Sacred Heart and the orphans from St. Mary’s Orphanage. The older kids sit through the service while the younger ones get shuffled off to Sunday school.
Poor fuckers.
I shift in my seat and glance over my shoulder, easily spotting Frankie among the lineup of orphans in attendance.
But if she’s serious about this nun thing, then Sunday Mass must be her version of a Kendrick Lamar concert—spirit-shaking, soul-hitting, and absolutely not to be missed.
Her blonde hair is tightly braided over one shoulder, and her frumpy dress looks like it came straight from a Goodwill bin circa nineteen-fifty.
My frown deepens.
She’s always in uniform at school, but here, out in the wild, she could’ve worn something else.
But this is probably her Sunday best.
Shit.
It looks like one of those housecoats women used to wear back in the day.
She’s eighteen.
She should be wearing something that fits her, and that accentuates all her God-given attributes.
Despite all her talk about weight, Frankie has curves in all the right places.
Yes, she gets on my nerves like no one else, but I can still acknowledge the facts—Frances O’Malley is stunning.
Even in that green monstrosity of a dress, you can see it.
Her boobs practically beg for freedom. Her wide hips and fuck-me thighs are impossible to ignore, even buried under all that scruffy fabric.
She’s far too tempting a treat for any red-blooded man to ignore.
If only she didn’t open her mouth.
A mouth, by the way, that looks damn good on her. Full, pouty lips. High cheekbones. Eyes the color of a perfect summer sky.
It’s honestly a miracle no one has tried to hit that.
And trust me, I checked.
The unspoken rule among the guys at Sacred Heart is that they don’t fuck below their station.
In other words, no orphans.
Idiots.
Then again, I have my own rule about not messing with them.
Seems cruel.
And yeah, I’m an asshole—but I’m not a heartless asshole.
I know what I am—a quick fuck ‘em and dump ‘em kind of guy.
Everyone knows that.
And they still line up.
So, really, who’s using who in this equation?
“Fuck, he’s hot,” Enzo mutters beside me.
The fuck?
I was so distracted by Frankie that I didn’t even notice Father McDonagh introducing a new priest to our parish.
“Father Alejandro Torres will be spending his residency here at St. Mary’s,” Father McDonagh announces. “He’ll also be helping out at St. Mary’s Orphanage and Sacred Heart Academy by offering confession.”
“I’d like to make a confession right now,” Enzo murmurs, practically eye-fucking the new young priest from our pew.
I roll my eyes since it’s old news that my brother is an even bigger slut than I am.
See, I have standards. Rules.
Enzo?
He thrives on drama.
And from the way he’s licking his lips like he’s about to devour Father Torres I can already tell—he sees this as a challenge too mouthwatering to pass up.
“You’re gonna fuck that priest, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” He smirks, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Poor fucker doesn’t even know what he’s in for.”
“Nine inches shoved down his throat. That’s what he’s in for,” my twin retorts.
“Thanks for the visual, asshole.”
“You’re welcome.”
Smack.
I jerk in my seat, rubbing the back of my head. “The fuck was that for, Stella?” I glare at my sister, who looks far too smug for my liking.
“Enzo was too far to reach, so you had to take one for the team,” she replies with a sweet, fake smile.
She leans forward, shooting Enzo a scathing look.
“Hey, dickhead, thanks for teaching Annamaria how to give a blowjob at church, stronzo. ”
“My bad?” Enzo says, glancing over at our very red-faced baby sister.
“Children,” our father, Vincent, calls from the front of the row, his voice holding that warning edge that we know all too well. “Manners, please.”
“Sorry, Dad,” Stella, Enzo, and I mutter in unison.
Luckily for us, no one else in the congregation overheard our little conversation.
Our family, though?
Oh, they heard.
And judging by the look on Gio and Dom’s faces, they’re finding it hilarious that my twin is about to corrupt a priest.
Annamaria and my mother, on the other hand?
They look like they’re praying for our damned souls.
But honestly?
After the shit this family has done, fucking a priest is probably the least of our sins.
The rest of the sermon is a bore, and by the time I start coding algorithms in my head, it’s finally over.
Just another Sunday Mass checked off the list.
As soon as we stand, my mother turns to me, Stella, and Annamaria.
“Come with me,” she instructs.
I glance at Enzo. “The fuck did I do now?”
He shrugs. “Beats me.”
I follow my mother alongside my sisters, my steps slowing the second I realize where she’s headed.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
And when Stella points directly at Frankie, my stomach drops.
Please, God, if you exist, strike me down now.
But, of course, God doesn’t.
Because he’s not real.
If he were, he sure as hell wouldn’t let me suffer through the humiliation I’m about to endure.
I drag my feet, watching the trainwreck unfold in slow motion.
Frankie is in mid-conversation with one of the girls from the orphanage when my mother lightly taps her shoulder.
She turns around, her bright smile fading the second she sees my mother.
Then my sisters.
Then me.
Yep. This is officially the worst day of my life.
“You must be Frances,” my mother says, her tone warm, her expression doting. “I’m Selene Romano, Luciano’s mother.”
Frankie straightens, her smile returning—fake as hell. “How do you do, Mrs. Romano?”
Huh.
I guess she does have manners when she wants to.
“I asked Lucky to invite you over for dinner on Friday,” my mother continues, “but he told me you had to decline due to previous commitments.”
Frankie immediately shoots me a look, eyes narrowing, and all I can do is lower my head.
What else was I supposed to say?
Tell my helicopter mom that she flat-out rejected the invitation?
Yeah, right. Like that would’ve gone over so well.
“I was hoping, instead, that you might join us for lunch today,” my mother offers.
Before Frankie can respond, reinforcements arrive in the form of Sister Agnes and Sister Margaretta.
“What’s this now?” Sister Margaretta asks, eyeing the group with suspicion. “A lunch invitation to the Romano house?”
“Yes, Sister,” Frankie replies smoothly. “However, I was just about to explain to Mrs. Romano that I’m needed back at the orphanage to help with lunch preparations.”
“Oh, I think one day off won’t be too much trouble,” Sister Agnes says, ever the peacemaker. “Besides, I think it would be wonderful for you to get to know Luciano’s family. Maybe then you’ll think twice before punching someone.”
The air grows thick with tension as the reminder of how our lives became intertwined hangs heavily between us. My mother, Sister Margaretta, and Frankie are all visibly stiffened at the not-so-subtle mention of the incident.
“I really don’t want to impose,” Frankie tries again, clearly grasping for an out.
She wants to have lunch with my family about as much as I want a bullet to the head.
“You won’t be imposing,” my mother says with one of her signature winning smiles.
Say what you want about Selene Romano—and trust me, plenty of people have plenty to say about the Red Queen—but when she wants something, she gets it.
Even if what she wants is about to ruin my entire fucking Sunday.
“Go, Frankie,” Sister Agnes encourages. “You never know. You might actually have some fun.”
With two women tag-teaming her from all sides, Frankie has no choice but to nod, her smile as forced as mine.
She looks just as defeated as I feel.
Huh?
I guess we just found common ground on something.
Neither one of us wants to spend any more time with the other than absolutely necessary.
Go figure.