Wicked Game (Rosso Mafia #4)

Chapter 1

Rafa Rosso

People think freedom has a price. They’re wrong.

Freedom has a fucking algorithm.

I’m the Underboss to the Italian Mafia. But I don’t carry a gun.

I carry code like a blade between my teeth.

I’m the architect behind Rosso’s digital empire: classified files, surveillance grids, bank accounts, offshore secrets.

I rule the dark web like a shadow king. My name, BitVenom, whispered across the dark web forums, always followed by a hush of fear.

I’m the digital devil who can erase a person from existence with a few keystrokes or, worse, expose every secret they ever tried to bury.

I run my fingers across the keys, the only sound in the room. My mind isn’t on the screens, though—it’s elsewhere, wondering, drifting. The truth is, I’ve had enough of this life. Enough of being the ghost in the shadows, the one everyone relies on, but no one really sees.

I’m done with the backdoors, the hacks, the endless surveillance.

I’m done with playing puppet-master from behind the scenes, controlling every move with a keystroke, pulling every string with a whisper because my brother demands it.

I’m tired of being the one who ensures they never fall, the one who keeps the organization from imploding in cyberspace.

The truth is, no one else can do what I do.

No one else has the mind or the skills to handle all the pieces.

But they don’t appreciate it. Hell, they don’t even realize what it would take to keep them afloat without me.

They’re too busy pulling triggers, too busy fighting over territory. I’m the one who really runs things from behind the curtains as the Underboss, but no one ever sees it. They just think I’m some tool. The tech genius. The guy who doesn’t get his hands dirty. But it’s more than that.

I didn’t sign up to be a goddamn cyber strategist for a criminal empire.

I didn’t sign up to be the one who pulls off the impossible, who ensures every heist runs smoothly, every account stays hidden, and every wiretap goes unnoticed.

I didn’t want to be the one always thinking three steps ahead, always knowing the next move before anyone else.

I want a life. A real life. I want something other than this endless cycle of lies, manipulation, and bloodshed. They don’t understand that this life is suffocating me, that every day I spend in this chair, staring at these screens, I lose a little more of myself.

If I stay, I’ll become nothing more than a pawn in a game I never wanted to play.

But if I leave... what will happen then?

My last name is Rosso. Leaving will create chaos for Vito.

I think it’s the real reason I haven’t left.

I’ve been waiting for things to die down with the Irish before I make my move.

But I suppose there is no such thing as the right time. He will always be facing a new enemy.

I have to break free from the life that’s become a cage —a death sentence—a way to take control of my own damn future outside of the family business.

It’s why I’m setting up this exit plan. It’s why I have safe houses all over the city.

Vito can figure out something once I’m gone.

Our father made do without someone with my skill set.

Vito will too. I have to trust that my brother can run the Mafia without me.

Three monitors glow in front of me, each running simultaneous operations that will ultimately dismantle the threads connecting me to the Rosso Family.

I’m finally utilizing my hacking skills and degree from MIT to achieve my ultimate goal.

Disappear. BitVenom is rewriting the tapestry of my life while the rest of New York sleeps.

Five identity packages with corresponding documentation.

Three offshore accounts that are untraceable to the Rosso Group.

Seven properties purchased through shell corporations that will activate in sequence once I pull the trigger.

A self-destroying digital footprint that will erase me from the family’s books. It will be as if I were never born.

Six months of meticulous planning. Every contingency is calculated. Every variable accounted for—nothing left to chance.

I rub my eyes, the blue light stinging after eighteen straight hours of coding. My safe house in Tribeca hums with the sound of servers cooling themselves. No one knows about this location. Not Vito. Not my crew. The only heartbeat in these walls is mine, and soon, not even that will remain.

My phone buzzes. Vito’s name appears on the screen.

Fuck. He never calls after midnight unless someone is dead or about to be.

I silence it and go back to my algorithm.

The last thing I want to do is speak to him.

Three more minutes and I’ll have the diplomatic passport locked in.

The phone lights up again. Persistent bastard.

I grab it, irritation crawling up my spine. “What?”

“Where are you?” Vito’s voice is too calm. The kind of calm that precedes bloodshed.

“Working.” Not technically a lie.

“Lavoro,” he echoes, a smile in his tone that doesn’t match the hour. “Always working, little brother. The one with the brain. That’s why I need you at the estate. Now.”

I glance at my screens. The last sequence is almost complete. I’m on a deadline. If I don’t leave now, I’m not so sure I’ll be able to escape.

“Can it wait until morning?”

“No. It cannot.” His cold voice is enforcing that this isn’t a suggestion, it’s an order. A heaviness settles in my chest. With three keystrokes, I lock the encryption and close the laptop.

“I’ll be there in twenty.” There is no point in challenging him.

Twenty minutes later, I pull up to the Rosso estate.

It stands like a fortress on the Upper East Side, built on old money, founded on blood and extortion.

Guards nod as I pass. These men have watched me grow from a scrawny kid to the Underboss who controls the Family’s digital empire.

They respect me, but they fear Vito as they should.

Vito waits in his office, but he's not alone.

Rina sits curled in the leather chair by the fireplace, her legs tucked under her, a book open in her lap.

She looks up when I enter, and the warm light catches the unmistakable curve of her belly beneath her robe.

Visibly pregnant, and somehow still the most composed person in any room she occupies.

"Rafa." She smiles, setting the book aside and moving to rise.

"Don't get up," I say immediately, crossing to press a kiss to her cheek. "What are you doing awake at this hour?"

"Keeping him company." She casts a glance toward Vito that carries an entire conversation in it — something between don't be too hard on him and I already told him as much. She gathers her book and her tea, unhurried. "I'll leave you two."

Vito watches her go with an expression I've only ever seen him wear for her — something unguarded and almost human. The moment the door clicks shut, it's gone.

At thirty-eight, he wears power like a second skin, his suit impeccably tailored to hide the weapon he always carries. When our father died, Vito stepped into the role of Don with such natural authority that no one questioned it.

“Do you know what day it is?” He asks, not facing me.

I check my watch. 2:17 AM. “Technically Tuesday.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “It’s the anniversary of the day our grandfathers shook hands and created the alliance between the Italians and Russians that has kept both our families prosperous for generations.

” I tense. Any conversation that starts with family history never ends particularly well for me.

Vito finally turns, his face half-shadowed. “Do you know how that alliance was sealed?”

“A handshake is just a handshake without—”

“Blood,” he finishes. “Marriage. Sacrifice.” He reaches for a leather folder on his desk.

“The Petrovs are getting nervous about our shared ventures. Our alliance is becoming increasingly unstable every day. The authorities are sniffing too close to our laundering operations, and the Irish aren’t helping. Petrov wants reassurance.”

My throat tightens. Whatever he is about to say, I’m not going to like. “And you’re telling me this at two in the morning because...?”

He slides the folder across the polished surface. “Because it’s time to honor old promises and strengthen our alliance with the Russians.”

I don’t move to take it. “What kind of promises?”

“The kind signed in blood.” Vito’s eyes hardened. “Open it.” He orders.

With reluctance burning a hole in my chest, I flip open the folder.

The first page is a contract, aged yellow, with signatures in faded ink.

There are photographs—surveillance shots taken.

A woman steps out of a sleek black car. The same woman at a café, her posture perfect, her dark hair pulled back to reveal a face that could cut glass.

Another time, she enters a high-security building in Moscow.

Each photo is tagged with a name: Kira Petrov.

My stomach drops. “What is this?”

“Your fiancée.” Vito’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “The wedding is in three months.”

The room tilts slightly. I feel my carefully constructed escape route disintegrating, pixel by pixel.

“You arranged a marriage without telling me,” I say flatly.

“I didn’t arrange it. It was arranged a long time ago.

I know this is not the life you imagined for yourself.

If there were another way, I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you.

But business is business. Our alliance with the Russians is vital.

” Vito crosses to the bar and pours two glasses of Scotch.

“She’s Vadim Petrov’s oldest child —the Bratva Heiress.

Brilliant, by all accounts. Runs their cyber operations.

It only makes sense for you to marry her. You have a lot in common.”

I stare at the last photo. Kira Petrov gazes directly at the camera as if she knows she’s being watched—those piercing eyes—cold, calculating, deadly.

Vito hands me a glass. “The Petrovs are traditional. They want their daughter to marry into a wealthy and influential family. A family from our world. This is the only way to secure our alliance with them.”

“I’m a tech specialist. Not a fucking chess piece you can use.” I snap.

“We’re all chess pieces.” Vito’s voice drops dangerously low. “Some of us just get to make more moves than others.”

I down the Scotch in one burning swallow. “And if I refuse?”

“You won’t because you understand what’s at stake. Our shared operations with the Bratva protect billions in assets.” It’s not a threat. It’s a certainty.

Vito continues, “The wedding will be announced next week. You’ll meet your bride at the gala we’re hosting.”

My mind races through calculations, recalibrating my exit strategy.

Three months isn’t enough time to pull the trigger.

I’ll need to accelerate everything and take bigger risks if I want to escape this life.

I’m not interested in being his Underboss.

But it’s not something I can tell Vito. He is the Don, and we follow orders.

“Fine. I’ll play my part.” I say, the lie smooth on my tongue.

Vito studies me, his eyes narrowing slightly. If there’s anyone who knows when I’m lying, it’s him.

“Don’t make me remind you what happens to those who break blood oaths.” He says in a lower voice.

I recall a cousin of ours who attempted to leave the family business last year. They found pieces of him washing up on Staten Island for weeks. Being Vito’s brother doesn’t exempt me from the family’s expectations and responsibilities, or from facing Vito’s wrath.

“I understand my duty and the oath I took,” I say, each word acid in my mouth.

“Good.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Now get some sleep. You have a bachelor party to plan.”

He says to lighten the death sentence he has given me because that’s precisely what marrying Kira Petrov means.

After Vito dismisses me, I sit in my car for a long time, staring at the folder on the passenger seat.

I open it again to the photograph of Kira Petrov.

Those eyes. It’s like she can see right through me.

Bratva and Cosa Nostra. A marriage built on digital empires and blood money. What a fucking joke.

I start the engine. My mind is already recalculating, adapting, and planning. Vito thinks he’s cornered me with duty and tradition. What he doesn’t realize is that adding Kira Petrov to the equation hasn’t ended my escape plan.

It’s just changed the variables.

And I’m very, very good with variables.