Page 82 of Roman

“Honesty. A home. Children. Build a relationship with her. Have a real life, Roman. Give her love.”

“I don’t believe in love.”

He shook his head. “Then you’re a fool.”

It was raining when we arrived at the convention hall. It was an agreed-upon neutral place if I had to deal with another group within my town. This time of night, the building was vacant. But I was Roman Costas, and no building was closed to me.

“They’ve arrived already,” Aldo informed me.

I nodded. “Let them wait, the fucking bastards.”

“You really want to set the tone of the meeting with open disrespect?”

I met his gaze, mine steely and determined. “They need to remember who they’re dealing with.” I paused. “Maybe you do as well.”

He held up his hands and left the vehicle, turning his back to the car.

I knew I should feel badly for saying that, but I was barely holding on. The thought of being in the same room as the Santini brothers made my skin crawl. I leaned forward and picked up the bottle of scotch and took a deep swallow, shuddering as the liquid burned its way down my throat. I straightened my shoulders and rapped on the window.

The door opened, and I stepped out into the drizzly, cool evening.

“I have your back, Roman,” Aldo murmured.

I turned and faced him. “I know.”

We walked into the building, my men in front and back. Two more stood outside the door to Room C. “They’re here, boss.”

“Good. Look sharp. Shoot and ask later. You understand?”

They nodded, and I opened the door and walked in, my shoulders back and a scowl on my face.

Gregory and Timothy Santini stood as I walked in. We acknowledged one another with a tilt of our heads. I sat down, and they followed suit. Aldo stood to my side.

I looked between them. You could tell they were brothers. Older than me by ten years or more, they had lived a hard, violent life, and it showed. They had broken noses, scarred faces and hands. Both were shorter men, heavyset. Ugly. I imagined the only way they got women was to kidnap and force them. Then again, some women liked ugly men. They felt superior.

A sewer rat was superior to these two.

“It seems we have a problem,” I began.

Gregory held up his hand. As the elder brother, he often handled negotiations. I had been surprised when Timothy led the call earlier. He usually followed his brother.

“We did not know she belonged to you. We never would have touched her.”

“But you did. I left her that morning, happy in her little diner, and by that night, she was gone. When I found her, she was beaten, bruised, and terrified. And now, you burned down her dream.”

I tamped down my rage. “An innocent woman is bad enough. You touched my fiancée. You hurt her. I could kill you for that right now.”

“Her sister⁠—”

I slammed my hand on the table and stood, yelling. “Her sister—that bitch—is not the issue. The issue is you came to my city and kidnapped a woman. My territory, which is off-limits to you. For that transgression alone, I could kill you and not be held accountable. The fact that you kidnapped and hurt my fiancée gives me the right to destroy you. Raze and burn everything you hold dear, make you watch and kill you, and then—and only then—would I be satisfied.”

Aldo put a hand on my shoulder, and I sat down. The Santinis shifted in their seats.

I put my hands flat on the table and exhaled. “But today is your lucky day.”

“Tell us your terms.”

I glanced at Aldo, and he tossed the bag on the table. Timothy pulled it toward him, opening it and looking confused.