Page 8 of Oath of Submission


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Romeo’s lips thin. He draws in a shaky breath, then releases it. “He may enter with the occupants of his car alone. The others wait outside the gate.”

There’s a momentary pause, and then more muffled voices. Romeo looks at me before he takes the phone off speaker and puts it up to his ear. My brother pales when the voice on the other end speaks again.

I’ve… never seen Romeo so pale. It feels as if the sun stopped shining, or the moon has gone away. As if something in my world is off-kilter.

“Yes,” he says in a defeated tone. “Then they may come, too.”

He hangs up the phone. “Capo’s here. All of you to the Great Hall.” He reaches for my hand. I take it, his much larger, rougher hand engulfing mine. I haven’t held his hand in years.

A lump rises in my throat when he whispers to me, “I’ll do everything I can. I promise. Please know I’ll do everything I can.”

I don’t really know what he’s talking about. I don’t know what he means. But I’ve never been so afraid in my life. Something tells me Romeo’s best this time won’t be good enough.

* * *

CHAPTERTHREE

Salvatore

I pass the gates at the Rossi family castle, impressed with the striking view of the time-worn home against the blue-green backdrop of Cape Anne. I’ve never been here before, but we all know about it. Passed on to the Rossis from family, The Castle is a point of pride. To this day, most of them take at least temporary residence here. Some live in Tuscany, some in Boston, and others are scattered throughout various places in New England.

I know because I’ve watched them. I’ve waited. I’ve bided my time.

Marialena makes her primary residence here, and that’s what matters.

Marialena.

Her name means “star of the sea.” Apt, then, that she lives in a castle by the sea’s edge.

A woman as stunning as the name she bears. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s mine. She’s set this battle in motion, and now I’ve come to capture my spoils of war.

Petite and vivacious, the woman begs to be tamed and vanquished.Mastered.Her thick, wavy, dark brown hair hangs to her waist like a modern-day Italian Rapunzel, waiting for her prince to come. I imagine wrapping that hair around my fist, the silky strands like a harness I’ll hold to capture her attention. I’ve thought more than once about those blue-gray eyes, the Grecian nose, and the whimsical chin she holds proudly with an air of defiance.

I’ll enjoy breaking that defiant attitude of hers. Showing her that mafia princesses don’t deserve to be spoiled.

I’ve done my homework. I know she’s graduated college but has only dabbled in various jobs since then. Whether that’s her choosing or her brothers’, time will tell. She’s slim and fit, well-dressed and fashionable, and makes up for her tiny frame by wearing death-defying heels. She wears Chanel and spends more on clothing than most people make in a year.

My sources tell me she also smokes weed with Mario, takes her coffee—and lots of it—black, carries a flask, and she’s also an excellent shot. That doesn’t matter, though. She won’t be allowed to hold a gun. There won’t be a need, and I won’t give her a chance to turn it onme.

She might think about it.

She may not be who I would’ve chosen for a wife, if I’m honest. I imagined myself with someone more influential, or at the very least someone more docile. But she made this bed, and I don’t have the time or the interest in shopping around. I know my next move, and once I do, I never hesitate to make it.

Ever.

No one makes enemies of the Rossi family, especially since they’ve united with the Montavios, but I know exactly how to play this. I’m not afraid of Romeo Rossi. Some say he’s the most powerful Don in all of New England.

Works for me.

I don’t live in New England.

He can keep his domain and I’ll keep his sister.

Romeo Rossi and his band of brothers can rule these states all day long. My home’s far south of here, and as long as we respect one another’s boundaries, we’ll get along just fine.

“Park here.” My observation tells me the security gate by the Rossi home is newly installed, and when I go to corroborate this, I find it to be true. Before I went to the big house, the Rossis were known for having ruthless Rottweilers and no security gate, one of the few families that didn’t find it necessary. Interesting. I wonder what precipitated the change. I’d guess it had something to do with the extended family being added every year—wives and husbands and grandkids. The more the vulnerable and innocent among them, the more they’d need to up their protection.

I never enter a place unless I know as much about what I’m going into ahead of time as possible.

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