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Chapter 1
Nicholas
Isat across from a stern-looking police officer in a dimly lit interrogation room. My tall figure and broad shoulders seemed to tower over the cramped space, while my eyes locked onto his as he rattled off a list of allegations against me. The intensity in the room was palpable, but I remained composed, taking in every word with an unnerving calm.
“Mr. Romano,” Detective Trefethen started, “you stand accused of being involved in the deaths of Marco Mancini, Joshua Clemmons, and several members of the Bianchi crime family.” His voice carried an edge of accusation, but it did nothing to break my resolve. “Not to mention many in this department think you were involved in the death of one of our own, Samuel Turner.”
Turner’s death was the only one in Trefethen’s list that I regretted. Although he’d used Sophia, my wife’s best friend, as a way to get to me, he was a man who stood for the truth no matter where he found it. I hadn’t killed him, he was killed by a bent cop in a shoot out I barely escaped from.
“Are you finished?” I asked, my tone even and unwavering. I wasn’t about to let this man see any cracks in my armor.
“Far from it,” he replied, glaring at me. “These are serious charges, Mr. Romano. And we have reason to believe that you’re not only responsible for these crimes, but that you also hold a position of power within your own criminal organization.”
He paused, expecting me to falter or show some sign of guilt. But I gave him nothing. Instead, I leaned back in my chair, casually crossing my arms over my chest. The room felt oppressively small, and yet I maintained an air of confidence, refusing to be cowed by the officer’s intimidation tactics.
“Your accusations are baseless,” I said, my voice steady. “I have no knowledge of the deaths you mentioned, and I can assure you that I am not involved in any criminal activities.”
I knew that my words would do little to convince him, but if he had evidence, he’d have arrested me by now.
The officer studied me for a moment, his irritation growing by the second. He was used to suspects cracking under pressure, but he’d never met someone like me before. I had faced far worse than a mere interrogation, and I would not bend beneath the weight of his accusations.
“It’s in your best interests to cooperate,” he said with a clenched jaw.
I said nothing. With no lawyer present to advise me, my strategy was to deny everything and see what information I could get from him.
The officer’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, the faint smell of stale coffee and cigarette smoke wafting from his breath. “So you expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with these deaths?” he asked, his voice dripping with skepticism.
“Believe what you want,” I replied coolly, my tone even and unyielding. “But I’ve told you the truth.”
The officer’s frustration was palpable as he continued to grill me with questions. He seemed convinced that I was guilty, but I held fast to the truth. I had nothing to hide.
I knew all too well the dangers of my chosen path. As a young man, I had risen through the ranks of organized crime, building connections and earning a reputation as a powerful and ruthless leader. But with power came enemies, and over the years, I had made plenty. But wavering wasn’t an option; the Romano legacy depended on my resolve. But wavering wasn’t an option; the Romano legacy depended on my resolve.
The weight of my family’s expectations rested heavily on my shoulders. I could still hear my father telling me that fulfilling my duties as the only son of the Romano family was my only responsibility. But now I had a wife and a slowly growing group of people depending on me for protection. Keeping my family safe while running the family business was a delicate balancing act, one that demanded every ounce of my resourcefulness and determination.
As I sat in that interrogation room, I knew that time was of the essence. The longer it took for me to deal with Antonio Bianchi and his cronies, the more danger we faced, and the more men I might lose. And with the police breathing down my neck, I couldn’t afford any missteps.
The door opened and Trefethen walked back in, this time wearing an earpiece. Interesting, he’d be fed questions and instructions from someone watching us.
My mind raced, formulating my next move. This was a game of strategy—a dangerous dance between predator and prey. And in this moment, I had to assert my dominance. Beneath my calm exterior, my charisma simmered, ready to bubble over at any moment.
“Isn’t it your job to find evidence before you make accusations?” I asked, taking control of the conversation and subtly challenging his authority. “Or is baseless speculation the standard operating procedure around here?”
His jaw clenched again, and I could see the irritation flicker across his face like lightning through stormy skies. He tried to maintain control, but his annoyance betrayed him. This was precisely where I wanted him—off balance and unsure.
“Let me remind you, Mr. Romano, we have enough circumstantial evidence to keep you here for quite some time,” he said, gritting his teeth. “You’d be wise not to underestimate us.”
“Then perhaps you should find something more substantial,” I shot back, allowing a hint of a smirk to play at the corners of my mouth.
In the face of his mounting frustration, I remained composed, unfazed by the gravity of the situation. My experiences navigating the treacherous underworld had honed my ability to stay levelheaded under pressure. It was a skill that had served me well time and again, and it wouldn’t fail me now.
Trefethen was not skilled at using his earpiece. He sat still and concentrated as he received instructions. He nodded and then turned his attention to me. “Mr. Romano, we know you and Turner were close. In fact, he’d been seen having dinner at your home. How long had you been paying him for information?”
Years of practice kept me from showing the anger I felt. Turner had been an honorable man and to have one of his colleagues say otherwise was an insult that couldn’t be taken lightly.
“Mr. Romano...” the officer began, his voice strained with exasperation.
“Detective,” I interrupted, my voice firm and unyielding. “I’ve told you everything I know. If you have any further questions, I suggest you speak to my lawyer.”
