Chapter 37

CESARE

I should have killed Matty Galliano the moment I stepped out into the alleyway and damned the consequences. Now, Roman is glaring at me like I'm the type of serial killer that targets women.

Galliano must have killed Tania while I was rushing out to meet him and dragged her body behind that dumpster. In a panic, I turned off the only cameras that could prove my innocence.

"I'm going to ask you a question, little brother," Roman says, his voice heavy with suspicion and tinged with disgust. "And I want a straight answer."

My throat tightens and sweat breaks out across my brow. This is it. The moment he realizes I'm not a Montesano but a product of Galliano scum.

"Did you kill Tania?" he asks.

"No." I meet his accusation with an unwavering gaze

He studies me for several heartbeats, searching for signs of deceit. The basement hallway closes in around us like the walls of a coffin, suffocating me with its oppressive weight.

"I didn't do it. I swear," I say, and want to cringe.

"How many men have you interrogated who have said the same?" Roman asks, his gaze boring into mine. "You're hiding something, and I want to know what."

Five years on death row has exaggerated the differences in our physiques. In the world of boxing, Roman would be a heavyweight, and I would be a middleweight. I'm 6'2", while my brothers are both 6'4". Even Benito the pencil pusher outweighs me by at least twenty pounds.

That bastard, Galliano, was right. I have the Galliano eyes, the Galliano physique, the Galliano hair, and even the Galliano propensity for violence.

Roman places a hand on my shoulder. "Are you back on drugs?"

"No." I shake my head. "And I'm not hiding anything."

He gives me one of those slow nods that says he doesn't believe a word I've said, but is too nice to call me a liar.

"What are you still doing with Leroi's little assassin?"

"Rosalind is mine," I snap.

"Why is she still alive?" he asks with more bite.

"I've secured her properly this time. She won't escape."

Roman breaks eye contact and sighs. He would have gotten daily reports from Gil on the time they made me go cold turkey. I can tell he's disappointed that his brother was once an addict. I can tell he's thinking I'm a weak link.

"That Moirai asshole using the New Alderney Times as a front called me back about Capello's death," Roman murmurs.

"What did he say?"

"It was noted."

"And the contract on our lives?"

"Bastard hung up," he mutters.

I flick my head toward the closed door. "Rosalind's clients only pay in full after the kill. If they die before then, the Moirai keep their deposits and don't fulfill the contract."

"They had better not," Roman growls.

"I can always double check with her."

He nods. "Do it."

"Sure thing, Roman."

My brother steps back, his shoulders hunched. I stay rooted on the spot, waiting for him to reach the end of the hallway before moving, but he pauses.

"If you didn't kill Tania, who did?"

"Someone from Galliano's side, wanting to start trouble," I say.

"Who did you see in the alley?"

"Just Tania, sucking off one of our security guys."

"Bruno said he was shot at from behind."

My eyes widen. "He survived?"

"The bullet grazed his skull, leaving a flesh wound. He blacked out for an hour, then raised the alarm."

"And that's how they found Tania?" I ask, my voice breathy.

Roman advances toward me, eyes blazing, his shoulders expanding to take up the entire hallway.

My heart races, and I swallow hard, trying to stem my resentment toward Galliano. He must have known I would hide all evidence of our conversation and used that opportunity to murder the woman everyone knew I'd been fucking.

That bastard is so desperate to have me at his side that he would frame me for murder.

"Would you like some advice, baby brother?" Roman snarls.

"What?"

"Take it from a man who got locked up for the murder of a woman he didn't know, was miles away from when she died, and never even fucked." He pauses, and the tension in the hallway thickens like coagulated blood. "This does not look good."

I nod.

"Is there anything you want to share?" he asks, his tone sharp enough to cut throats.

The question hangs in the air like a noose.

Sidestepping, I ask, "Where's Tania?"

His lips tighten, mirroring Dad's disapproval. "Gil put her in a freezer with Ricky Ferraro." His brows rise. "The informant you killed."

"Don't say it like you didn't waterboard him first," I snap. "And I didn't kill Tania."

He raises a finger, giving me another of Dad's expressions. "Stay the fuck out of trouble. I got enough police attention from our special guest."

I nod.

Roman finally breaks eye contact, but I don't allow myself to deflate because I know he's not finished.

"There's a welcome-home party tomorrow night. Benito's inviting all the movers and shakers in Beaumont City, and he'll be onstage, welcoming me back. I want you up there to show a united front."

I flinch. "Is that the only reason?"

He places both hands on my shoulders. "Can you handle that, Cesare?"

"If you're asking if I'm still using?—"

"I'm asking if you can get onstage and say a few words," he says, his voice softening. He cups my cheek the way he used to when I was little and gives me a reassuring big-brother smile.

Prickly heat creeps across my skin, and I feel like the annoying little kid who used to trail after Benito and the Capello twins, begging for scraps of attention.

Shrinking with reflected embarrassment, I glance away and mutter, "I'm twenty-four, not eighteen."

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich. "Time went still when I was inside. In my mind, you'll always be my kid brother."

I shift on my feet and squirm, not knowing what the fuck to say. Sometimes, it's hard to relate to Roman because he's nearly ten years older. He was always this mythical older brother who barely had time to notice me when I was growing up. It's strange to see him outside of prison, and his presence is both unfamiliar and overwhelming.

"You were drugged without your consent," he rumbles. "That's got to have a lingering effect. You remember that time when Mom ate tiramisu laced with Marsala wine?"

The reminder of her alcoholic relapse rips open the fissures in my heart, making it bleed with sorrow and resentment. Pain spreads across my chest and thickens my throat, making my words come out choked.

"I'm not a drunk and I'm no longer an addict," I say.

He nods, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "No, you're not, and I'm proud of you for staying clean." He pats my cheek. "Keep it that way."

This time, when Roman steps back, he continues to the end of the hallway and out through the door. I slump against the wall, my mind spinning in all directions.

Roman's brotherly concern was him dangling the carrot. If I screw up one more time, it will be the stick. But if he discovers my secret, will it be the gun instead?

How much do I really know about my oldest brother? If given the chance, he would wipe out every Galliano in existence.

Matty Galliano is determined to create a rift between me and my brothers. He's already making them suspect me of murder. How much longer until he tells them the truth?

I need to track down that bastard and his older sibling and kill them both before they succeed.