Oath of Sacrifice (Deviant Doms 4)

“Earth to Rosssaaaa,” Marialena singsongs beside me. “Yoohoo…”

I swivel my gaze to meet hers. “Yes?”

“You okay?” she whispers in a stage whisper.

Natalia grins. “She’s just hungry. I think she wants Uncle Santo’s panzarotti.”

My cheeks flush, but I quickly calm my pounding pulse.

I sniff. “Not me. I’m here for the scallops and steak.” I ran an extra mile this morning just so I could feast with the rest of them. I fill my plate with the savory dishes and a few crostini but leave room for Nonna’s delicious insalata.

I listen to the conversations around me but feel an odd sort of detachment from it all, as if I’m a fly on the wall observing, and not one of the Rossi own.

“Dario is well-known in Southie, brothers,” Orlando’s explaining to them all in a low voice. He’ll wait until they’re alone to give details, but I listen to him attentively. I’m intrigued.

“Where’d you two meet, Lando?” Marialena asks innocently. She leans back in her chair as staff clear our plates.

Orlando grins at her. Her pet name for him always makes him go soft as a marshmallow. “Dario was my right-hand man in The Big House. Saved me from more than one a—" his gaze travels to Natalia, and he quickly amends— “butt kicking, had my back. You need a guy like that at your side.” He nods, and I watch as a shadow flickers over his face. Orlando may be the one whose fist falls heavier and faster than any other brother, but he’s got a gentle heart that ironically dislikes violence.

It’s been a while since any of them have served time. His reference to “The Big House” goes right over Natalia’s head. I’m thankful my brothers keep their language and references in check. If I have my way, it’ll be a long, long time before she knows who our family is.

My mother clears her throat. “Dario, we’ve welcomed the men of the brotherhood into the Rossi family, a select few outside of our bloodline.”

I feel Santo’s eyes burning a hole in me. I want to look away. I need to stay detached. But as if he has a magnetic pull on my heart, my gaze swings back to his, and I swallow hard.

I forget when we’re apart how piercing his eyes are.

I forget how stern and cold he can be, his profile rigid and strong, but how light glimmers over his hauntingly handsome face with icy radiance, how his straight white teeth contrast with the olive tone of his skin.

Mama continues. I hold Santo’s gaze for a risky length of time, until I fear someone will think it inappropriate, but I don’t want to be the one that looks away first. A beat passes. Two.

Natalia pulls at my dress, and I turn to her. I release a breath I didn’t know I held.

“When’s dessert?” she whispers. “Uncle Tavi brought me a surprise.”

I put my finger to my lips to admonish her to be quiet, but whisper back, “They’re taking it out now, and I’m sure you’ll be the first one we serve, baby.”

She silently claps her hands and dances in her seat. Santo’s watching her, a rare ghost of a smile on his lips.

Mama continues. “Dario, we trust Orlando’s judgment, and as you know, after the passing of my brother-in-law, our family could stand to fortify ourselves.”

Dario nods. “Thank you.”

We’ve taken blow after blow over the past few years. Romeo ascended into his position as Don after my father died. For us, it was a welcome death, one my brothers oversaw and allowed. My father ruled with an iron fist, and every one of us bears the scars as a result.

I still remember when it was Romeo’s turn to lead. How I took him aside and begged him not to be the man our father was.

“Do better, Romeo,” I said. “Do better.”

But now my future… my everything rests in the hands of my brother who sits at the head of this table.

My brother, who holds the fate of us all in his hands.

CHAPTER FIVE

Santo

The unmistakable sound of someone crying stopped me in my tracks. Eight years after joining the Rossi family, I knew every possible hiding place on the sprawling grounds of The Castle. I’d been to each place time and time again, whichever locale served the purpose I needed, to hide a smoke, to hide contraband, or to hide forbidden tears when I was younger.

I was way too old to cry now. Narciso taught me that the hard way.

I looked down at the papers he sent me to retrieve, a scroll from the chapel bound in burgundy ribbon, and glanced at my wrist. He expected me in five minutes. I knew he’d beat the shit out of me if I was late.

Eh, whatever. He might beat the shit out of me if I was on time, too. Said I needed to learn to deal with pain without crying.