“Daisy! Go look again!”
CHAPTER 48
MAX
My father had taught me every rule I’d ever lived by.
I’d learned the first one when I was ten. It was a hot summer’s day—the kind where the air clung to my skin like a long-sleeve shirt. I remember the smell of the leaves and the freshly cut grass. I can still feel the metal against the surface of my skin as my father placed a silver pistol in my hands.
“Neverwalk without this.”
It was that moment that had shattered the innocence of my youth and replaced it with a life where rules were not just guidelines but commandments, drilled into my brain from the moment I could understand.
By the time I was twelve, I could shoot straight, which made Papa proud, but not proud enough.
“Power is not given, boy!” he’d shout in a voice that was nearly as rough as the whiskey he drank.
Papa’s lessons weren’t just about survival; they were about power.
When I was fourteen years old, I became a made man. I stood before my family; before the eyes of the men who’d lived and bled by the same rules I would now follow. Papa had stood tallunder the bright lights of the old warehouse too. I could even remember the smell of cigar smoke that clung to his large suit.
“You need to aim for the chest, Max. Take his heart.”
I’d looked down at the man who trembled before me. He was on his knees, eyes wide with terror. He’d crossed the family, and in Papa’s world, there was only one way to deal with traitors.
So I pulled the trigger.
That was the moment I started to believe in hell. I knew there was a spot waiting for me after what I’d done.
My actions only got worse as time went on. I was already going to hell—what could be worse than that?
My father’s lessons were harsh. They often fueled my anger. Every command he gave, every demand he made, was aimed at forging me into a weapon—one that would ensure the Romano name remained feared and respected, but most importantly, alive. Failure was no longer an option, and hesitation was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
I’d survived for years without breaking a single one of my father’s rules—until now. I’d forgotten the very first one I’d learned.
“Never walk without this.”
The words were nothing but a constant echo that ran through my mind like wildfire as I watched the eye of the pistol rise to my forehead.
The rule was simple, so ingrained in me it had become second nature. Yet in a moment of weakness, I’d faltered. I couldn’t bring a gun to a church, and Liam had known exactly when to strike. I’d grown complacent in a war zone, which would leave me nothing but dead.
I’d known this would happen. Valentina had said it would. It was inevitable, like a slow-moving storm I’d seen coming from miles away but could do nothing to prevent. My hands were bound behind me, the rough wire cutting into my wrists. Iflexed my fingers, testing the restraints, and winced but kept my composure. They held firm, biting into my flesh.
Liam wanted me dead, yet there was something inside of him that kept his finger from pulling the trigger. Maybe he wanted to draw this out. The Clarkes were good at that.
He pulled away and started to pace in front of me. The warehouse was dark, but I knew where we were because I could hear the faint sound of water splashing against the docks in the distance.
The soft click of his boots on the floor echoed like the ticking of a clock counting down the final moments of my life. He was in no rush. He never was. He savored the tension.
My gaze swept over the faces to my right, reading their expressions, gauging their thoughts. Some looked away, unable to meet my eye, while others watched with morbid curiosity. By the looks of it, I was a dead man. Their eyes spoke volumes—betrayal, regret, indifference.
Liam cleared the room, which only made it feel smaller, the air thicker, as the reality of my situation closed in around me.
I could feel Rosalie’s disappointment, her anger. She’d trusted me, and now I was about to let her down in the worst possible way. I was leaving her at the altar after I’d fought so hard to get her there in the first place.
“Foresight is a valuable thing,” Liam started, reaching for his gun. “It’s what separates the players from the pawns.” He toyed with the firearm, spinning it idly in his hand, the metal shining under the light. “You think you’re a player, don’t you?”
I said nothing. I saw no point.
