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Alessio shrugs. "Probably."

Massimo finally moves. Just enough to pull the room back under control. "Enough."

One word. That's all it takes. They both fall silent. But the tension stays. Coiled. Ready. I lean back. I don't envy Massimo the title of Don. The responsibility of being our boss. Least of all right now. I exhale slowly because the truth is, they're both right. And that's the problem.

Massimo nods once, looking between them. "I'm glad to see you both so eager."

A faint edge of approval. But his eyes are sharp. Calculating. "Timing is going to be a big part of this."

Enzo inclines his head slightly. "I'm willing to bet he's watching us right now."

He's right. If I were the Collector, I would be too. Not inside this room. No one gets that close. But outside? Eyes could be everywhere. People watching who comes and goes. Who leaves first. Who looks pissed. Who looks like they just got cut loose.

Massimo's gaze flicks between Alessio and Damiano. "I want both of you to walk out of here like you've got a problem."

Alessio smirks faintly. "That won't be hard."

Damiano chuckles. "Acting. Haven't done that in a long time."

Massimo doesn't react. "I want it convincing. I want whoever is watching to think something just broke." That sobers them both. "Because if Enzo's right—and he usually is—then the Collector is going to bite."

He looks from one to the other. "I'd bet he calls one of you within the hour. Maybe both."

Damiano's grin turns sharper. "Let him."

"Report back to me," Massimo adds. "Every word."

His voice drops. Colder. More dangerous. "We're going to outsmart this piece of shit who thinks he can come between us."

I nod. Because that? That's not happening. Not ever. No one comes between us. Not fear. Not money. Not some ghost hiding behind a phone line. We've fought too hard for this. Bled too much. Lost too much. Blood doesn't make a family. If it did, half of us wouldn't be sitting here. What we have? It's stronger. It was forged in fire, in pain during nights that should've ended us.

I'll always remember the night I found Massimo. It's carved into my brain. We'd just had a meeting. Small. Nothing unusual. Alessio brought Damiano along for the first time. I remember thinking:this rich pretty boy doesn't belong here.I figured he might last a week before someone chewed him up and spat him out. I was wrong.

But that night, none of that mattered. We stood in that alley longer than we should have. Talking. Sizing each other up. Alessio, already half in, half out. Damiano was leaning against the wall with not a care in the world, even then.

Massimo left first. Just a few minutes ahead of me. Just a few. Something I'll never forgive myself for. Because if I'd walked out with him—if I'd been there—maybe I would've seen it coming. Maybe I would've heard the engine. Seen the headlights. Stopped the car.

Instead, he turned the corner alone. And walked into hell.

I heard the bang and ran. I watched the car back up and drive over a lifeless form on the ground. It took me a moment to realize the body on the ground was Massimo. I fired at the car, but it was too late; he'd already run over Massimo twice. The fucker took off without me having a chance to make out the license plate. Alessio and Damiano were already gone, so it was up to me to scrape Massimo off the ground, finding him, to my surprise, still alive. Blood was spreading beneath him, soaking into the concrete like the city was swallowing him whole.

I dropped to my knees. Hands already covered in his blood before I even touched him. "Massimo."

No response. Just that shallow, broken breathing. I remember thinking,don't you fucking die on me. Not like this. Not in an alley. Not because of some coward hiding behind a car.

Bello told us later that the hit was ordered by Massimo's own blood. His cousins. Family. They'd tried to erase him as if he never mattered. Left him there like roadkill.

They were wrong. About him. About us.

I glance around the table. At Alessio. At Damiano. At the men who came after that night. Who stood beside us as we built something from that blood. From that betrayal. From that fire.

No one is ever putting one of us in the ground. They can try. They did, they will again. But none of them will succeed. Not ever. Not while I'm still breathing. Massimo has and always will be at the front. Me at his right, Enzo at his left. And following just behind, Damiano. Alessio. Each of us brings a different strength to the table. Each of us is broken in our own way. But together? We're something else. We fought. We took. We carved our place into this city. And we won't let go.

Not then.

Not now.

Not ever.