Page 3 of Promise to Break

The first person I study is the one who took the longest for me to research. Killian Fierro. The one who killed his cousin because his father ordered him to do so. The crazy one, the ruthless one.

From the little information I got on the man with the deadly, piercing blue eyes, he's the one I should be careful of. Even in a painting, it's clear as day that the artist saw what I did when I looked him up: a whole lot of nothing. Empty, deep eyes that could take you to his abyss, just because he can.

Santino and his brother are like night and day. Where Santino looks kind and approachable, Killian looks like a Greek god, unapologetic and cruel. If I had to choose from one god, I would go for Ares, the god of war and distraction himself. The only god hated by all others. Just like Ares, Killian's hair is blacker than the night on the coldest day of the year. He's all sharpness and strength, and his eyes are a dead blue, vacant, and painfully beautiful, displaying nothing and everything at once.

On the right side of Killian, Santino grins like he just got a puppy for his birthday. He even looks sweet with his eternal boyish face. But then, he's a wonderful actor, as I know better now.

I had the chance to see Santino for who he really is when I followed him after his proposal to my sister. Without hesitation, he killed a nineteen-year-old boy who stole some drugs and looked nothing like the man who daily brought little gifts to my sister while doing so.

I had to know the truth, and I got it. Santino is dangerous to all but Serena.

Next, I study the face of the matriarch of the family, Isabella Fierro, the woman who gave birth to her eldest son at the young age of fifteen and her second son by the age of seventeen.

The press likes to call her the faraway queen. She'll be celebrating her fortieth birthday this year, but in this picture, she doesn't look a day over twenty-seven, while Santino looks the same as he does today.

Her oldest son looks nothing like her, but the younger is a pure clone of the stunning woman. In the painting, her hair falls heavy on her back with perfect black strands as she holds Killian's protective hand on her shoulder. Her eyes are the same shade of blue as Killian's, but where his eyes are deadly, hers are soft and full of an emotion I can't detect.

"You look amazing, mia dulicieza." Santino's voice doesn't give me the opportunity to study his father, the capo.

My sister hugs her man, and I try to relax.

"Thanks. I missed you."

"It's my fault," a second, older voice chimes in. "Forgive an old man. I had to go to my land for a few weeks. It called to me."

Turning from the painting, I study the man in the flesh.

So this is Franco Fierro. The man who kills just for fun, the feral one, the monster of all monsters, and the one who convinced the two more notorious mafia families to join him, creating an unhealing kingdom. It's strange to think of this soft-looking man as a notorious killer, a man in his forties with the same smile and kind demeanor as the man who holds my sister's heart.

Santino looks just like him. Franco's smile is boyish, though it's clear as day that the man in front of me is not a boy. His hair is kissed by more salt than pepper due to his time on earth, but it's full and luscious. His eyes are smiling, but in a way that makes my stomach roll.

"Come, Marlina prepared a lovely meal. I hope you like Italian food." He doesn't wait for an answer as he strides past the family painting. I try to see more of it as we pass by, but I can't manage it without being obvious.

The room now in front of us appears unending, almost with the same shades of beige as the entrance and hallway we just traversed. In the center of the room stands a table that can fit thirty people. Its massive size screams, "I am immovable and demanding," just as I imagine its owner does behind closed doors.

At the table, the only one already seated is Isabella. She's more beautiful than in any photos I've seen of her. Her long hair cascades over her shoulders in a delicate manner while her gaze is far away, almost appearing lost.

"Mama, this is Serena. Isn't she lovely?" The woman in question stirs as if pulled from a faraway dream, and everything about her changes. She looks younger, if it's even possible, and her shoulders relax. Her previous blank stare turns to me with confusion.

"My son, isn't she too young?" Her Italian accent is delicate and slight, adding to her charm. My sister and I chuckle the moment we hear her question, each throwing the other an amused glance. It's not something any mother would ponder. Why would someone like Santino date a teenager who just finished high school?

"I'm the bride-to-be's sister. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Isabella. This is my sister, Serena." I wave a hand in Serena's direction, letting the model-like woman see the real person who will be part of her family. Maybe it's because she was only fourteen that she got pregnant with Santino.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am. I love your son very much. He speaks a lot about you, and you're more beautiful than he ever described."

Isabella gives my sister a kindly look. "Oh, lovely. I'm sorry for the mistake. You both are just beautiful. Son, you chose well." She sounds full of approval and didn't ask about our origins or try to make any conversation before deciding my sister would do. Maybe Santino has already filled her in, or perhaps she has no fear that Serena and I are gold diggers, and she's simply a mother who trusts her son.

"If my wife approves, who am I to say otherwise?" Franco interjects. "Come, come sit. The pasta is getting cold." Something about his tone doesn't sit well with me.

Can someone be too kind?

With a possessive hand around her waist, Santino guides Serena to a chair and gestures for me to sit to her left. As I do just that, the scent of fresh bread and spices assaults all my senses at once. Fuck, I've smelled nothing so decadent in my time on Earth. Fortunately, I was smart enough to eat today. The last thing I wanted was to embarrass Serena with the noises my stomach makes because of my attempts to be economical with food.

"Where is Fratello?" I'm comforted to see Santino look for Killian. Maybe the rumors are just that, and they don't truly hate each other. It is well known that you can't listen to everything you see or hear in the press.

"He went to Oliguria," Franco replies.

Or maybe fucking not. He probably went to kill someone with that name. It took me a while to accept that I would come to know about such cruel things and be able to do shit-all about it. Then again, it's not as if my father, who was an officer of the law, did much about such things himself.

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