Page 14 of Vicious Addictions

I think.

God, I hope so.

The rain starts coming down harder, and I take that as my cue to head back to the manor. It still astounds me that this is where the Boss of the London Firm lives and where I’m supposed to kick back and relax on the weekends.

But how is anyone expected to relax here?

The place looks more like a castle than a home—cold, imposing, and the exact opposite of the cabin my parents built in the woods.

Funny how freedom comes in different forms. My parents found theirs in isolation, while Crane found his in a fortress two hours away from the city chaos.

Balance. That’s the one thing they have in common—keeping family and business separate.

Maybe I’m the foolish one who still believes the two go hand in hand.

The Outfitisfamily to me.

It’s everything I’ve ever known.

It’s my father, Vincent Amato Romano,Capo dei Capi—the man who made sure to continue with the Romano name while breaking with its old misogyny rules and finally bringing the Outfit into the twenty-first century.

It’s Giovanni DeLuca, my father’s consigliere, and Dominic Mancini, his head enforcer—the other two men in my life that I love as deeply as I love my own biological father.

And then there’s Selene Romano—the red queen herself, and my mother. The mafia princess whose heart was so big she fell in love with all three men, birthing six children to ensure the Romano lineage would live on.

If it wasn’t supposed to be a family affair, why the hell would they call crime syndicates thefamiglia?

To be fair, in England, they don’t call us that.

Here, they call it The Firm.

It feels clinical. Impersonal. Like this is just a job, and not a way of life.

Different strokes for different folks, I guess.

Though I know which one I will always belong to.

Which one has always felt right to me.

With the thought of home still swimming in my head, I walk up to my room, eager to get out of my wet clothes. But when I reach the corridor leading to my room, a chill creeps up my spine the minute my gaze lands on the twins loitering by my bedroom door, aimless yet deliberate.

Hmm.

They’re up to something.

I haven’t spent much time with Remus or Rolo, but I already know they’re trouble. From what I’ve heard, their mother, Pippa Crane, convinced Victor to let them move into the manor when her husband passed away from a heart attack over a decade ago. Even at five years old, the twins were too much of a nightmare for her to manage alone, hence the need for a male figure like her brother to help with the challenges of raising them. In fact, I’ve heard her say countless times that if she is a widow, she has her boys to thank for it. I’m unsure if she says this because she truly believes it or enjoys the sympathetic attention it brings.

Regardless, during every dinner I’ve shared with them, their mother consistently scolds them for being a handful. On the other hand, Victor never calls them out in front of her, though I can tell some of their antics get under his skin.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” I ask, making my presence known as I walk toward them.

“I don’t know. Can you?” Rolo smirks.

I don’t know which twin unsettles me more—Rolo, with his psychotic grins, or Remus, the quiet one, the thinker of the two.

Remus.

Definitely Remus.

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