Page 2 of Vicious Addictions

It all depends on how I broach the subject with him.

If I word my intentions correctly, I’m positive that Victor will see it less as a betrayal to the Chicago Outfit and more as assistance to the future heir of thefamiglia.

These are the lies I tell myself as I hand over my car keys to a valet and enter the Crane home.

The moment I step into the manor, I’m enveloped by the strains of classical music, the gentle clinking of champagne glasses, and the boisterous chatter of partygoers, all elegantly dressed up to the nines.

My jaw ticks when a few guests cast disparaging glances at my simple vintage look, comprised of a white T-shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket. Amidst the sea of high-fashion attire, my laid-back look stands out like a sore thumb.

I square my shoulders and keep my head up straight, acting as if I have the same right to be here as everyone else. Their host might have formally invited them into his home, but my last name alone is an invitation to open any door.

Unfortunately, with so many people here and countless rooms to search through, it’s going to take me a hot minute to find the one man who hopefully has the answer to all my problems.

I scan almost every lavishly decorated room, weaving my way through the crowd in search of the lord of the manor. However, after an hour of searching, my determination begins to waver.

I grab a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and down it in one go, flustered at the thought of having to leave and try my luck again another day. Though it seems only right not to ambush Victor on the same night he’s celebrating, I’ve never been one to take defeat lightly.

I blame my mother for my stubbornness.

Lord knows that’s where I get mine.

If she had only allowed me to be who I always wanted to be, I wouldn’t even be in this situation. Instead, I’d be back home with my brothers and sisters in Chicago, learning the ropes of the family business.

But my mother has other plans for me. Plans that I don’t agree with.

She wants me to be a law-abiding citizen, one that contributes to the betterment of society rather than exploit its shortcomings. An honorable man with scruples and dignity. Someone who doesn’t have to look over his shoulder twenty-four-seven, fearing his enemies might gun him down.

Yet, the man she chose to marry and build a family with is the very definition of honorable, despite being the Outfit’sCapo dei Capi. It’s hypocrisy at its worst. My mother advocates ideals and principles that she herself doesn’t uphold.

A part of me understands where she’s coming from. I know my mother would sleep much better at night if I had some safe, lame-ass, white-collar job instead of coming home with blood on my clothes after a hard day’s work. But what she can’t comprehend is that all I’ve ever wanted was to live up to my birthright and embrace the legacy that defines me.

To say that her wishes for me have strained our relationship is the understatement of the century. Because of her unwillingness to give me her blessing and just let me live my life as I see fit, we’re not exactly on speaking terms right now.

How could we be when she’s been the driving force standing in the way of me and my aspirations?

Make no mistake… what Selene Bianchi Romano wants, she gets.

My father wouldn’t have it any other way.

Victor is the only way I can show my family that I have what it takes to be inducted into thefamiglia.That I can follow in my father’s footsteps without corrupting the morals my parents hold so dear.

He’s my only shot.

As I continue to peruse through the house, I realize that the majority of the party is taking place in the back garden.

As I step outside, I take a minute to admire the traditional English garden, where the cool night air offers a welcome reprieve from the sweltering heat generated by all those bodies packed inside the manor. Soft laughter and music drift from the crowd of elegant guests, their silhouettes dancing under the moonlight. Once again, I scan the large gathering for its host, hoping to spot him among the frolicking elite, only to come up empty-handed.

“You’re not supposed to be here, are you?” I hear a soft, feminine voice ask behind me.

Fuck.

Busted.

I turn around and find a young girl with large gray eyes staring up at me with unabashed curiosity.

“And what makes you say that?” I counter with a forced smile.

“An American,” she muses after my accent gives me away. “Now Iknowyou’re not supposed to be here.”

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