Page 69 of Lord of the Dark

"Of course you do," I muttered. "Because you obviously knoweverything."

"I have to know everything," he replied calmly. "It’s the only way to survive in my world."

"And your family?" I asked, my voice softening. "What were they like?"

He hesitated before answering. "Not what you’d call normal," he said simply. "Family gatherings usually ended in gunfire."

I swallowed.

"There was no room for feelings. Love, affection—all the things a child should have—were considered weaknesses. A childhood? I didn’t have one. I had to learn to hold my own early."

His words left me pensive, and my gaze drifted back to the road.

His gaze flicked to me, then back to the road. "And you?" he asked abruptly, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of gravity. "What was your childhood like?"

I hesitated, my eyes avoiding his. "Why do you want to know?" I countered, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.

He didn’t relent, his grip tightening on the wheel. "You want to know me, Fiona. Then the cards should be laid bare on both sides."

"You already know the ending. But it was... always difficult," I started carefully. "My father was violent for as long as I can remember. Every day, we waited for him to explode. If there wasn’t a real reason, he’d explode just because."

His eyes narrowed. "What was it like when you came home without him that day?"

"My mother and I... we just looked at each other. No words were needed. She must have sensed it instinctively." My thoughts drifted back to that darkest chapter of my life. I could see my mother’s face as clearly as if she stood before me—her expression a mix of relief, worry, but also fear. As if she couldn’t quite believe we were finally free of him. "We never spoke aboutit. Not once."

His jaw worked, and I watched his fingers flex against the steering wheel. "Hard times forge hard people," he finally mused. "Siblings?"

"No. You?"

"None. There’s a half-brother. The less I see of him, the better."

"Where are you from originally? You’re Italian, right?"

"Florence. That’s where the family estate is."

"Family estate... sounds like another modest property..."

"Modest—you could say that. It's a 16th-century palazzo. Big, old, crammed with history—and the souls of the Russo family."

"Souls?"

"Every room has stories to tell, and most of them aren’t fairy tales."

"Sounds like you don’t particularly like the place."

"I don’t. And yet... it’s part of me." His words were thoughtful, almost reluctant. "It’s hard to let go of something so deeply rooted in your blood."

"When was the last time you were there?"

"A few months ago," he answered tersely, offering no further detail.

"Don’t you miss it?" I asked softly, trying not to sound intrusive.

He scoffed, a rough laugh escaping him. "Florence, maybe. But not what waits for me there. Tangled alliances, power games, a whole lot of bastards who’d rather see me dead. It’s a fucking shark tank. Compared to that, Miami’s a playground."

"So that’s why you came here?"

"Partly. I wanted to build something of my own. Separate from my family’s... enterprises. The world changes. What was a sure bet twenty years ago comes with new challenges now. More competition, shifting markets. Everything’s in flux."

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