Page 83 of Brutal Crown
She says something to Marco, and they walk away.
Later that evening, after they’ve returned from another event—they attend a lot of those now—I pass them in the corridor. Marco laughs loudly at something she says. Too loudly. A childish attempt to rub it in my face.
The infuriating thing about Marco is that all his attempts at getting me riled up work.
Lia is smiling at him. It’s a soft and perfect look that has never been directed at me. But then her eyes flick toward me, and for a moment, it’s just the two of us in that hallway.
I move past them without a word, my jaw locked so tight I can barely breathe.
I welcome the bite of the cold night air as I slip out of the house. I enter one of my cars and drive out of the estate.
The man I’m meeting goes by Matteo now. He’s the son of a former Elder, Veritas Quintus, who was exiled for disobedience.
Matteo deals in whispers and secrets these days. They serve as favors for currency and blackmail as insurance. It would be an abomination to be seen with him, but I don’t care.
We meet at a small shack behind a butcher’s shop near the port. The alley stinks of wet wood and rotting meat.
As I step into the room, I spot him leaning against the wall and smoking something that isn’t a cigarette. His dark coat is hanging open despite the chill. When he sees me, he smirks.
“Francesco Romano,” he drawls, tossing his smoke aside. “I never thought the day would come when you’d walk into my fine establishment. Never thought you had the balls.”
I toss a thick envelope at his feet. He picks it up with a gleeful smile, rips it open, and starts counting the bills casually.
“You must really want answers,” he whistles when he’s finished, folding the envelope and shoving it into an inner pocket in his coat.
“I want to know the true origin of La Mano Nera, the first founding families, any buried rites or oaths that were never made public. Any single detail that didn’t reach the history books.”
He raises a brow. “No one has come to me with such an impossible request. It’s always about how they can break one rule or another.”
“This is not an impossible request.”
I didn’t just get myself drunk, smoke, and host pity parties alone in the past few days. I spent a large chunk of my miserable days looking for hidden Society history. There had to be something no one knew, something so dark that it had to remain a secret for La Mano Nerato thrive for centuries.
Every strong covenant bound by blood has secrets. The Romanos and Morettis have a dark secret buried beneath centuries of alliances. If the Society ever finds out about it, our lineage would be wiped out. But this secret is the main reason we still exist today.
I found some old records in the library, but I couldn’t piece all the bits and pieces of information together. I had to reach out to Matteo, the Keeper of Secrets, as some people called him. I told him what I wanted, and he asked me to meet him here.
I expected a little… more from him based on all the rumors. Maybe a little eeriness. Maybe a shrine instead of a shack of a house where, by the looks of things, he lives.
I didn’t expect a money-hungry secret keeper.
He studies me for a beat, then nods. “I’ve got something. But you didn’t get it from me.”
Or a fearful one.
He passes me a long, rectangular envelope, sealed and marked in wax. The symbol stamped into it is old. I’ve seen it in a book somewhere.
“The old Society symbol,” he says, answering my unasked question. “Every man loves money, and if I didn’t prioritize secrecy, the Elders would have killed me a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be here.”
Wait. Does he… read minds?
“Yes, I read minds. A special, olden gift.” He winks at me, flashing a hint of brown teeth.
“You open this,” Matteo continues, “you’ll find out why your name was written in blood before you were even born.”
Before I leave, I hear his voice behind me.
“These secrets are deeper than they appear on the surface. They always stay hidden in plain sight. Only a select few people can know the full truth.”
