Page 22 of Welcome to the Sins of Blackstone
The house has settled into silence, plates cleared, wine glasses dry and the tension from dinner still clings to the wall. My father is in his study, likely making calls about the shipment tomorrow.
The alliance is locked in, the wedding arranged, everything we wanted. Yet, unease sits heavy in my chest, like something’s gone wrong and no one sees it yet.
I run a hand through my hair, loosening the top buttons of my shirt as I walk toward the sitting room. The fireplace is lit, a soft golden glow flickering against the dark mahogany furniture. My mother is there, as she always is after dinner, sipping her tea with a quiet kind of grace that reminds me nothing ever unsettles her.
She’s been in this life long enough, and her marriage to my father wasn’t love, it was arranged for power. But my father will kill anyone who harms her without even a second thought.
She doesn’t look up when she speaks. “You’re pacing, Massimo.” It’s a mother’s instinct; they always know when you’re not right.
I exhale, stopping near the fireplace, watching the flames dance. “Just thinking.”
Now she looks up, piercing blue eyes meeting mine. “About the wedding?”
I sit across from her, my elbows on my knees, my fingers locked together. “About Maria.”
A knowing look passes across her face as she sets her teacup down. “Ah.”
I don’t say anything right away. My mother doesn’t rush me, doesn’t demand explanations. She knows I’ll speak when I’m ready. One thing my parents have in common, take your time before you react.
Finally, I lean back, my jaw tight. “She’s scared.”
My mother sighs softly. “She’s not one of us, Massimo. She did not grow up in this world. Fear is natural.”
I shake my head. “It’s not just that. She knows what this life means. She knows there’s no stopping what’s coming. The war with the Irish isn’t just a possibility; it’s a reality and she feels it. Even though she’s not a part of it, she can’t shake the feeling something bad is coming.” I have no idea why she thinks it, and I have no idea why she’s got me believing it too.
My mother studies me for a long time. “And what about you?”
I swallow hard, my fingers gripping the armrests of the chair. “I don’t like seeing her like that.” I meet her gaze. “I know this life. I know what we do, what we are. I don’t run from it. I never have.” I pause, exhaling sharply. “Blood, deals, risk, I’ve never blinked at any of it, but the way she watches me like I’m already half a ghost, that’s what I carry into every room now.” I shake my head. “That stays with me.”
My mother watches me carefully, then she smiles. Not in amusement. In understanding. “My son is in love.”
I inhale sharply, shifting in my chair. “I didn’t say that.”
She tilts her head, like she’s seeing through me. “You didn’t have to.” I clench my jaw, looking away. “Love is not aweakness, Massimo,” she continues softly. “You’re a strong man. A powerful one. But even the strongest men in our world fear losing the people they love.” Her voice grows more serious. “But you must understand something.”
I glance at her.
“If something happens, it will not be your fault, my son. It will not be hers. It isthislife.”
She leans forward, her voice gentle but firm. “You cannot protect her from all of it. Not forever. The only thing you can do is be the man she trusts. The man who stands beside her, even when she is afraid.”
Silence stretches between us.
I nod once. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”
My mother sighs, shaking her head slightly. “I know you’ll try.”
Her words linger, heavy in the space between us, and for the first time in my life, I realize, this war isn’t just about blood and power anymore.
It’s about what you may lose along the way.
The night air is crisp,the kind that settles deep in your lungs and reminds you the world is still breathing, even when the worst of men roam its streets. The docks are quiet, the only noise is the lapping of the water against the piers and the low murmur of voices as my father and I step out of the black SUV.
In the distance you can see Blackstone Academy's lights on, standing on the rock, the sea hitting it hard, the road leading to the college from town is dead, not a single car on it.
My father walks ahead, his posture relaxed but his presence heavy. Men part for him—not out of fear, out of respect—and soon that will be me.
I follow, my eyes scanning the shipping containers stacked like metal giants along the docks. Another shipment, guns, cash whatever we needed this month. But tonight, the crates feel heavier, because this is the last deal before we burn the bridge.
