Page 28 of Welcome to the Sins of Blackstone
Massimo
Isit beside my father at the head of the long oak table, the kind polished to perfection but now stained with grief. My hands rest on the table, fingers interlaced tight enough to go numb. Rage simmers beneath my skin.
Not yet.
The Irish think they’ve won. That they’ve made their point. But I will show them what real suffering is.
I turn to my father as he watches me, then to everyone else. His face is unreadable. He’s dressed the same way he always is, pressed suit, composed, in complete control. But his eyes?
Cold. Calculating. Ruthless. The way a boss should be. The way I should be. The way I will be.
Maria and Jo sit near the edge of the table, Maria’s face pale, her fingers playing with the fabric of the dress she’s wearing. The chair swallows her whole, her posture too upright, like she’s trying to take up less space than she deserves. Even without the dress. I still see the streak of red across her side. Like the blood tattooed itself to her skin.
I can’t look at her. My throat tightens, stomach clenching like I’ve swallowed acid. Whatever it is inside me, it’s eating through everything.
She sits beside Jo, who’s looking between me and my father, chewing on her bottom lip like she’s debating whether to speak or not. The rest of the room is filled with family.
My mother’s parents, my grandparents sit together, their faces stiff with grief. My mother’s two younger brothers are here too. They’re loyal to our family, to our way of life. And tonight, they want blood just as much as I do.
The meeting has barely begun, but I already know what I want. I want the Irish to suffer. But my father speaks first.
“We will not act in haste.” His voice is calm, too calm for the hellfire inside me. “We will wait.”
A muscle in my jaw tics. “Wait?” My voice comes out low, controlled, but the anger is there. “They walked into our church and started a war.” I exhale slowly. “And you want to wait?”
He’s expression never changes. “You think I don’t want revenge, Massimo?” He shakes his head once. “I have taught you many things, but one thing above all else, never rush into revenge.”
I close my eyes, pressing my fingers against my temple. “I don’t want to rush into it,” I murmur. I lift my head, meeting my father’s gaze. “I want to make them pay.” He leans back, studying me, I push forward, my voice steady. “I’ve learned from you, Father. I’ve learned that the best kind of revenge isn’t the kind which comes fast.” I tilt my head. “It’s the kind that makes them suffer.”
The room is silent. Then my Uncle Renzo, my mother’s youngest brother, bursts out laughing.
“I like him,” he says, glancing at my father. “He’s got her blood in him.”
Her. My mother.
“Good.” His eyes darken. “But one of them will suffer now.”
A slow smirk pulls at my lips. “Good.”
Maria shifts beside Jo, and for a second, her eyes meet mine. Something sharp twists inside my chest. She looks like she wants to say something. Maybe even stop this, but she won’t. Because even she knows, this is the life we live, this is how it works. This is how we win.
Revenge is not about rage. Not entirely. It’s about control.
It's about knowing when to strike, when to make them suffer, when to make them bleed, and when to take everything from them.
“They made the first move.” My voice is cold, steady. “But we finish this.”
Sebastian leans forward. “What’s the plan?” The first time he’s spoken, but he also knows I’m not in the mood to talk.
I exhale slowly, my anger simmering just beneath the surface. “We hit them where it hurts. Their money.”
Uncle Lorenzo lets out a low chuckle. “Their shipments?”
I nod. “Tomorrow, the O’Brien’s have a shipment coming in through the docks. Weapons. It’s their biggest transport of the month. They need it.” My father watches me, waiting.
I lift my gaze. “We blow it up.”
A sharp silence fills the room. Lorenzo grins. “I like it.”
