Deviant Prince [Romano Brotherhood, #2]

13 | Massimo

Before the cat breaks into my apartment, everything is going fairly well.

I'm back in Chicago for the day. I had not planned on returning to my city so soon, but duty called in the form of Chicago's new mayor deciding it's his prerogative to crack down on organized crime. Not only that, but he had it broadcasted o the entire country. So that everyone would know he was the one saving their necks.

If I were still in Chicago, this wouldn't have happened. I should have been there. Should have anticipated that something like this would happen. My physical absence does not do me any favors in ensuring the people in charge know who they answer to. 

Especially the newly sworn in mayor. Josh Bricker is not only a faux compassionate glutton for attention, but a liar. There is no threat. There are always turf wars. Crime families feud and work out their differences through methods that hardly ever involve civilians. Most people are blissfully unaware of who's actually controlling them—but they don't care. As long as they're fed and happy.

Authorities and state officials know this, and they know they answer to me. But Mayor Bricker likes the way he looks on this city's pedestal a little too much. It just takes a little visit to knock him down again.

It doesn't matter that being back here is not good for the state of my mind, or that ever since I blacked out in front of Vivienne, I haven't fully come back to myself. Business is business.

"If you could hurry, mayor." I hold back a sigh, subtly glancing at my watch. "My jet leaves in an hour."

Bricker rakes his thick hands over the back of his head and down his tree-trunk neck. He's puffy and glossy—fake skin, fake teeth, fake hair. He looks like he feasts on this city's money. He's fat from it.

"You can't do this," he chokes out, eyes wet. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

I tilt my head, not looking away as I trail a finger over the picture frame on his desk. It displays a photo of him with his family. A pretty wife and two little girls. Silly, silly man. He knows I will not waste breath on explaining myself to him when I'm too busy showing him.

"You choose," I nod down at the files I threw down in front of him. "Your wife finds out you like to sleep with little girls who look like your daughters. Or I can get rid of her for you."

"I-I already agreed to put an end to it," he hisses. Sweat beads on his forehead. "The campaign was bullshit anyway. The CID were never even involved. It was just a way to make people think I deliver. That I'm a mayor who acts. You know that, don't you?"

"Of course I do," I say softly. 

"So you already got what you came here for," he splutters. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Contempt tastes sour on my tongue. Even when everything is about to fall apart for him, he cannot accept responsibility. I don't do things to people. They do enough all by themselves. I am an equalizer. People take one look at me and think they are so much better—until I hold up the mirror.

"I like consistency, mayor." I come around his desk and he stiffens, but I stop by the big window behind him. Glancing out at all his land. "I don't like people who pretend to be something they're not. You can't be a man my city looks up to in public while grooming your own daughters in private. It's the principle. The ugliness always comes to the surface anyway. I'm only helping you."

He shrinks in on himself, but not because he's ashamed. He's panicking at the dilemma I've placed before him. Having his daughters taken away from him, or having his wife killed so his secret doesn't get out. He thinks he's God, that he can have it all. That he can handpick the evils he wants to get rid of and the ones he wants to embrace.