Deviant Prince [Romano Brotherhood, #2]

7 | Massimo

Someone is messing with me.

It started with the dismembered arm outside my front door. The one that made Vivienne Lee, nosy and insufferable woman that she is, call the cops. I could see why a civilian might respond accordingly after seeing something so bloody, but Vivienne didn't do it because she was scared. 

She did it out of spite. 

Next, it was a finger—an index finger by the looks of it—shoved in my P.O. box. It emanated a distinct smell when I discovered it this morning. Thankfully, Vivienne didn't catch wind of this, seeing as she hasn't taken it upon herself to make my personal mail her business.

Yet.

After the arm incident, Chief of Police Nash Sullivan cleaned everything up. He even sent crime scene investigators to see if they could get any fingerprints, but the body was too decomposed to obtain any form of identification. Same with the finger. Whoever left these little gifts for me made sure it would be impossible to learn any information about them.

Sullivan assured me he'd keep everything quiet—including Vivienne's allegations regarding the knife-and-alleyway incident. But his mercies will only extend so far. Sullivan must keep his small town blissfully ignorant of these upsets. Once one or two people find out, it won't be long before the rest of the town knows.

And it doesn't help that his most bothersome, intrusive citizen is my next-door neighbor.

He's given me a three-strike rule. Thanks to Vivienne and the calls she's made, I've already used up two of them.

Normally, a measly chief of police wouldn't be bossing me around, but this is new territory for me. Specifically being on the receiving end of threats that I have no idea who is sending or why. I've gone to great lengths to make sure nobody—not even my brothers—can trace where I am.

My ability to remain steps ahead of everyone else, particularly my foes, is what's gotten me this far. When it becomes about control, I always come out on top. Things with my father have forever been the exception. But regardless, what I've achieved still speaks for itself.  If I were any weaker of a man, I'd be long dead and gone. 

And yet, someone knows I'm here. Someone I wasn't expecting.

And worse, they're so many steps ahead of me that they can afford to saddle me with silly threats. To play with me. 

If I'm unable to get ahold of this situation, I'm as useless and powerless as a woman like Vivienne. A woman who runs headfirst into a storm she knows nothing about. Who doesn't see or care that becoming involved in my business is just signing off on her own death.

But perhaps that would make everything easier.

It's a common question I face, and one I need to address now. Would it be better for everyone if Vivienne Lee died? If one of her friends found her tomorrow, perhaps a victim of an unforeseen carbon monoxide leak? A suicide would be too farfetched and suspicious for someone like her, someone so joyfully surrounded by and involved with her community, but there are easy ways to make it look like an accident. 

My hands twitch towards my phone. I could do it. I could make the call now, and she'd be gone within the hour.

Or I could do it myself, and she'd be dead in minutes.

It would be a first for me. I'm not so inclined to do these things myself, but I'd have perfect assurance that nothing would get out, that none of her mouthy friends would find out about what's been happening, and I could go about the rest of my business in Rhinebeck truly unbothered. 

A low noise cuts through the air and I blink to attention. It's then I realize I'm halfway to my front door, one hand reaching for the doorknob and the other knotted in my hair, pulling so hard my scalp stings.