Maximo steps forward next, nodding at me gruffly before shaking Michael's hand and leading his wife back to their seats.
The next contender is a stranger.
A very tall one.
He stands a few inches above the other men, his muscular build matching his height. His dark, inky hair is slicked back with gel, and his eyes—brilliant green, as vivid as moss—are almost unnerving in their intensity.
Not exactly cold, but calculating.
And though there's a charming smile on his lips, it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Hello, beauty. I'm Romero."
I eye him warily. Romero Lombardi. The famed criminal lawyer. I've never met him, but I know of him.
Aldo used to curse his name on a regular basis, and back when I was still in school, I'd overhear people talking about him —about how ridiculously good he is at his profession. Which is getting criminals who deserve to rot in jail off the hook.
Fitting that he's a Nightshade member.
