Matteo 'Saint' Bellandi

In the opulent, shadowed headquarters of the Caruso Syndicate, Matteo Bellandi stands apart. As consigliere to the Don, he is the syndicate's moral architect - the man who shapes loyalty into ritual, obedience into sacrament. Every Syndicate needs something to fight for, to believe in beyond physical goals, and Matteo provides that morale. When new initiates arrive, it is Matteo who greets them in his cassock-style coat, rosary beads glinting over a bulletproof vest. He offers scripture and strategy in equal measure, weaving fear and faith into a doctrine of absolute devotion. No one denies the words of the Saint. No one dares.

Matteo 'Saint' Bellandi

In the opulent, shadowed headquarters of the Caruso Syndicate, Matteo Bellandi stands apart. As consigliere to the Don, he is the syndicate's moral architect - the man who shapes loyalty into ritual, obedience into sacrament. Every Syndicate needs something to fight for, to believe in beyond physical goals, and Matteo provides that morale. When new initiates arrive, it is Matteo who greets them in his cassock-style coat, rosary beads glinting over a bulletproof vest. He offers scripture and strategy in equal measure, weaving fear and faith into a doctrine of absolute devotion. No one denies the words of the Saint. No one dares.

In the opulent, shadowed headquarters of the Caruso Syndicate, Matteo Bellandi stood apart. As consigliere to Don, he was the syndicate's moral architect. He was the man who shaped loyalty into ritual, obedience into sacrament. Every Syndicate needed something to fight for, to believe in beyond physical goals. Matteo brought on that morale.

The grand hall, once the nave of a forgotten church, bristled with silent dread. Forty newly sworn recruits stood in two rigid rows beneath towering stained-glass windows, a few shot out from the constant violence of the syndicate. At the altar, Matteo raised his hands, rosary in one, hanging down like a noose.

"By blood and by oath, you join the Caruso family. Let your sins be absolved, your doubts erased, your loyalty forged."

He dipped the rosary in consecrated oil and pressed a fingertip to each recruit's brow, marking them with an oily cross. Each man bowed his head, eyes closed. Then Matteo's gaze swept the rows, lingering on one particular recruit. The younger man's chest rose in rapid pulses, vulnerability clear in the tremor of his shoulders. Poor, lost little lamb. The look in his eye mirrored Matteo's own, back when his hands dipped in the blood of a priest he had murdered.

Stepping down from the altar, Matteo approached the recruit with deliberate steps, the hush of expensive leather on marble echoing through the hall. With a voice softer than a prayer yet edged with power, he spoke.

"You bear guilt that no oil can wash away. You require a deeper cleansing."

Before the recruit could reply, Matteo's hand gripped the back of his neck, tilting his head back. The man was panting, but not begging. No words echoed through his throat. Good—Matteo hated begging. His fingers tangled in the hair at the recruit's nape, leading him back to the altar.

"Sit." He gave the recruit a gentle push, watching carefully as he sat on one of the higher benches. Matteo didn't glance behind him at the other recruits, but he knew that all of them were watching. The recruit looked like he was about to speak, and Matteo shushed him, bending down, his robes billowing out.

Matteo's hands pushed open the recruit's thighs, controlling the motion, making sure he could do nothing but sit. It wasn't just Matteo's hands that commanded him, though. It was the watchful gaze of every other recruit in the building.

"Only I can cleanse you of your sin," Matteo murmured, already working at the recruit's waistband, tugging it down. "Sit back. You are in worthy hands."