“That’s where you come in. Your powers of persuasion are legendary, and I’ve already struck a deal with the Bratva. In exchange for gifting them a couple of key territories, we will sign a peace treaty. That is what I offer my fellow Italian Americans. Peace and prosperity.”
“You were behind the attacks on Vegas and Philly,” I surmise.
“I designed the strategy and helped the Russians with execution. See how easy it was to run rings around The Commission?”
Either he’s suffering from amnesia or he’s deliberately ignoring the Bratva’s failure to take Philly this week.
“And they have the nerve to call themselves the leaders of La Cosa Nostra.” He tut-tuts. “They are a disgrace.” He slams his hand down on the arm rest. “An abomination.”
“I won’t do it,” I tell him. “I won’t betray my family.”
He chuckles, and I’m two seconds from throttling him with my bare hands.
“I know you won’t, which is why I arranged for the right incentive.” He pulls a small TV screen down from the ceiling, and every muscle in my body strains with fear and rage as the image flickers to life.
Sierra is slumped on the floor of a dirty van, lying motionless with her eyes closed. Around her, eight men converse and laugh while eyeing her with dark intent.
My hands are around Giuseppe’s throat before I’ve processed the motion. Spittle flies from my mouth as I squeeze his neck, wanting to snuff out the amused look in his eyes. “You better pray she is just unconscious because I will burn your fucking world down if you have hurt her or my son!” I roar.
The muzzle of a gun presses into the side of my skull. “Release the boss now, Mazzone, or I’ll fucking shoot,” Gifoli says, digging the weapon in tighter. I didn’t even hear the privacy screen lowering or sense him leaning into the back.
DeLuca shoves me away when I let him go, and Gifoli keeps his gun trained on me. “Let’s make one thing clear here, Bennett. You are no longer in charge—of anything,” DeLuca hisses. “I call the shots, and you will do as I say, or I will order my men to shoot her.” He jabs his finger at the screen, and pain slices across my chest as I watch my fiancée lying motionless on the floor, surrounded by hungry vultures. “Of course, I’ll let them have their way with her first. They can fuck her, cut her, piss on her for all I care.”
“If they so much as touch a hair on her head, I will kill you,” I calmly say.
“They are under clear instructions not to touch her, but I can change that at any moment, Bennett.”
“Where is my son?” I growl.
“He is at your home, sleeping off the effects of the gas we pumped through the air-conditioning system.”
“You bastard.” I lunge for him, and Gifoli presses the muzzle to my forehead this time.
“I believe that accolade is more fitting for you and your son,” DeLuca says, lighting a second cigar. “Let’s not make Rowan an orphan.”
Peering closer at the screen, I curse when I see a familiar face among DeLuca’s men. “That double-crossing asshole.” I’ve been wondering how the hell DeLuca managed to get to Sierra when there is no way in and out of my house without meeting a barrage of bullets. Leo’s cousin has betrayed us. “How long has Ian been working for you?” I grit out.
“I recruited him when you brought him to Chicago,” he replies, sending a cloud of cedar-scented smoke into the air. “It was remarkably easy,” he adds. “He harbors a lot of resentment toward Leo and Frank and their father. You really need to look after your people better, and I’d take a long hard look at your security procedures. It was way too easy to infiltrate your inner circle.”
Touché, asshole.
“How long have you known Rowan is my son?” I demand to know.
“I discovered that information the same day you did,” he replies, startling me. He barks out a laugh. “It’s ironic your heir was sitting right under my nose this entire time. You know, I never thought Sierra would amount to much, but I welcomed her back to the family when she gave birth to a boy.” He puffs on his cigar as the car turns down a winding side road. “I thought he might be my only chance for an heir considering Saskia and Felix couldn’t conceive and Serena had only birthed a daughter. But then Gifoli came through,” he adds, grinning at his current underboss. “When Romeo was born, I had no need for Rowan anymore, so I removed my protection.”
Intense pressure sits on my chest, and I’m like a volcano, boiling under the surface, ready to explode.
He clamps his hand down on my shoulder. “If I had known he was your son, I would have treated him differently, but that is neither here nor there now. I have ensured your son was kept out of this once it was clear he was your flesh and blood, and I assure you no harm will come to him.”
“Pity you didn’t afford your daughter the same courtesy,” I hiss. “You don’t need to use Sierra. I will agree to your crazy plan. Let her go, and I give you my word I will do whatever you want.”
“Don’t insult me,” he snaps. “And need I remind you I am calling the shots?”
The car slows down as we approach a large white building with Lawson Pharma in big gold lettering on the front.
“You will agree to my plan, and in exchange, I will let Sierra live. Not in the US, though. Saskia wouldn’t tolerate that.”
“What the fuck does that annoying bitch have to do with anything?”
He punches me in the face, and blood trickles out of my nose. “If I hear you speak about Saskia in such a derisory tone again, I will instruct my men to inflict the next punch on Sierra.”
I used to think Sierra’s dad was a cold-hearted bastard, but that front concealed his true nature. He is cold because he does not feel emotion. He has obsessions, possessions—like his need for ultimate power, and his weird fixation with his eldest daughter—but he’s an unfeeling monster because he is a psychopath. It’s painfully clear now there is no reasoning with the man. Everything I say or do from this point on will either save Sierra or kill her. I won’t take any chances with her life, so I will play this game the way he expects.
I grind my teeth to the molars but say nothing, knowing he will continue because he loves the sound of his own voice.
The car glides to a halt at the back of the building in front of a small painted door.
“You were always meant to be with Saskia until that meddlesome Terry Scott fucked things up. You do know he killed your brother, Mateo. Right?”
My jaw slackens, and I can’t mask my shock in time. “What? Why?”
“It seems Terry overhead Gifoli on the phone to me planning a path for your future. He must not have liked what he heard because he concocted a scheme to take out your brother, knowing Angelo would come looking for you. It was all done to snatch you from me, just when I was ready to make my move.”
A muscle pops in my jaw, as I struggle to deal with that bombshell. If it’s true—and that’s a big if—why would Terry send me running from the hands of one mafioso to another? Unless he saw Angelo Mazzone as the lesser of two evils? Given the bizarre turn in this conversation, I’ve got to agree with my late friend.