“…pathetic excuse for a capo if you can’t get your shit in order,” he was shouting as I approached the door and then quietly pushed it open to lean insolently against the frame.
It was a pose I enjoyed because it was inherently condescending.
And it had the desire effect when one of his soldier’s cleared his throat and Rocco trailed off before spinning around to face me, a gun pulled seamlessly from his waistband and raised at my head.
“You have a bad habit of pointing a gun at me, Don Abruzzi,” I drawled.
His lips puckered like an irritated anus. “You have a bad habit of showing up where you don’t belong, Salvatore.”
I shrugged. “I came to offer something of a white flag, but if you’d rather I leave…”
He scowled then spoke rapid fire Neapolitan to his crew, ordering them out of the room. Leonardo left with them, but he tipped his chin to me respectfully as he left, another sign he would be a willing ally.
I ignored him because Rocco’s beady black eyes were trained unerringly on my face. He rounded Leonardo’s desk and took a seat, kicking his feet up on the desk, leaning back to fold his hands on the hard swell of his belly. “Thought you were going to be a dumbass about this, kid. Glad to see you’ve seen reason. I’m assuming you’re here to tell me you’ll take Mirabella Ianni off my hands?”
“Maybe.” I moved further into the room, but I didn’t take the seat Rocco expected me to across from him. Instead, I loomed over the desk, my body casting a shadow over him in the artificial yellow lights. “I want to know how she went from a diamond in your crown to a lump of coal you can’t pawn off quick enough.”
His lips compressed, thick and wet because he licked them compulsively. “It’s none of your business.”
I considered him, cracking my knuckles just to watch his gaze drop and widen at the sight of my big, scarred hands. “Then it will be none of your business what exactly I plan to do to the di Carlos after you give me your support to end them in New York.”
We stared at each other like two lions about to battle over territory. I was younger, faster, stronger, but Rocco had an entire militia of Made Men at his disposal in this warehouse alone. If he wanted me dead, it would be done.
I blinked lazily at him and watched irritation flare over his features. It annoyed him to know end that I didn’t fear him. Fear was the only tool in his arsenal.
“Va bene,” he said finally. “But I want you married quickly.”
“Whatever pleases you,” I demurred.
Suspicion tightened his florid, fleshy face. “I won’t have any funny business, Dante. You screw this up, you’re done. In the eyes of the Camorra and in my eyes.”
The veiled threat was threadbare, but I nodded anyway. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, let’s talk numbers.”
Ten
Dante
I’d just returned to Villa Rosa, the Lambo purring gently to a stop near the fountain, when Frankie burst from the front door with an expression like thunder.
Instantly, my heart dropped into my stomach.
“Che cos'è?” I demanded as I got out of the car and met Frankie in the middle of the drive. There was sweat beaded on his forehead that had nothing to do with the balmy December heat.
His mouth barely moved as he spoke, “They got to Marco.”
A chill blew through me straight to the bone. “How bad?”
I didn’t want to know.
Not really.
Marco.
He was the sunniest motherfucker I’d ever known, filled with energy and joy even though he was married to a woman with vinegar in her veins instead of blood.
I’d met him two weeks after moving to the city when Jacopo and his father were touring Tore and I around their operation. Marco had been a low level soldati in charge of their chain of pizzerias. When we went into the kitchen of the restaurant in Queens, he’d been at the massive vat of red sauce with the chef, his arm around him, singing ‘O sole mio’ at the top of his lungs.
I’d liked him instantly.
But it wasn’t until the next year at a meeting with the local chapter of The Fallen biker gang that Marco proved his worth. We’d been ambushed by the Ventura drug cartel, the same one that killed Jacopo’s father. The only reason Tore hadn’t died was because Marco had thrown himself on top of his capo and taken two hits in the back for his trouble.
And that was it.
Marco became a member of my crew.
Frankie sucked a breath in through his teeth. “It isn’t good. They got him outside of Santa Lucia’s Pizzeria in Queens.” The same place we’d first met. “Two bullets to the chest and two to the gut. He’s in the emergency room about to go into surgery.”
“Cazzo,” I cursed, wanting to wring someone’s neck, my hands opening and closing fruitlessly. “Who is with him?”
Frankie winced. “It gets worse.”
I stopped breathing.
“Bambi was with him. It seems they were kinda seeing each other on the side,” he admitted, knowing I’d fucking hate that because Marco was goddamn married and that should be taken seriously, but also because I abhorred secrets within my crew. “She was there when it happened, but she wasn’t hurt. She was in emergency with him until his wife arrived and caused a scene.”
“Merda.” I ran both hands through my hair. “They’re gunning for us harder than I thought they would. We’ve been gone one fucking day and they’re already throwing down.”
“Si.”
“Have Jaco pick up Bambi and take her and Aurora to his house. They should stay with him until we get back State side or take down the fucking di Carlos.”
“How are we going to do that with half the crew including our capo in Italy? You’re a wanted fugitive, D. The second we go back, they’ll arrest you for bail jumping and then drag the trial out for years to keep you in jail.”
“You think I don’t get that?” I said between my gritted teeth. “I’ll think of something.”
“You always think you can get out of any tight spot,” he argued, reminding me of Alexander. “Sometimes, there’s consequences we gotta face, D.”
“Watching my guys get picked off by the di Carlos isn’t one of them. I’m not some uneducated thug, Frankie. You forget I’ve got a brain and I know how to use it.”
“I’m just saying, you can be smart as hell and still make mistakes, still get busted. Cazzo, Dante, you didn’t even fucking kill Giuseppe di Carlo and they’re trying to take you down for it. I’m just saying, we got a shit ton of fires to put out here, some things might get burned.”
“I won’t allow that,” I reiterated in a voice that felt like stone, the words hard and painful in my throat before I said them. “This shit isn’t just my business, Frank, it’s family.”
Finally, his face softened and he sagged a little. When he reached forward to clasp my shoulder, I did the same to him. We stood there like that for a long moment just taking in air, sending out prayers for our brother Marco.
“Your woman is on the patio being all domestic preparing dinner with Tore,” he finally muttered. “The old man’s laughing with her. It’s a scene I never thought I’d witness. She doesn’t know about Marco yet.”