“Mira.” I inclined my head at her before I cut her out of my thoughts. “Don Abruzzi, gentlemen, if you have a place Elena could wait while we discuss business, let us proceed.”
“No,” Rocco decided with a mean little grin. “The girl stays.”
“This a conversation for men,” I appealed to their deep-rooted misogyny. “Women cannot be trusted.”
Behind me, standing with Frankie, Elena’s heels clicked as she shifted weight and I knew she was struggling to remain meek. It was not in her nature to be as mafia women were raised to be. Elena was fire encased in a hard shell of ice. One wrong word and her cutting tongue would reduce a man to ribbons, one wrong move and her flames would raze him to the ground.
I could feel her heat raise at my back.
“Come here, pretty one,” Rocco called sweetly to her, patting his thigh as he made room for her between the table and his lap. “You can sit with Zio Rocco, uh?”
Anger sizzled through my blood. “Do not disrespect one of my men, Rocco.”
“Frankie doesn’t mind, does he?” Rocco asked innocently.
“I do, actually,” Frankie drawled casually, but his words were laced with poison.
“I am showing you hospitality, it is only fair that you return the gesture,” Rocco insisted in a tone that was not to be debated. “Signora Amata, vieni.”
Without hesitation, Elena went.
I watched her move around the table with that inherent grace I’d never seen in another woman, her shoulders squared, chin canted high, legs rolling easily on those absurdly high heels she loved so much. She was a queen walking into the arms of a grubby monster.
Rage seethed and boiled beneath my skin. I was volcanic with it and only years of practicing iron-clad control allowed me to keep me seat as Elena elegantly perched on Rocco’s fat thigh.
He chuckled with satisfaction, leaning back in his chair in lazy triumph. “This is how all meetings should be conducted, eh, fratelli?”
On cue, his men laughed.
I studied them, looking for the difference between those who thought like him and those who were ruled by fear of him. It was the latter I would collect into my own keeping.
“So, Don Salvatore, what brings you back home?” An old Don, Pietro Cavalli, asked me in a warbled voice. “You fucked things up in the New World? I always say, the young have no respect for tradition.”
“Then you will not like what I’m going to propose, Don Cavalli,” I admitted easily, shifting my gaze to the younger men around the table. “Because my plan is rather radical.”
“Radical?” Paulie Gotti’s eyes cut fierce lines into his thick-skinned forehead. “I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. You and Tore were always radicals.”
I inclined my head, accepting it as a compliment rather than a flaw. “I’ve heard that la Cosa Nostra are using the money funneling in from their American drug smuggling ring to get a leg up on our stronghold in Campania.”
There was conspicuous silence. A new capo I didn’t know shifted uneasily in his seat, eyes scuttling around the table like a beetle. I made a note to talk to him privately.
“It’s nothing,” Rocco stated with a wave of his hand. He settled it on Elena’s hip when he was done gesturing. Subtly, Elena reached over and removed it from her person. “We have it under control.”
“I’m sure you do,” I placated. “But I have an idea that will remove the issue entirely.”
Don Cavalli snorted.
I ignored him, letting the beast over take the gentleman as a savage grin seized my face. “Gentlemen, I’m asking for your support to wipe out the di Carlo family of New York City. I have things in place to sustain this plan without your support, but of course, I want the consent of my Italian counterparts to move forward.”
“War,” Rocco declared flatly.
In his lap, Elena straightened, her eyes alert on me as her mind whirled.
“War,” I agreed with a minute shrug, open my hands to the heavens as if violence was no big thing. To these men, it was not. Aggression and death were as noble to them as God and wine. “They have been pushing for it, it only seems right we give them what they want.”
Rocco scowled, slapping his fat hand to the table, his damp flesh leaving a wet mark on the wood. “We do not go to war without reason, Salvatore. Did your zio Tore teach you nothing?”
“He taught me everything,” I countered coldly, cutting him off when he would have ambled into a long-winded speech. “He taught me that the only way to wash the family honor clean is with blood. La Cosa Nostra has disrespected our family here and in New York for too long. It is time we showed them what happens to enemies of Napoli.”
There was a smattering of murmured agreement from the men at the table, a tangible current in the air as the energy rose between them.
Italians were easy to rile up. Their passions made them easy marks but horrific enemies.
I was counting on both to lend themselves to my case.
“The di Carlo brothers are fighting with the deceased Don’s consigliere for leadership of the family in the States. We used that to cleave the outfit in half. There only has to be minimal bloodshed. The vast majority of the action will take place in cyberspace.” I gestured to Frankie who smiled cruelly. “We will attack their accounts, make it seem as if one party is stealing money for themselves. As if the other is siphoning funds to mount an attack on the other. It’s easily done.”
It wasn’t.
Only a man as talented in the dark web as Frankie could make such a plan work, but confidence and ease were key to making the plan seem like a show-in success for these lazy, entitled fuckers.
“And here?” Paulie demanded. “You got a plan for Napoli?”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Rocco interjected, his jowls quivering and flushed as anger overtook his better sense. “You come in here like some hot shot when you’ve been gone six year and don’t know a thing about Napoli today? We’re doing just fine here without the Salvatores. Anyone says different is a lying bastard. Now, you want sanctuary here because you fucked up in New York? I could see fit to grant that to you, out of the goodness of my fucking heart. But you want more than a vacation in this town, you remember who is Don here now. Me. As for this half-baked plan? We can talk about it the moment you agree to wed Mirabella Ianni and not one fucking second soon, you get me, Dante?”
In his lap, Elena stiffened, her eyes flashing like light on the edge of a sharp blade.
“As for Elena,” he continued in a lower register, one hand creeping over her thigh to stroke at the line of her muscle beneath the skirt. “You wanna have her stay with me for a while, I might rethink your options.”
I was the only one who saw the gathering of energy in her long, slim form. She was a woman and a slight one at that, unintimidating despite her height. They never would have suspected what would come next and honestly, if I’d been a smarter man, I would have stopped her before she could show them the biting edge of her anger.
But I couldn’t resist watching the glory of the moment unravel as Elena Lombardi pulled the gun from between her thighs smoothly and leveled it with two steady hands around the grip at Rocco, right on the plump underbelly of his chin.