Page 33 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

“I need more time.”

He curses colorfully, every pretense of sleepiness out of the window. “More time for what? To moon over Red Wine? Yeah, I know about the guy you have tailing her. Real subtle, Dante. Why don’t you just skywrite ‘I’m fucking obsessed’ while you’re at it?”

Fuuuck. Why can’t Sal keep his trap shut to save his life? He’s the only one who knows about the guy I hired to watch Addy from afar.

“She’s under my protection,” I say, trying to keep my voice level.

“Bullshit. Protection from what, her own family? You’re fixating, and you know it.”

“I’m not.” I am.

Not many things hold my attention, but when they do, it’s hard for me to let go. In Addy’s case, what am I supposed to do when Benjamin O’Shea doesn’t give a fuck that his daughter leaves one crime scene after another and cycles around Boston at all hours? She might as well wear a neon sign screaming ‘Kidnap me! I’m fun!’

But that’s all fine with Benjamin, just as long as the Italian bogeymen don’t touch his precious daughter. Because clearly, we’re the only danger that exists in the world.

“You are fixating, fratellino.” Nico insists. “You can only control that impulse for so long and not if you keep obsessing. And it’s only a matter of time before you snap.”

“You make me sound like a fucking psychopath. I’ve kept it under control for over two years, haven’t I?”

“Oh, you want a medal for keeping your word? Staying away from O’Shea’s daughter is the price we paid for what you did in that restaurant.”

Like I need to be reminded. “I know.”

“Dante, you’ve not lost a mental battle since . . . forever. But you’ll lose your mind if you don’t take it off Red Wine.”

“What, now you’re a shrink because you married one?” I sneer.

“Dante, come on. You can't resist setting fires to rules that don’t make sense. You're a pyromaniac in a world made of matchsticks.”

I roll my eyes, but I have to admit that Nico is right. “Sounds like you’ve been peeping into the good doctor’s notes. Or maybe you’re lifting quotes directly from your own therapy sessions.”

I hear Nico’s heavy sigh, as if he’s carrying the weight of our entire empire on his shoulders. Which, to be fair, he is.

“Dante, we have spent the last few years cementing the cracks of the broken city we inherited from Father. Orlando De Luca is a major fault line we can’t afford to gape any wider. Any rebellion now, and we could lose our heads. Father, Mother, you, . . . Sophie.”

Nico’s voice catches on his wife's name and my heart squeezes like it’s caught in a vice.

My brother loves his wife more than anything, which is why he’s afraid of De Luca’s rebellion. The rest of us he can risk, but he’s terrified of Sophie getting a hangnail, let alone seriously hurt.

No Caporegime should be allowed to wield this much power over his Don.

“Nico,” I say gently, as if talking down a spooked horse. “You do realize that a bullet in Orlando De Luca’s brain would guarantee the peace you want, much more than a ring on his daughter’s finger, don’t you?

Nico grunts like he’s entertaining the idea. “Really? And how would that work?”

I lean forward to press my point. “A handful of seasoned ghost assassins. Spaniards or Russians. We take out Orlando, Bianca, Bianca’s father Don Rinaldi, and her three brothers. All six of them in one fell swoop.”

Nico contemplates this for a full minute. I can practically hear the gears grinding in his head. “Tempting, Dante. Very tempting, but no. I’ll take a marriage over a massacre. Less paperwork, you know?”

I shrug. “I knew you’d say that. You always were a hopeless romantic.”

Nico’s tone goes hard as nails, every trace of humor drained out. “Anyway, here are your orders, Capo. First, pack in the stalkfest. Get her out of your system, or keep her as a side piece. I don’t care what you do as long as you don’t bring her anywhere near Chicago.”

“And second?”

“You have six weeks to marry Alina De Luca. Capisci?”

“Sì, capito, Don Vitelli,” I drawl, the words like ashes in my mouth.

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