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“Yes, I know. It has been a long time. Too long.” All Don Santorelli had to do was steal a quick gaze toward the bottle of scotch and Bronco immediately responded, refilling without hesitation. “I would agree there seems to be some misunderstanding. You know what happens when these types of actions go unchecked.”

I sucked in my breath. Since when had the man offered an olive branch to the second most powerful Don in the upper Eastern half of the United States? Some soldiers might say he was going soft.

I knew better.

The man was conniving and very calculated.

He laughed as if the two of them were old friends. “Your daughter’s birthday party? My God. I cannot believe she turned seventeen already. It seemed just like yesterday I attended her christening.”

The way of politics within crime families, especially of certain descents. Weddings, funerals, and christenings were considered off limits to war play. But a member of the Borgata always attended, the unwritten rule yet to be challenged on my watch.

“I won’t keep you then, Matheas.” Using the man’s first name meant the situation was on hold. No action would be taken until we were told otherwise. “Yes. I agree. A meeting is the best way to handle the… misinformation. I’ll have my Underboss reach out to yours tomorrow sometime and arrange a neutral location.”

Neutral.

That meant either New Hampshire or Massachusetts.

Dion exhaled. He wasn’t a fan of the diplomacy Don Santorelli enjoyed using. Dion was only in his middle thirties, yet he preferred the old school methods of killing first, asking questions later. I’d often warned him that that way of thinking would drive him to an early grave.

“Well, that is a fabulous invitation, Matheas. I will definitely stop by. Please, tell your lovely wife I asked about her. Yes, thank you. All is well.” Don Santorelli ended the call, keeping the phone in his hand for a few seconds.

When he lowered his arm, immediately reaching for his scotch, he lifted a single eyebrow and stared directly at Dion. “We’re attending a party tonight, a birthday party. Alejandro, Dion, you’re coming with me. We leave in two hours.”

I sensed Gio was about to ask what the hell was going on, but Dion offered him a hard look as a warning. “Two hours, boss. I assume you’ll want to take a present with you.”

“Ah, yes. We’ll stop at my favorite jewelry store on the way. Thank you for reminding me, Dion. Two hours.”

“Yes, sir.” Dion motioned to everyone to leave the man’s office.

Bronco and Gio seemed almost perturbed, Gio cursing in Italian.

“Il Don si ammorbidisce,” Gio hissed.

Calling a Cosa Nostra leader soft was akin to calling him stupid.

I wasn’t shocked at Dion’s reaction when he quickly backhanded the man. No one disrespected the Don inside the family organization, least of all those considered the man’s most trusted advisors.

“Sei su un terreno molto sottile,” Dion told him.

You’re on very thin ice.

Gio’s one problem was he didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.

“Ascolta e osserva, altrimenti la tua lingua verrà presa per rappresaglia.” The saying was appropriate and something Don Santorelli had also taught me the very first week.

Listen and observe or your tongue will be taken in retaliation.

Gio snarled as he glared at me. “You’re always up the Don’s butt. I wonder why that is.” He backed away before I could react, Bronco even stepping in the middle of the corridor in hopes I’d let it go.

I took a deep breath and held it, nodding to Bronco. Tonight wasn’t the appropriate time to settle any score with the pompous son of a bitch.

“Don’t let him bother you,” Dion advised. “Troubles at home.”

“Another reason never to get hooked up with a woman.”

He slapped me on the back. “Good point. Let’s go have one drink before we head to a party.”

We both laughed, only my thoughts drifted to how Don Santorelli would attempt to keep a war from ensuing.

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