Page 3 of Carlo
“Do you need to drink first?” Cynda waves to the bar.
“No.” I drop my pants and pull my shirt over my head before grabbing her. “Not tonight.” Tonight, I need oblivion. I’ll deal with Bruno in the fucking morning.
* * *
“Marry who?” Shock reverberates through my body. A feral earthquake that tremors the glass in my hand. No wonder Bruno handed me a drink when I walked in. Usually, he’s the loudest voice, complaining that I drink too much. It will take more thanmy usual spirits for me to swallow this acid pill. “Her brother killed my men. Do we sleep with vipers now?”
“We haven’t had a war with the Silvio family in over twenty years. We have more in common than we have in conflict. Besides, Al Silvio is offering a lot more than the Falcones would. We can’t keep getting caught up in petty squabbles and expect growth. Every time we do, our common enemies use the opportunity to encroach on us. This year is about expanding and becoming so powerful through our connections and our wealth that no one would dare challenge us. This is the only way to secure the peace and safety we all want for our families and our future. Jaleesa’s family brought us the shipping lanes and passages through the Caribbean and Florida. Mariano married Moirin, and that brought us a solid European channel. When you marry Valeria, we’ll lock down the Western United States.” He rubs his hands together. The knuckles on one of his meaty fists dig into the palm of his other hand. He says he hates these arranged marriages. That the unions are all our father’s idea. Yet, he’s practically on his tiptoes dancing.
I glare across the room. “And the fact that they killed three of our men in cold blood? What about that, Bruno? You know how many times Sarge put his life on the line for us? We can’t just let it go.”
“We’re not letting it go. We’re moving on.” Bruno’s voice hardens. He leans forward, his eyes fixed on mine. “You think I like this shit, Carlo? You think I like sitting here and having to watch my brother get his panties in a twist over something I’ve already settled? Something I’ve already agreed to. You know how many times I’ve had to watch your back? How many times I’ve had to pull your ass out of the fire? And how many times you’ve done the same for me? You think I enjoy having to sit here and watch you go off like a fucking firecracker, knowing that you might end up dead or arrested or fucking locked up forever. Forsome shit you don’t need to be doing. Fuck, man. It’s exhausting. So, no. I don’t like this shit. But it’s what we have to do. It’s what we have to do to keep this fucking family going.” His eyes narrow, and he glares right back. “Ask me if I’ll do whatever it takes for the sake of this family.”
I stare down into my empty glass. A glass I don’t remember draining and one I already want to refill. Because yes, he will do anything for the Falcone family, our family.
So will I.
Mariano joins our meeting. He’s just returned from his Ireland trip to spend time with Moirin’s family and secure our dealings there. We raise a glass to Sarge, Billy, and Vince. We each pledge a larger share of our new funds will be placed in a trust for their families. No argument from any of us. It’s a sad fact that money is nothing compared to the loss of life. Something we all are uncomfortably familiar with. We lost our mom when we were teens. Bruno was away in college, and I was still at home, helping my mother as she died of cancer.
I never told Bruno of the hell I went through. My father was gone most days with the Falcone family business and most nights with his mistress. I helped change her sheets after night sweats. Clean her face when she couldn’t keep her food down. Comb her hair as it shed, strand by lovely strand. Until she was left with nothing but a clean pate. If I’d told Bruno, he’d have come back and helped me. The only time I complained to my father, he threatened to have her put away in a nursing home where I’d never see her again. My brothers helped with cooking and cleaning, but they were too young to carry such a burden. Hell, I probably was, too. But when someone ties a boulder to your back, if it doesn’t kill you, you learn to bear the weight until you don’t feel it anymore. I didn’t mind taking care of Mama. I’d do it a hundred times more for her. But not for anyone else. I’ve never wanted to care for another fucking soul. Now I was goingto be married to one. And just to sweeten the deal, she came with a child. Fuck. How the hell am I supposed to be a husband and a father when I struggle every day to stay human? When I’m fighting every day not to let grief and rage suck me into a black hole of nothingness.
I look into my glass. Dammit, how did it get empty again? “So,” I look up at Bruno, “when do I meet my beautiful bride? Wait, she is beautiful, right? Jaleesa is stunning, and Moirin has beauty pageant looks so…”
Bruno walks back to his desk and pulls out a portfolio. Seated on this upper-level floor of the Sindicate Towers, the morning sun blazes behind him, creating a golden halo as if he’s a god. He knows damn well how imposing a figure he looks at the seat of power. He chose this office for exactly this reason: to show that he lords over all of Chicago. I ignore his theatrics and wait for him to just hand me the damn picture. A picture I know he has amassed, along with every piece of information he has on her. I lower my lashes like shades against the sun and wait.
I’m prepared to wait forever. What I’m not prepared for is the photo he hands me. A photo that sucker-punches me right in the ribs. Valeria Silvio. The woman I’m going to marry. She’s beautiful in an understated way. Her long dark hair is pulled back into a bun, and her dark eyes look sad and shy. Distant. Vulnerable. Dammit, she’s the kind of woman another man would take care of and cherish. But I’m not that fucking guy. Valeria’s curves are soft and round in all the right places. My dick stirs in my pants at the thought of those curves pressed against me. My fingers curl around the edges of the picture possessively. As if daring anyone to take it from me. My index fingers trace the curve of her cheek as if memorizing its curves and angles. Damn, Bruno, for this shit. “She’s pretty enough, I guess.”
Bruno’s bark of laughter splits the room. Matteo and Mariano join in. My brothers have always been able to see right through me. I lift a corner of my mouth before I put the picture in the inside pocket of my jacket. Bruno interrupts our teasing when he holds up a finger. “Her looks are not the problem.”
I do a double-take. We’re the ones walking away from vengeance. “What the fuck is the problem?”
“The Verrazanos want her dead.”
My eyes widen as my mind processes. “Wait, is she the one that was married to—”
“—Big Ben?” Bruno finishes my question. His face is flat, as if this information isn’t a game changer.
Mariano whips around, as surprised as I am. “The one who killed him while he slept?”
“I don’t think he was asleep. Or at least the police didn’t think it. There was a months-long investigation, and despite the pressure from the Verrazano family, they found that she acted in self-defense.”
“C’mon, we all knew Big Ben. He was a big-ass mean motherfucker. No one man, definitely not a woman, could have brought him down.”
“And yet she did. But even that is not the problem.”
My hands ball into fists, waiting for the next blow. “Then what is?”
“She’s gone. Apparently, she’s as eager for marriage as you are.” He toasts me. I’m torn between snatching the drink out of his hand and finishing it and bashing the glass against his skull.
Fuck.
Chapter 3
The key turns in the lock and I slide Caterina off the arm she’s been using as a pillow. Reaching under the pillow I feign sleep while my hand locks around the gun’s grip. It’s not loaded and a I curse myself for taking the chance. The first night I slept petrified with a loaded gun so close to my child’s head. There was no way I’d take that chance again. After five days of hiding out I relaxed. I did ‘t even have the bullets nearby. They were stuffed in the bottom of my totebag. The kind of oversized carry all mothers carry from birth and never really stop carrying because when does your child stop needing things? My bag is stuffed with baby wipes, napkins, extra crayons, writing and drawing paper, and yes, bullets. A sharp crack sounds before the hotel’s hallway light illuminates the room before darkness falls again. My heart races, thundering so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t wake Cate.
My sweaty hands coat the grip as I wait for the intruder to come closer. I’ll have to bluff it out. When he steps near the dresser, I raise my hand. Pressing my knees together where he can’t see them shaking under the cover and command. “Stop. That’s far enough.”
He’s dragging a small suitcase and doesn’t look surprised by my words. I turn on the bedside lamp so that he can see the gun in my hand. The light instantly bathes him in shadows, and I can’t make out his features. I don’t need to see them to know thathe’ll be a hard and ruthless man. A man no different from my father or ex-husband. They are all cut from the same cloth.
