Page 10 of Hostile Vows
Fury scalds my flesh, so I’m almost blind from the smoldering black smoke swirling around me. “I need to have a quick word with Miss Sapori. It won’t take long,” I grit out with strained composure. “Stand down, soldier. You know who I am, right? That this boat you’re standing in is anchored in my territory.” When I reach into my back pocket, he cautiously slides his hand beneath his jacket, preparing for retaliation. “I didn’t come here for a war, my friend.” I flash a chunky wad of one-hundred-dollar bills in his face. “Give me five minutes alone with the woman.”
The asshole laughs under his breath. “I’d happily give you alone time with the mouthy bitch; however, that’s not enough money to risk my life. Souza, if you want to speak to her, get permission from the boss, then you can do whatever you like to her. Until then, you need to walk away.” He taps his gun.
I memorize this guy’s face, every single detail. Not because he’s an ugly fucker, but because I’m going to kill him. Over his shoulder, Sinéad peers around the doorjamb, her eyes bright. A faded cluster of bruises peeks out from under glossy raven hair hanging around her neck.
Long blinking eyelashes take a snapshot of the situation and just as I consider my next move, she slams the door, cutting me out of her life all over again.
Bitch.
“No problem.” I throw on a fake smile and firmly pat the guy on his arm, forcing my low patience threshold to stretch just a little bit more so I don’t fuck this up. “I’ve got a better idea.”
5
ANDRÉ
By the time I’m back on the upper deck, Don Sapori is puffing the freshly lit Colombian cigar I’d given him, and Letterman is talking to Fat Johnny, a beast of a guy whose facial skin resembles dappled orange peel. My muscles are jittery as fuck, wound up to the point I could lose control at the slightest annoyance.
Since leaving her below deck, I’ve fisted my hands repeatedly to curb the impulsiveness twitching through my arms. The white noise in my brain becomes deafening. I’m struggling to collect all my crazed thoughts together in one place, fully aware they're even more scattered than usual.
Seeing her again has triggered a tornado within me. I hear the whispers in my head. Uncontainable psychotic tendencies that would easily start a feud in our empire and far beyond. However, I won’t jump the gun just yet. Not until I get what I want.
I glance over at Reno, who’s next to the railing, and throw him a look, a serious glare he’s read a hundred times before. Immediately, he straightens and his hawkish eyes dart from me to the players around the table. Then I pull out my chair and casually sit, lifting the glass tumbler to my lips and knocking back the last of my waiting whiskey.
The slow burn doesn’t settle my restless mood or stop my knee from jiggling. It’s a common occurrence when my frustration levels are low. My guys are well used to my quirks.
Directly opposite me, Sapori’s crested pinkie ring tinkles against his bourbon glass as he sips in silent contemplation.
“So, you have a daughter, Don Sapori?” I say respectfully while beckoning two fingers at the first mate who’s in charge of the bar this evening. “Bring me the bottle.” My throat is too dry. I comb my fingers through my hair to rally composure. “You kept that quiet all these years. Any reason why?”
His menacing chuckle gets my hackles up. “Si,” he agrees with one word and then proceeds to draw in a mouthful of smoke and mouths out a few smoke rings. “I haven’t had much…” He slowly rotates his hand in the air as if thinking of the appropriate word. “… involvement in her upbringing. I’d mostly forgotten about the girl,” he says without remorse and a slight shrug of his shoulders. “She’s not a pedigree Sapori, but she does have my blood in her veins which makes the girl…” His villainous eyes grow darker. “… useful.”
My chest tightens, understanding the mafia world better than anyone. Even though nothing shocks me anymore, I have the distinct feeling this bastard is about to reveal something that’ll piss me off.
“Oh yeah?” I probe, my intolerance veiled. “What did you have in mind for her?”
When a thin smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, all I can see is the smirk of a dark snake. “She’s marrying into an old money family from Manhattan. An investment banker called Scott Acer. I’ve had it planned for months.”
For some reason when I try to swallow, the saliva in my mouth dries, so I grab the opened whiskey bottle and fill my glass.
“Good move,” I suck in through clenched teeth as the liquor travels into my stomach. My left brow drifts up in question. “What’s in it for you?”
Sapori shrugs a shoulder. “His older brother is a senator. It’s good for business. Acer has useful connections, and in return he wants an inlet toLa Cosa Nostra.”
I laugh, low and understated, guarding my displeasure. “Is he planning to distribute narcotics or weapons? You know his people are only permitted to sell our product in New York.”
That sly smile of his reaches the creases of his aged eyes. “He’s a smart guy—easily managed. I have big plans for him. He recognizes drug trafficking as the future and with his high-end contacts, he’ll help cut the red tape. That will benefit the Souzas, too.”
“You want a puppet?” I tap a cigarette from the Marlboro pack I’d left on the table, taking my time to light it and inhale the smoke into my lungs. “How do you know he’s not caught up with the Feds?”
“He’s not. I've been watching his movements for months. Even though my daughter will inherit everything I have, she’s a feral stray who doesn’t give a fuck about our traditions. To safeguard my legacy, I want something from her. Once she marries Acer, she’ll adopt both the Sapori and Acer surnames. And her firstborn will be given the Sapori name at birth.”
Motherfucker.
“How will that sound?” I push my spine into the backrest, flick ash into the breeze, and wait for it, my pulse seething.
“Sinéad Sapori-Acer. Has a good ring to it.”
Sinéad.
