Page 44 of Tormented Diamonds
The lingering taste of whiskey sours. “I thought you said, ‘Toscano bleeds red, white, and green, and once he makes a decision, it’s set in stone.’”
His stare sharpens. “I’m not talking about Toscano.”
Once I read between the lines, I want to put my fist through them.
“Are you thinking Carmine could be a wild card?” I ask, silencing another incoming call.
“It’s possible,” he says, way more calmly than any of us have a right to be. “You said yourself it seems like he has Cathalina acting as a buffer, interrupting your wedding night and ambushing Becca at the memorial service with random and invasive questions. If anyone got suspicious, he could easily blame it on her lingering scorned feelings from being rejected.”
Owen clasps his hands. “You did say Cathalina told Becca that, ‘They should watch out for each other because none of the men were going to do it, especially Carmine.’”
Which isallI said. Anton doesn’t need to know there’s talk of him circulating.
“But how and why?” I press, agitated at the possibility of another convoluted web of deceit. “My father wasn’t the type to share glory, plus Carmine seemed genuinely shocked in Staten Island when we pulled back the curtain on his side hustle.”
“Was he shocked at the reveal or thatwe’d found out about it?” Anton arches an eyebrow, padding his delivery with a hit of silence. For his safety, I’ll assume that’s a rhetorical question and wait out the unnecessary theatrics. Realizing his reveal fell flat, he tightens his tone. “He’s an Italian mob boss controlling a heavily Irish-populated city. We’d be idiots not to assume there’d be some overlap.”
Translation…I’dbe an idiot.
I grit my teeth against the doubt that’s slipping through the cracks. Goddamn it, there are too many fingers pointing in too many directions. The scars that litter my back make me wary of sudden blame shifts, especially from my underboss. While I can’t discount the possibility of Carmine being a traitor, it’s a stretch that’d require a lot of lines to intersect and loop.
“You think he’s double dipping, too?” Owen interjects, drawing me from my thoughts.
“I think he could’ve used it as leverage. I always found the timing of Marcello’s failed, forced union between Gianni and Cathalina odd.” Anton turns to me with a blunt stare. “Mafia marriages are contracted at birth and fulfilled when the bride turns eighteen, not on a random Tuesday in her thirties.”
The silence in the room sharpens to a razor-thin point.
“Are you insinuating Damiano could’ve gotten wind of what was going on in Providence and used his silence as a bargaining chip?”
“Damiano has one daughter and no sons. There’s been a lot of power-hungry unrest in his chain of command.” He offers an idle shrug. “If I had to guess, I’d say he knew he was risking the end of his bloodline, and Marcello’s betrayal carved out a solution.”
“How would he have found out about Providence?” Owen asks, voicing the question that’s on my mind, as well. “Marcello kept his involvement on a tight leash for two decades.”
Anton leans back in his chair letting thequestion hang for a few seconds before meeting his eye. “You can’t eradicate an entire group of people without leaving a permanent trail of bad blood. It’s all speculation, but it’s possible a fragmented piece of the Rogue migrated to New Haven, while maintaining a pipeline to Providence, and Carmine kept an ear to the ground.”
This series of revolving backdoors is getting old.
“Why risk everything for a dynasty that soils his hands, too?”
I wait for his answer, Owen’s eyes bouncing between us.
“Were they soiled, though?” He throws out the challenge with a waxy stare that sends unease crawling up my spine. “There’s no proof of any hush money going to Connecticut. If one of those encrypted accountsisDamiano’s, I guarantee it’s several layers removed from him and owned by a dead man.”
Son of a bitch.
Tension sizzles in the small room as we absorb the implication of those words. If true, it turns everything we thought we knew on its ass, and not only is the game plan we’re running all wrong, but our safety precautions are riddled with holes.
“So he plays dumb during your whole reveal, then sits back while you take out his only two threats,” Owen says, letting out a low whistle. “That’s some next-levelGodfathershit.”
“The only problem is this Dagger guy figured out he’s not in the sequel,” Anton adds solemnly. “So, instead of waiting for us to find him, he’s bringing the fight to us.”
I glance at Owen. “Have you gotten any intel from your surveillance of the Authority?”
“No. Either they’re being extra cautious, or their lives are as interesting as static TV.”
Somehow, that’s more unsettling than a trail of blood.
Right on cue, my phone rings again.
