Page 71 of Dirty Mafia Torment
“Would you prefer I left it attached?”
Dante, seated behind his desk, steeples his fingers and watches me like I’m both his greatest asset and biggest headache.
He’s just glad I’m the one on the phone now.
“Some of the Eleven are pissed about that little threat you tacked on at the end of the video,” my father continues. “But fuck if anyone’s whispering that we’re weak. Not anymore.”
Annoyance sets in, as Dante chimes in, “Gave them something to think about.”
I shoot him a look. If he were closer, I’d elbow him.
My father growls. “Other than the millions in frozen assets?”
I sigh. “My Chicago contacts are working on it.”
“Fix what you broke. Capisci?”
Shit. Any doubts my father hasn’t figured out what I’ve done go up in fucking smoke.
“Crystal.”
“Good. Now tell me you had nothing to do with Elia Lombardi’s disappearance. I told you to leave her the fuck alone.”
I feel Dante’s eyes drilling into my skull. I keep my face blank. “I haven’t been in contact with her since that day in your office.”
“You didn’t marry her, did you?”
Jesus. Might as well toss all my dirty laundry on Dante’s lap. “Still single, thanks.”
“You know where she is?”
“No.”
But the dark edges of my memory shift just enough to let a thought click into place. Shit, I might know. Still not telling, though.
“Her father’s losing his shit, and his damn shirt. Without Carlo, he can’t pay off his debts.”
“Cry me a river.”
Dante raises his brows, amused.
“Fuck off,” I mutter.
My father goes quiet, and I immediately realize why. “Not you,” I add quickly. “That was meant for Dante.”
“I’m still going to beat your ass for the mess you’ve stirred up.”
“If that’s all I get, I’ll take the beating.”
“Have you spoken to Massimo Grassi?” Something in his tone shifts.
“No.” I pause. “Why?”
“Dante, you hearing anything from Sicily?”
Dante straightens. “Should I be?”
My father’s silence makes us sit straighter. “Don Tito Grassi wasgunned down leaving Sunday mass. No one’s claimed responsibility. Not a word from the Cosa Nostra.”
