Page 150 of Anti-Heroes in Love Duet
I smiled at him, a wolf hiding in plain sight among the sheep. “Of course, Don Abruzzi. I am merely a humble visitor.”
He stared at me suspiciously but was quickly distracted by another capo who questioned if I would be invited to the funeral of a local capo.
He wondered why I was not properly insulted, effectively put in my place. How could I be so cool and self-assured when he had all the power, and I would only exist here by his own grace?
He didn’t understand, as I did, that power wasn’t solely in action. It was in the timing of that action and the reason for taking it. He didn’t understand that he was showing his hand too soon, that now I knew just how unwilling he was to ever support my plans.
He didn’t know yet that his gauntlet had been properly thrown down, and I was just waiting to pick it up when the time was right.
And then, he would know just how much power I had and how willing I was to wield it.
It was about more than just the politics of the Camorra.
He’d made it about Elena.
There was an old Neapolitan saying that perfectly suited the situation.
Chi vuole male a questo amore prima soffre e dopo muore.
Whoever is against this love suffers and then dies.
It was hours before the discussion finished.
Rocco wanted to posture, waxing fucking poetic about how much money he’d made in the years of my absence, how ruthlessly they’d gone after those who couldn’t pay their debts or refused to genuflect to his authority.
It was boring as hell.
But also helpful. This was what happened with thugs who rose to power. They prioritized bragging rights over mystery.
Mystery was what had kept me alive for thirty-five years despite the risks I took every day in my position as the New York Citycapo dei capi.
Frankie stood against the wall with a few other lower-level men, practically rolling his eyes whenever he could get away with it. Another mistake by Rocco. He tried to crush other men with power and ambition instead of cultivating them to strengthen his own objectives.
He disgusted me.
I kept that disgust from my face even when he gestured for me to kiss his damp, fleshy cheeks in goodbye.
“You’ll be in touch regularly,” he advised me as if I was some wayward nephew.
“Of course.”
“And the girl, bring her around,” he ordered, his eyes gleaming with lust and calculation as he assessed my response.
I shrugged coolly, checking my Patek Philippe watch because I knew it would annoy him. “She has a mind of her own.”
“She needs a strong man to rid her of that bad habit.”
My brow hiked. “And you’re the man for the job? I think Frankie would take umbrage with you absconding with his wife.”
Rocco shrugged, but there was too much interest in his eyes. He was old-school. Women were things, commodities to be traded in marriage for political gains or used for pleasure, housekeeping, and child-rearing.
It was almost impossible not to laugh at the idea of Elena willingly consenting to any of that to the detriment of her own independence.
“Where is she?” Rocco asked. “I would like to say goodbye.”
“I think that’s enough for today,” I countered. “I’ll collect her, and we’ll be on our way. Thank you for your…warm welcome, Don Abruzzi. It is one I won’t soon forget.”
He inclined his head like some king to his subject, but I was already turning on my heel to walk out the swinging door into the kitchen beyond where the women had congregated.
