22. Threats
Chapter 22
Threats
Giordano
A notification pops up on my phone, sitting on the mahogany meeting room table. A bank notification.
Rico’s Liquor Store: $12,500
I smirk to myself as I shut off the screen. She must finally be coming to terms with the fact I’m going to spoil her. Whether she likes it or not.
One thing has me thinking. Rico’s Liquor Store.
I pull up the bank app again to analyze the address. Sure enough, the exact address of Rico Bellucci’s store . One of many fronts they have.
Small world. She knows the owner—he’s always at the register. Is she more connected than she’s let on? Does she know Francesco? What other information does she have?
“Anyway, there’s not many more updates to the accounts since then. Everything’s on lock down,” one of the board men says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I nod. “And what about the offshore account?”
“Not even accessible,” he assures me .
My heartbeat slows down a tick. My entire nervous system calms as relaxation washes over me. “Good, thank you.” I pat his shoulder and stand.
“Where are you going?” Xander asks.
“I have some other business to attend. You take care of the rest from here, yeah? I’ll be back for the other… meeting .” I need to figure out exactly what Rico knows about Antonella.
“Vai.” He waves.
I push the door open of Rico’s Liquor Store, on a mission. The little bell on the door chimes. The strong scent of overpriced alcohol I technically just paid for hits my nose as I shift my attention directly to the counter, searching for a particular short, older man.
“Don Marzano! Long time without a visit.” Rico laughs.
“Yes, long time indeed.” I clear my throat and stand in front of him. This could’ve been a phone call, but a visit is much more… personal.
Delivers a stronger message.
His voice lowers, “Are you here for a delivery?”
“Not for me, I don’t deal, you know this. It’s about my girl.” I squint, reaching back at the gun in my holster. Not taking it out, but enough to make a statement.
Despite the reason for being here, it’s amazing to say out loud to another person.
My girl.
I don’t give a fuck if she thinks it’s only a friends with benefits thing. We’re more than friends.
She knows it.
I know it .
We both feel it.
His facial expression becomes perplexed, eyes darting between my hand on a gun and the anger written on my face. “Your gi?—”
I cut him off. “You know her…” My top lip curls up into a devious smile. “She was here earlier. How much do you know about her? And what does she know about you? Your operation?”
“With all due respect, Don Marzano, you’re going to have to tell me who she is first. Plenty of girls come in here.” He laughs.
“Right, right.” I tap my chin. My smile drops, entirely devoid of humor. “Antonella Vitale.”
His expression closes up, face paling entirely. “She’s with… you ?”
“Yes,” I say in a low, possessive tone. “She’s absolutely fucking with me. Now, why would it be an issue?”
“I’ve been trying to get her to be with my son, Lorenzo, for a little while now.”
“Lorenzo…” I state, trying to dredge up memories of the man. Francesco’s the head of the Milwaukee family. He’s at monthly meetings and all. Lorenzo’s not. He’s their muscle man, transports their goods, which we don’t deal with. I raise a brow. “Is that all?”
“She comes in randomly. Usually, she gets the cheapest bottle of vodka. Earlier, she got the most expensive one here. Something about a job celebration.” He hums. “I assume you being in her life explains her sudden budget increase.”
He’s not lying. At least not to my face at the moment. “She’s with me, Bellucci. No bad blood between us families, sì?”
“Sì.” He nods.
“What does she know?”
He scratches his chin. “Nothing from our end.”
“Honest?” I take a step closer to him, sliding the gun slightly further out of the holster. My cousin’s married to his eldest son. I’m not about to threaten an entire war here, but I need to make my point eminently clear .
“Woah, no bad blood, sì? Famiglia.” He raises both of his arms above his head.
“Sì.” I nod, pushing the gun back in and taking my hand off of it. “She knows nothing? Not about Lorenzo? Not about this place being a front? Not anything about the Mafia?”
He shakes his head profusely. “No. She only comes in for a bottle, I promise. And it’s not often. Rare.”
“Va bene.” I simper, easing back on my feet. “Tell Francesco I’ll see him at the next meeting. Have a lovely rest of your evening.” I walk to the front door and push it open, hearing the chiming of the bells.
“Stronzo,” he utters the vulgar word under his breath as I’m leaving. He won’t want to make enemies with us— no . Our family ties are too strong and important for him to mess up. I shrug it off, having one more stop to make.
I need to surprise my girl with a congratulatory gift.
“Mr. Marzano! Are you here to buy another car?” The manager at the dealership laughs and shakes my hand. The dollar signs are practically glinting in his beady little blue eyes.
I stand there with a completely phlegmatic expression. “Yes.” Obviously, the reason why I came to a car dealership is to buy a car.
“Wonderful.” He plasters a wide-toothed grin on his face as he gestures to the selection of cars I usually go for.
I stop him right there. There’s absolutely no way Antonella will drive a sports car like these. “I’m looking for something more… relaxed. A sedan, perhaps. For my girlfriend.”
Fuck it.
I’m calling her my girlfriend to every single person I meet. I don’t care that we’re not technically dating. Yet. I’ll call her my wife if I want to. I’m half tempted to blurt out the word most of the time.
“Is she?—”
I cut him off, knowing what he’s about to ask. “Not here. It’s a surprise,” I walk over to the selection of smaller, luxury cars inside of the building. She’s particularly fond of the one she—shockingly enough—took tonight to celebrate with Audrina.
Although, I want to buy her a military tank if it means she’s entirely protected. Unfortunately , they won’t drive well in the Chicago streets. Snow? Sure. Traffic? Not so much.
I walk around the coupe, examining everything about it. I need the best of the fucking best for her. All black exterior, a nice light cream colored interior. Different from what I have. I’ll have to get bulletproof windows, after market , of course.
I know a guy.
“Charge it to my account.” I tap my watch, glancing down at the time.
“Wonderful, will you be driving it home today?”
“Have it delivered to the address on file, please. Tell them to have Maria put it in the garage.” I scratch my chin, contemplating. “Add a pretty red bow to the hood. She loves red.”
My phone vibrates with a text from an unknown number. An extremely graphic image of a man, bloodied and bruised, pops up on my screen.
Unknown
Attachment 1 image
Block A.
I’m in there now.
My girl’s pre-occupied tonight, anyway. An at home girls night. She won’t mind me being gone another hour or so. Right?
“Alright, who’s this stronzo? What’s he got for us?” I loosen up my black tie, looking down at the man who has his arms tied up above his head, ankles tied together, on his knees. The same man from the picture Xander sent me.
Brutal.
They sure get more and more creative each time they bring another person in here. Always in a different position. Precisely how I want to be with Antonella when I get home.
All the positions—not so much the blood.
“He drove the getaway car after they murdered your father,” Xander says in a flat tone. The expression on his face matches.
Rage .
The only emotion inside of me at this exact moment. Out go all others. Love and forgiveness. What’s that? I want nothing more than to make this fucker beg for his life. More than likely why Xander told the grunt men to put him on his knees before I got him in here.
I walk right up to the man and punch him square in the nose. Hearing the satisfying crunching sound of broken bone and cartilage, the curdling scream follows.
It’s not enough.
My jaw tightens so much I swear I’m going to break one of my own teeth. “Why’d you do it?” I snarl, shaking out my stinging fist. I more than likely broke my own skin with the previous punch.
The man sobs as blood drips down his nose into his mouth.
“I don’t like asking twice, ” I snap.
“He doesn’t.” Xander laughs, while leaning against the black counter. He takes a cookie Momma made out of the container and eats one. How can he eat while looking at a scene like this? Says a lot, coming from me. He’s unfazed by everything.
“W-wait,” he croaks in an Irish accent, shaking with a rasp, “I was following orders. I wasn’t aware of what Cillian had done?—”
I punch him in the nose, again, with my other fist this time. Have to keep it even. I shake the pain off from my fist and crack my neck. After this revenge is done, I’m over all the torturing. Someone else can do it—I’ll run the shit behind the scenes.
“Not until after he did it.”
“Why did he want to kill my father? Stupido .” I prepare to punch him again. I need to switch over to a different weapon before I break myself eventually, but this is a good outlet for rage. Therapy who?
“T-the m-money,” he stammers.
“What money?” I leer at him. This is the first legit piece of information I’ve gotten in over a year.
“The money—” He coughs. “—was stolen from him. P-put into an offshore account,” his voice cracks more.
“Offshore account?”
Protect the offshore account, Giordano. My father’s words ring over and over in my ear.
I remain silent while maintaining eye contact with Xander. He shrugs with half a pizzelle hanging out of his mouth.
Clueless.
If Xander has no idea, then what the Hell am I supposed to do? I groan. “Explain the chain of events to me.”
“Vito Marzano stole money from the Irish Mob, put it in an offshore account, and blamed Cillian for the missing funds. All while Vito had no idea he’s the leader of the Irish Mob. Aisling handed it over to him without notifying anyone besides two other people at the time. Cillian killed Vito for the false accusations. Now, you’ve gone around picking the Irish Mob off one by one, trying to find him. But you can’t,” his Irish accent comes in thick with the last sentence .
Pathetic .
“And how do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
“Why would I lie?” His pathetic laughter mixes with a sob.
Many reasons.
“Thank you for telling me all of this.” I glance over at Xander as I pluck a knife up off of the table next to me and stalk back over to him.
I lean in real nice and close, getting all up in his personal space. The scent of sweat and fear slaps my nose. My voice lowers to a lethal decibel, “You’ve been a perfect informant, and I appreciate it, but I don’t care for rats.”
I raise my hand slightly, slicing the knife indefatigably across his throat. Blood spurts onto my face and all over my nice white button-up shirt. He gags on his own blood as it pours out of his mouth.
“Ugh.” I groan. This shirt has to go straight into the burn pile. I strip it off immediately, wipe off the blood on my face, and drop it onto the concrete floor below me, creating a pile of bloody fabric.
“Cazzo. Your father started all of this bullshit?” Xander takes a bite of another cookie.
I glower at him as I snatch the container from him, taking a cookie for myself. Her special recipe. She shares it with no one, not even her own blood.
He pouts a little bit while giving me the middle finger.
“He may have started it. I’m going to finish it.”
“Quite melodramatic. I’m surprised you’re not an actor.” He shrugs. “By the way, there’s another one in block B.”
I snort at his comment. So much for going home tonight. I peek down at my phone to check the time. One in the morning? I groan. “Late night.”
Front door camera notifications are going off. Perché? I open the app and find my girl and her friend going out the front door, standing on the front porch. Where are they going? I zoom in on their faces. Her friend, Audrina, looks like she’s been crying as she’s getting into her car. Did something happen? Are they okay?
Antonella goes back into the house, mumbling something the camera can’t pick up, followed by the clicking of the three locks. Audrina pulls up to the front security gate, punches in the code, and leaves after it opens. The gate shuts, and of course I wait to leave the camera view until it does. The porch light shuts off because of inactivity.
I hum, tapping my chin. Do I call her since she’s awake? She might think I’m at the house, though. I’ll let her sleep.