Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Alejandro
I see the goosebumps rise on her arms, but once again there’s that aura of self-assuredness and defiance. That’s still the best way I can describe it, yet it feels insufficient for how magnetic it is. There’s a healthy dose of bravado in it from how she fights not to tremble.
I back away, giving her room to turn around and open the door. I grab another bath towel from the rod as we leave. I step beside her as she looks around, unsure whether the bed is the best place for us to go. I hand her the towel, and she stares at it then me.
“Thank you.”
She bends over and wraps the towel around her sopping hair.
She hadn’t even wrung it out before rushing out of the shower.
I let my simmering anger get the better of me, and I put both physical and emotional distance between us before I even issued the threat.
She walks to the dresser and gathers her clothes.
I don’t follow her; instead, walking to the closet.
Mamá and Tía Luciana keep a few odds and ends of clothing here in case a family left their home without packing.
There are two heavy robes on hangers. I grab both.
I step behind Vita and wrap the smaller one around her shoulders before pulling her back against me.
“You’re freezing, little one.”
She releases a shuddering breath before sagging into my arms as I wrap them around her and kiss her temple.
I see her eyes are scrunched closed. I turn her before helping her slide the robe on properly.
I tie the belt then put on my robe. We pull our towels loose, and I watch her for a moment before I return all three to the bathroom and hang them up.
I want to give her a moment to compose her thoughts.
“Can we do this somewhere else? Somewhere without a bed?”
I offer her my hand as an answer. We walk down to the living room in silence.
She releases my hand and walks to a rocker recliner.
A chair that only fits one. I sit on the sofa, choosing the spot in the middle.
There’s room if she wants to join me without crowding her by sitting too close or shutting her out by sitting too far away.
“Jandro, I’ll tell you what I know, but you have to realize it’s limited. I can offer you what I’ve deduced and inferred. But I can’t guarantee any of it will be useful.”
“I understand.”
“If your men cleared out my hotel room, they’ll have found the dossier under the mattress.
Cliché, but less obvious than the safe these days.
I’ll give it to you. You can see what I’ve been working with.
Someone referred me to my employer, but I genuinely don’t know who.
It could be someone I’ve partnered with in the past, or it could—family. ”
I notch up my chin. “Let me guess, Mala del Brenta. You’re Venetian after all.”
“Yes. My father’s the don’s consigliere.”
Holy hell!
Her father’s Nicolò Trevisan!
“You were brave to be in the same room as Serafina.”
Her father’s the don. The women must have grown up together.
“I was more worried about Elodie.”
“Fear both of them, and you might survive them.”
It’s no surprise she knows my tía. She married into the family a little over a year ago. She’s Tío Enrique’s soulmate. She’s the only woman who could match such a powerful man. Her family’s Boston Cosa Nostra, but she cut ties when she divorced her douchey ex-husband.
Her sons aren’t bad, even if they are Red Sox fans.
I couldn’t give two shits about the Yankees, but it pisses them off when my cousins and I wear our baseball caps.
Their payback is to remind us of what happened the one and only time we drank with them last New Year’s Eve. I want to hurl just thinking about it.
“I’m Mala del Brenta by birth, but I can’t say for sure that they hired me.
Maybe. But it wasn’t Don Piero or my father.
I’m not even sure if my employer is Italian or a man, even though it’s a man I’ve spoken to.
Whoever they are, they were very specific that you are the mark.
Collateral damage is fine, but you’re the priority.
I don’t know why. That’s not something I ask, and it’s rarely offered. ”
“Do you know if they sent anyone else? Maybe today’s shooter.”
“I checked the dark web after I got the initial call. I didn’t see anything that resembled a hit on you. The ones that alluded to a cartel weren’t your family’s. Mexican mostly.”
We know about those. We placed them. Speaking of Boston—los Iglesias need a reminder that they exist because we allow it.
Their fealty isn’t to some rinky-dink syndicate near the border.
They’re too far away for the border cartels to get to them in time, so they pay for our protection.
They also pay a tariff on everything they import into Boston.
We make sure they’re buying mostly from us. Double dipping? Fuck yeah.
“How long ago?”
“The week before Chicago. They didn’t give me much lead time.”
“They wanted me dead far from my family. Make it look like the Chicago Cosa Nostra did it. Hit my family hard without risking bringing the other New York families into it.”
“Probably.”
“Nothing happened to you when you didn’t do the job there?”
I hate thinking there’s someone out there after her, but after today, there’s no way to ignore the possible threat.
“It pissed off my employer, but it wasn’t my fault they left me with such a narrow window. The yacht was recon with the hope that I could get you alone to do the job.”
“Why not just get it done when we both got here?”
“You’re only alone at home at night. I knew I couldn’t break into your condo and survive.
Between the arsenal I’m certain you have and your building’s security team, there was no way it was worth the risk.
At first, I followed you to learn your routine and discover a time and place that would be best without a spontaneous shooting.
I wanted to avoid a sniper kill. That narrows the candidates down too far now that Robert Simms and Elodie are out of the game.
There aren’t enough people who could take the shot from the distance I’d want between us.
Those who know about me would know I did the hit. ”
She’s not boasting. She’s being straightforward, and I believe her.
Robert Simms used to head up the leading mercenary ring in the world.
He was a ghost and allegedly had the highest body count since the end of the Cold War.
He started racking up kills while he was KGB.
That came out after his death. Elodie only had one employer, but she was infamous.
“There may not be that many professionals out there with those marksman skills, but don’t underestimate the women in the Four Families. Maria Mancinelli could be a fucking Olympic gold medalist. She’s the best shot I’ve ever seen after Tía Elodie.”
“So I’ve heard. Apparently, Laura Kutsenko and Katerina Andreyev are the best in their family.”
If our families could make nice, Vita would probably get along really well with Laura and Katerina.
But it’s already complicated enough that Javier’s wife, Madeline, is Laura’s little sister.
Needless to say, no one in the bratva, especially not Laura’s husband—the pakhan—was thrilled to discover they’re in love.
“They are, but Anastasia Kutsenko has some past no one outside their family knows about, but it’s enough to make Salvatore keep his distance by yards if not miles. I’m certain you know what Serafina can do.”
“All too well. We used to compete against each other growing up. If I won, she’d bake for me.
If she won, I’d do her laundry for a month.
It’s a miracle I didn’t have cavities after all those sweets, and she had the freshest, most well-starched wardrobe of anyone I know.
We went shooting together several times a week until she left for college a year before me. ”
That intrigues me not because I want Vita to spill family secrets about the wife of the Mancinelli’s biggest shit stain. Fucking Carmine. Fuck that motherfucker.
Focus.
I want to know whether her shooting alone is what led to her current career. I want to know if she’s been a gun for hire for long. But there’s more she needs to know if she’s going to stay anywhere near me.
“Don’t underestimate any of the O’Rourke women.
Allie’s a doctor, so she’ll only shoot if there’s truly no other recourse.
But don’t discount the training her husband’s given her.
The rest of the women—they’re the most like the women in my family.
Before marrying into the O’Rourkes, two came from mob families, one from a Mexican cartel family, and another is a former DEA agent.
Plus the moms. Saoirse, Siobhan, and Brenna are like Mamá, Tía Luciana, and Tía Margherita.
They’re syndicate daughters, sisters, wives, and mothers.
They’ve known no other life. All six women have killed more times than any of us are supposed to know. ”
“Not too different from my family. You know Don Piero’s wife, Allegra, is from one of the ninety-four families of Sicily. I know her sister too. Sylvia was deadly long before she became Salvatore’s wife.”
“Yes. Don’t let the Torettas know you think they’re anything less than number one.”
“I’m aware. They were frequent visitors in Venice, and I traveled to Palermo with Serafina.”
I want to ask her more because I want to learn more about her childhood, but I have to tread carefully. If it ever got back to Carmine that I asked about her trips, he’d take it as a threat to Serafina. That I was digging up information about her family. He’d lose his fucking shit.
We’re all possessive men and protective by nature and nurture. Take that and add to it that Carmine’s a fucking psycho, and I don’t need that kind of shit in my life right now. Neither of us has time to keep blowing up each other’s jets.