Chapter Three
Adrian
Dinner is at the long table next to the windows that look out over the garden. There’s a high chandelier that throws warm light over polished silver, crystal glasses, and plates that probably cost more than my first car.
The room is elegant without being stiff. Beyond the glass, the garden is dark now except for the soft wash of landscape lighting over trimmed hedges and pale stone paths.
Pretty view. Bad security. Too much glass.
Beautiful houses are almost always built with the assumption that beauty matters as much as survival.
I sit where I can see the room, the windows, both doors, and as much of the house as the angle gives me.
Habit.
Across from me, Teresa watches with the look she used to get when I was twenty and too serious for my own good.
“Eat,” she says.
“I am eating.”
“You’re evaluating the room and pretending to eat.”
“I'm evaluating the room and eating. I can manage both.”
Vito doesn’t bother to look up, but there’s a flicker at one corner of his mouth that suggests he might find that funny.
It’s true. I can manage to hate the fact that one whole side of the house is made of windows and eat this delicious dinner at the same time.
It’s good. Better than good. Some kind of braised and slow-cooked short rib over creamy polenta, with roasted vegetables, crusty bread, and the kind of sauce you can tell took time.
The woman I saw in the kitchen must have had a hand in it, unless Teresa’s cooking has gotten better. It's not that she was ever bad at it, but that she was never interested enough to become better at it.
But she's always been the type to become really good at anything that interests her, even when it never did before.
Teresa catches me looking at the plate and lifts a brow.
“What?”
I cut into the short rib. “It’s good.”
Her mouth curves. “That sounded almost surprised.”
“I’ve known you a long time. Surprise felt fair.”
She gives me a look. “I didn’t make it.”
“That explains it,” I say.
Vito’s mouth shifts again, more noticeable this time.
Teresa points her fork at me. “You flew across the country to insult me in my own dining room?”
“I flew across the country because you asked me to,” I say. “The insults are just extra.”
“That’s reassuring,” Teresa says dryly. “I’d hate to think you were getting soft.”
“You don't have to worry about that.” I tell her.
I take another bite, then set the fork down.
“All right,” I say. “Give me the real version.”
The mood in the room dampens a little, but they had to know it was coming.
Teresa’s expression changes first, the warmth still there but dimming just a little. Vito sets down his glass and leans back slightly in his chair.
The easy catching-up part of the night is over.
He gets right to it.
“There was a threat against the family.”
No dramatic lead-in. No careful phrasing. Just the facts.
That I can appreciate.
I nod once. “How specific?”
“Specific enough.”
I wait.
Vito looks at me steadily. “Names weren’t listed one by one, but the meaning was clear. It was directed at my father’s children. Not the business. Not the clubs. Not the casino. His heirs.”
I glance once at Teresa, then back to him.
“How did you receive the threat?
“A written message delivered to one of our businesses.”
A message that close means access. Access means eyes. Eyes mean somebody inside is either compromised, or too stupid to notice that the person standing next to them is.
“You think there's been a leak in your ranks.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“That’s our concern,” Vito says.
“And if I'm going to be providing protection for your sister, then it's my concern too.” I lean back, mirroring his pose.
“I can't do this job properly if I'm being kept in the dark. If you think there is someone within your ranks who may be coming after you or is aligned with an enemy, I need to know about it.”
Teresa folds her hands on the table in front of her. “There have been whispers for a while. Nothing concrete. But enough to make everyone uneasy.”
“Whispers of what?”
Vito’s expression hardens a fraction.
“Information got somewhere it shouldn't have,” he says.
I don’t move. “What kind of information?”
“The kind that doesn’t get guessed.”
“Vito,” Teresa sighs when he doesn’t elaborate. “Two weeks ago, a car was rerouted on an errand that only a very small number of people knew about. The route change had been made late. No one should have known about it, but someone did.”
I go still.
“What happened?”
“The vehicle positioned to force a stop,” Vito says.
“And?”
“The driver managed to get out of it.”
That is not the same as saying it was nothing.
“What was in the car?”
Vito holds my gaze. “My brother’s pregnant wife and child.”
I flip through my mental files. That would be Nico's wife, Erica, and their one-year-old daughter, Emma.
If you took the threat at face value, they wouldn't be considered principal targets, but close enough to cause harm or send a message.
Or maybe they were exactly the right target if someone wanted to test response times without attacking one of Luca's children directly.
“So you figured that someone on the inside leaked it.”
“Not yet, no,” Teresa says quietly. “There were suspicions, but what convinced everyone was what happened after.”
I look at her.
She says, “Three days later, one of the garages used to store vehicles specifically used for family transportation was accessed with the right code on the first try. No forced entry. No fumbling. Whoever it was knew which garage mattered and which code was current.”
That would do it.
Because codes can be changed. Patterns can be watched. But hitting the right one on the first try means somebody had current information from inside or from someone standing very close to inside.
“Anything taken?”
“No,” Vito says. “That’s the problem.”
I understand immediately.
It confirms that this wasn't a theft. It was a test.
Somebody seeing how far they could get. Somebody proving they could get close without taking anything, which means the point was not the garage. The point was the message.
“And the message was delivered before or after that?” I ask.
“Before. It's why the route was changed at the last minute. All of our schedules have been rotating constantly since we received the threat.” His voice goes flat again. “But it wasn't until then that we realized our own security couldn't be trusted, not until we rooted out this mole.”
“Do you have any ideas on that?” I ask.
His jaw tightens. “Not yet.”
I glance between them.
That explains the lack of visible personnel outside. The stripped-down human security. The digital emphasis. The choice to bring in someone from Texas with no ties to Atlantic City, no history with their men, no preexisting loyalties for anybody local to exploit.
Good. Now we’re speaking the same language.
I fold my hands loosely in front of me. “All right. That’s enough for me to understand why I’m here.”
Teresa’s shoulders ease a fraction.
Vito’s do not.
I ask, “How many people know you’re treating this like an internal breach?”
“Very few,” Vito says.
“Good,” I say. “Keep it that way.”
His eyes stay on mine. “That was always the plan.”
I nod once. Then I ask the part that matters most now.
“And Caterina? Why are you bringing in outside security for her only?” I look between them. “What about the rest of the family? I have a whole firm.”
“We're holding off on that for now,” Vito says. “And the reason Caterina is the concern at the moment is because she's the one whose situation is the least contained.”
“Talk to me.” I pick up my water glass.
“She's the only one of us who lives alone,” he says carefully.
“You mean she's the only one without a man in the house to protect her,” I say bluntly.
Teresa objects. “That's a little sexist, don't you think?”
I turn to her. “This has nothing to do with sex,” I say.
“Plenty of the security that I employ are very capable women. But the fact is, in this family, there is a distinction. The men in this family live this life, every day. They carry weapons but also have the experience of using them. They have an instinct for threat that comes with living it. That is the truth.”
Teresa looks at Vito, who gives a slight, almost imperceptible nod of agreement.
She lets out a scoff. "You two are unbelievable. What about Roberto? He's an attorney, and he works at the casino just like Caterina does. I'm sure he'd do whatever he had to do to keep his family safe, but I worked with violent offenders for years."
She gestures to herself. "That instinct for violence never goes away for some, and despite his calmer demeanor, it's definitely present in Roberto.
But there is a point where the skill to.
.. implement it, so to speak, dulls. Knives only stay sharp as long as they're sharpened.
He's spent his days in offices, boardrooms, and courtrooms for nearly as long as Caterina's been alive.
Not exactly the environment for... sharpening knives. "
I look at Vito, my expression questioning. She does have a point.
Vito looks at Teresa, and there is a flicker of something in his gaze. Not just affection, but admiration. I know that look. He respects her opinion, and he listens to it. It's not a common quality in men like him.
It may even earn him a notch or two of my respect.
Not that I plan on telling him that.
He reaches over and takes her hand. "You are right.
Roberto's job is more white-collar now. He made the choice to go to law school for the good of the family.
And he's the one who takes care of all of that boring shit, the paperwork, the meetings, the contracts.
I think he actually likes it, to be honest," Vito adds disbelievingly, almost as if he couldn't imagine it.
"And we're all very grateful he does because none of the rest of us wanna do it. But... that's not all he does."