CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
cosimo
The scent of cigar smoke and whiskey still clung to my suit like a second skin as I slid into the armored car in the bay beneath Conall O’Kelly’s fortress. I waited with my men while the doors opened, allowing us to drive into the alleyway.
Conall O'Kelly, Maxim Volkov, Angelo Santelli, and Ilias Anthakos remained upstairs, their low laughter echoing in my ears as the door swung shut behind me. Four men who commanded empires spanning the country, their power as palpable as the weight of the gold signet ring on my finger. They were the Commission—a council of criminal royalty—and tonight, I had sat at their table.
Respect and fear warred within me as I navigated the lobby, my footsteps echoing against the cement floor. I respected what they had built—empires of influence and control—but I feared what they would do once they found out I was using them. They held the key to power, alliances, and answers.
Answers about Fausto.
My brother's charred remains in that burned-out car still haunted me. Fausto—the bright one, the golden one—was reduced to ash and bone. And Francesca Santelli…she knew something. Angelo’s little sister had always been a ghost in the corners of Fausto’s life, her presence fleeting yet significant. My gut told me she held a piece of the puzzle, and I intended to get it from her—one way or another.
Nico’s expression resembled a storm cloud, his dark eyes narrowing. “Don Oliveto,”
he greeted, his tone tense. No “Cosimo”
tonight. He used my title only when he disapproved of something I had done. He handed me a folder as soon as the door closed.
“Here’s the intel we gathered from the Vallone docks, as requested.”
Nico’s voice was sharp, his eyes fixed on me with the predatory intensity he reserved for moments of confrontation. “You’ll find everything necessary for us to make our move.”
I took the folder, flipping it open to scan the photographs and reports inside. Dock schedules, shipment manifests, and a list of names—all of it painted a picture of Don Vallone’s operation. Vallone was careful, yet he was no match for everyone working together. The reports included in the folder didn’t equal the data that O’Kelly had, but that irritating fucker was meticulous and thorough in a way that was hard to compete with. I couldn’t fault his intel.
“Good work,”
I remarked, but Nico stayed tense. “This aligns with what O’Kelly has. They have more details, but this is solid.”
Nico never relaxed. His loyalty was unwavering, yet he didn’t hesitate to challenge me when he thought I was mistaken. And tonight, he felt I was wrong.
“I need to know something,”
Nico said, his voice low but edged with steel. “What on earth happened with Francesca Santelli?”
I snapped the folder shut and met his gaze directly. “What are you talking about?”
I asked, pretending I didn’t know what he meant.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Cosimo.”
The title was gone now, replaced by something more personal—something more dangerous. “You sent someone to rattle her, not to attack her. What happened?”
A muscle in my jaw tightened. “I gave explicit instructions: no physical contact, just enough pressure to convey a message.”
“Well, your clear instructions didn’t mean shit,”
Nico snapped. “The bastard went too far. Francesca was assaulted.
My stomach churned, anger rising like bile. “Assaulted?”
The word tasted bitter. I wanted her frightened, not harmed. Never harmed. That wasn’t exactly true. I would have gone a little further if I could get answers.
“Yes, assaulted,”
Nico spat, his voice rising. “The fucker put his hands on her. Strangled her. If Angelo Santelli finds out, we could be in serious trouble. You think we can afford that kind of heat right now?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, frustration twisting tightly in my chest. The man had been a blunt instrument—useful yet unpredictable. I should have seen this coming. “I’ll handle it.”
“You’d better,”
Nico said, leaning forward, his presence imposing. “Because this? This is the kind of shit that gets people killed. And if you think the Commission won’t notice, you’re delusional. Angelo’s already protective of her. If he connects this to you, it’s not just your head on the line. It’s all of ours. We need this alliance with the Commission. It could benefit the famiglia.”
Nico ran a hand over the back of his neck in frustration. “I understand that you still want to find out who killed Fausto, but you need to leave these guys out of it. Leave the girl alone.”
I exhaled slowly, reminding myself to stay calm. “He’ll keep quiet.”
“He’d better. And you’d better think twice about using someone like him for something this delicate. Francesca Santelli isn’t just a pawn, Cosimo. She’s Angelo’s sister. And whether you like it or not, that makes her untouchable.”
Untouchable. The word echoed in my mind as the car merged into traffic, the city lights casting long shadows across Nico’s hardened face. He was right, of course. Francesca was untouchable—at least for now. But that didn’t mean she was out of reach. If she held the key to Fausto’s death, I would find a way to get it.
No matter the cost.
I had to know.
Nico would flip out if he knew she wasn’t only Angelo’s sister but also O’Kelly’s wife. If Nico thought she was untouchable before, I wonder what he would think of her now.