Chapter 2
Rumors runrampant in our small circles of family and associates. Who needs social media when the Italian gossip mill can blaze from house to house faster than a California wildfire? I’d heard plenty of stories involving Shae Byrne—our cousins are married to one another—but our paths hadn’t crossed until now. Not in such a direct manner. Seeing her at a distance is an entirely different experience than being the sole focus of her charismatic confidence.
I can see why she’s developed a reputation. I try not to let whispers color my judgment, but in this case, Shae was everything promised and more. The way she goaded me—few would be so brazen. I would have said it was reckless had she not been able to back up her words with actions, but she can and did. She moved so damn fast that I barely had time to react.
It was beautiful, if I’m honest.
The phrase poetry in motion comes to mind as I watch her leave the warehouse, her athletic frame moving lithely with each confident stride toward the exit. I can’t seem to tear my gaze away until the door closes behind her.
I rub my face, probably getting grease all over me, but not caring. I need to shake off whatever spell she cast and get my head on straight. I have too many responsibilities weighing on me to allow in distractions.
I turn to my guys. “I understand you wanted to protect me, and I appreciate that, but no one is to lay a finger on her. Understood?” I demand in a calm but firm tone. I’m not going to explain my outburst any further. It’s none of their damn business, and to explain, I’d have to figure it out for myself first. That’s not happening. It could only lead to no good.
I meet each man’s stare before letting the subject drop. “Let me know as soon as this damn thing is operational.” I scowl at the forklift, then head for the back exit where I parked.
Shae wasn’t wrong when she pointed out that this meeting today wasn’t exactly worthy of my time, but our alliance with the Irish is relatively new, and it was my fault we hadn’t returned their guns to them weeks ago. I thought it would be a show of goodwill to handle the matter personally. And I can admit that knowing Shae would be here impacted my decision. I was curious, and rightfully so. Shae Byrne is rather fascinating.
When I get to my car, I check my phone and see a text message from my mom.
Mom: I need to talk to you.
I sigh heavily. It’s been one hell of a month taking over the business and dealing with my father’s death. Mom has struggled. I feel responsible to help her through, but so many other matters also demand my attention.
Months before Dad died, his own brother-in-law, my uncle Fausto, tried to overthrow him. It seems he’d had his sights set on being boss for years, his fury going back years to when I’d taken over as underboss. I can’t say how many others might have the same resentment about a twenty-eight-year-old not only rising to underboss but now boss of the entire Moretti family. The possibilities worry me. If I don’t prove myself quickly, I could be facing a violent overthrow and never see it coming.
Our loyalty as a family is unquestionable when it comes to outsiders, but squabbles within the organization are endless. That’s how it is with family.
Before Dad died, we’d been discussing a strategic marriage to Ariana de Bellis, daughter of the Giordano family boss. Uniting our families, especially now that the Gallo and Lucciano families have allied, would have been helpful. Christiano de Bellis ended up with a bullet between the eyes before we could solidify anything. The family has a new boss, so I’ve scratched that plan.
If given time, I’m confident my leadership skills would prove themselves worthy, but time is a luxury I can’t afford. I need to find a way to prove myself and soon, especially to the older generation. My ongoing worries about my standing is the reason Shae’s goading actually got to me. That sort of petty ploy would normally have rolled right off my shoulders. She managed to stab right where I was most sensitive, and I don’t think it was luck. Her ability to read a situation is impressive. That more than anything is why I wasn’t truly mad at her. I’m just glad I was able to jab back with equal accuracy.
Shae Byrne would be sitting at the helm of her organization if her cousins would allow it.
Maybe she’s content with her current standing. I’d guess she had to work a hell of a lot harder to get there than her cousins did. I respect that. Despite what she and others might think, I’ve had to face continuous scrutiny to get where I am. It might have been harder for someone else to rise to the top, but that doesn’t mean my journey has been easy. There’s no such thing as childhood when your father is grooming you for a place at the top.
I grew up in a 1980s mansion that doesn’t look much different today as it did then. When I pull up to the house, I feel at home and out of place at the same time. The house is so damn ostentatious. Dad was a big believer in appearances. I think a degree of subtlety can be even more effective in conveying a message. After all, can you actually be all that powerful if you have to tell everyone how powerful you are?
Regardless, Dad loved the place, and I doubt Mom will ever leave it now that he’s gone. So many of her best memories took place within those pale salmon-colored walls.
“Hey, Ma. Where are you?” I let myself in and drape my jacket over the back of a chair in the entry.
“In the kitchen.” Her voice echoes through the empty rooms. There’s furniture and decor and knickknacks, but no real life. My younger brother and cousin technically live with her, but they’re rarely home. It’s just her in the giant place. I find it depressing.
“Making yourself some dinner?” I smile and place a kiss on her cheek.
“Yeah, you want some? The tuna salad is fresh.”
“Nah, it’s still early for me.”
“You sure? I know how you love this stuff.”
“Ma, what’s up? You texted that you needed to talk, remember?”
Her eyes flit briefly to mine. Whatever she has to say, she’s nervous to say it.
“Don’t get upset.”
My eyelids drift shut as I blow a deep stream of air through my nose. “Jesus, what did he do now?” I should have known when I saw the tuna salad. She was trying to put me in a good mood.
“Nothing all that awful. You got yourself into a mess here and there, too, don’t forget.”
I glare at her to continue.
“He’s at the station. Got caught joy riding a stolen car,” she spits out quickly.
“Fuck, now I have to go down there and smooth things over.” We have plenty of contact. I should be able to get the charges dropped, but it’s a pain in my ass. I don’t have time for this bullshit.
“You know how hard it’s been for Sante. We have to be a little understanding. Taking in your cousin didn’t just involve giving him food and a bed.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” When I offered to be his guardian after he was orphaned months ago, I had thought my dad would be around longer so that I wouldn’t be parenting a troubled teen while taking over an entire Mafia family. The past month has been fucking brutal.
How do you think it’s been for him?
His father killed his mother then tried to overthrow Dad and was killed in an ugly standoff right in front of Sante. And here I am bitching about the inconvenience when I’ve hardly been around to guide the kid.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll go get him out of lockup and talk to him.”
Mom’s face pinches with worry. “There’s one more thing.”
Of course, there is. “What is it?”
“He had Tommaso with him,” she admits softly.
Just when I was starting to feel bad for the kid. My frustration forms angry knots in my neck and shoulders. I stretch my head from one side to the other.
“This isn’t going to end well if he doesn’t get his head on right.”
“I know, but I hate to give up on him too quickly.”
“I’m not giving up on anyone, but it’s been six months. Something’s gonna have to change.”
My younger brother Tommaso is two years older than Sante, but he’s not a typical nineteen-year-old. He’s crazy smart and impossibly dense at the same time. I don’t understand him. Most people don’t, which means he hasn’t made many friends. When Sante came into the fold, he and Tommaso clicked. They’re complete opposites, so I don’t get it, but the two are practically inseparable now. That adds another layer of complication to dealing with Sante’s behavioral problems. I have to decide whether sending Sante away is better or worse for Tommaso. Fuck if I know.
“I know,” Ma says sadly.
I give her another quick kiss. “Don’t worry. We’ll get it all sorted. I’m going to go get them released.”
“Thank you, Renz. If your dad were here…” She trails off. It guts me to see her hurting.
“I really don’t mind, Ma. Everything’s gonna be fine.” I give her the most reassuring smile I can summon before heading to the police station.
“You are so goddamnlucky it was the 13th precinct that picked you up. Anyone else would have slapped you with a DWI on top of the rest.” By the time the three of us get in my car, I’m so pissed I can hardly see straight. Sante fucking reeks of alcohol. Tommaso has shut down and won’t say a word. I’m ready to ship both off to fucking boot camp.
“They’re not gonna do anything. Those assholes know who we are,” Sante mutters from the passenger seat.
“What you don’t seem to understand is we don’t have an infinite number of get-out-of-jail-free cards,” I snap at him. “If we use up our favors on piddly shit like joyriding, we may not have any goodwill left to help when something bigger goes down. It’s a give and take. We don’t fucking own the entire force.”
He looks out the side window and says nothing. Good. I’ve reached my limit for bullshit.
I drive them back to Ma’s house. Even though I’m technically Sante’s guardian, he lives with her and Tommaso. I thought it might give him the feel of a more structured home life. At this point, I’m not sure things like that matter. He’s got too much shit going on in his head for that to make a difference. I’ve even tried to send the kid to counseling. He refuses to talk. There’s no helping some people. I’m hoping that’s not the case with him.
I haven’t given up on my young cousin yet, but I’ve definitely had enough for one day. I park at the curb in front of the house and wait for the boys to get out. As they do, two men exit from the car in front of me, one on either side. They close their doors and stare back at us with scowls on their faces. I don’t know them personally, but I’d bet good money they’re Russian.
Fuck me, what now?
I turn off the car, discreetly slide my gun back in its holster, and get out. Both boys amble over to stand with me.
“Is there a problem?” I ask, my voice devoid of emotion.
“There is. Seems your Italian brats like to take other people’s property.”
“That so? You got proof?” I back my blood. Always will. But in my head, I’m strangling the two shitheads standing at my sides.
“Watched the cops take ’em out of Biba’s yellow lambo.”
Fucking Christ. I never thought to ask about the car. I figured they’d nabbed something random off the street. But no, these two idiots had to target the head of the Russian mob. I can’t imagine it’s a coincidence, and Biba won’t see it that way either. He’ll want recompense.
“I don’t suppose Biba will be satisfied knowing we’ll be doling out our own punishment for their recklessness.”
The one who’s done the talking slowly turns his head side to side.
Looks like the boys are going to have to learn their lesson the hard way. “Fair enough. Fists only. Three strikes. This is the one who owes you.” I nod to Sante. “The other only followed.”
“I didn’t have to get in that car,” Tommaso says flatly.
It takes everything I have not to grimace and scream at him. I’m trying to do him a fucking favor and protect him, but he doesn’t get it. He never does.
I give a nod and look over at Sante who rolls his eyes.
“Whatever. It’s not like I haven’t taken a punch before.” He swaggers over with liquid courage still coursing through his veins. Dumbass has no clue that these guys aren’t some drunken college punks at a bar. His hands outstretch to the sides. “Do your worst.”
The one who’s done all the talking pulls his hand from his jacket pocket and I see a flash of gold as his fist barrels into Sante’s ribs. Fuck, he’s used brass knuckles.
My gun is in my hand and trained on the asshole before I can blink. This is so fucking stupid. We’re going to end up starting a war, but I have to do something. Sante will have broken ribs if he’s lucky, a ruptured spleen if he’s not.
“I said fists only,” I growl at them.
He smirks and raises his hands innocently. “It is my fist.”
“You know damn well brass is a weapon. Sante, you’re done. Get back here.”
He stumbles back to me, still bent at the waist and wheezing.
“Tommaso, your turn, since you’re so keen to get one.” This time, I address the Russians. “One hit, no brass, and we’re done here, or I play target practice, and I don’t give a fuck who I piss off.”
The guy shrugs and steps back. Tommaso crosses to the other man, who has remained silent. Both stand and stare stoically at one another.
“Make better choices, gandon.” He seems totally unbothered, but when his fist collides with my brother’s face, it’s a savage blow as though he’d been saving up a week’s worth of frustration to vent into that one strike.
Tommaso whips around, blood spurting from his mouth, but he doesn’t go down. He spits, shakes his head, then slowly stands tall. He gives the man a single look as if to say we’re done here, then walks away. He doesn’t walk to me or wait for us to be done. He goes to the house and disappears inside as though heading in for dinner rather than escaping the grim reaper. I will never understand him.
“Give Biba my apologies. It won’t happen again.” I glower at his thugs, then escort my pissant cousin to the house. I acknowledge as I do that tonight was the last straw. If I don’t do something drastic, one or both of them is going to end up dead.