Chapter 41 – Vincenzo
The purr of the bike faded as I cut the engine. Night wrapped around me in a blanket of secrets. Death permeated the air. Destruction sped on the breeze. The large pieces of machinery loomed against the black backdrop, and what few lights shown were garish and white against the brutal scene.
From what I could tell, the attack had been repulsed.
I huffed a breath of relief and pushed back on my seat. It would be astronomically stupid to venture into the aftermath unannounced.
But it seemed the green devil already knew I was here.
A black shape strode away from the portable office, cutting a hand through the air for his men to stand down. I pulled the helmet from my head, skin instantly cooled by the moon’s silvery kiss.
“Nice of you to show up,” Liam growled.
My fingers itched for the gun under my jacket.
I should have let them kill him. Ultimately, he’d been responsible for the men in the car who’d driven by the bar, pausing to shoot the scum who’d planted a bomb and blown up his face.
But as much as I hated him for carrying out this war, it was me who was responsible for keeping my wife safe.
So, Liam McDonagh lived to see another day.
And when I’d been ordered by the don to pass on some valuable intel, I did it in a timely fashion, which clearly tipped the balance in his favor tonight.
“This war has to end.” I tapped my helmet against my bike.
Liam stopped ten feet in front of me. Deep shadows draped over his body, hiding the carnage from the fire. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Don Morelli has a vested interest in seeing you come out on top. We’re going to put an end to this conflict, before the law comes sweeping through here to clean up the streets.”
“You would do that?” he scoffed.
“It’s already done.”
The words were whip, cracking sharply. “We appreciate the tip, but the war’s not over.”
“It is.” I took a deep breath. “Your new allies won the day.”
Liam bowed his head. “Thank fuck.”
“Don’t thank me just yet,” I said, voice hard. “The don wants this alliance solidified—quickly.”
Liam took a step forward. The building cut a sharp line across his body, a splinter of moonlight falling on his face. That face. I knew he’d been burned, but—
Santa Maria, prega per noi.
“How am I supposed to do that?” The menace in his voice thickened the brogue.
I let my teeth show. “Don’t worry, I’ve already prepared my best man speech.”
Liam cursed violently in Gaeilge.
“The fighting stops tonight.” I lifted my helmet, ready to pull it over my head.
“Oh, and that’s so easy.” Liam spread his arms wide, indicating the battlefield where his dead soldiers were still bleeding into the earth.
“It is.” I pulled the helmet down but flipped the visor up. “Clean this shit up. Can’t have any of your civilian workforce seeing this tomorrow when they come to dig and hammer and crap.”
Liam snorted at my description of the construction company. “The Black Stags will retaliate.”
“No, they won’t, not if you broker a peace deal.” I started the engine. “When I said we won the day, I meant it.”
And now the McDonagh Clan owed us.
“Oh! And why don’t I ask the wee folk where they’ve hidden the treasure of the Dromo Cairn?”
I had no patience for his frustration. “The leaders of the Black Stag Organization are dead. The lower officers won’t want to fight if they fear they’ll be next for a Morelli bullet. They’ll come to the table. Be ready with terms.”
The green devil whistled. Finally, something that came out of his mouth that didn’t make me want to shoot him. It was good to be the powerful one on the streets. Having an assassin at our beck and call was already proving very useful.
“We’ll be seeing you soon,” I promised.
With that, I slapped the visor down and darted away.
My work here was done. Liam stared after me, and in my peripheral, I caught sight of a gnarled, twisted visage.
Those scars would never heal well. There was no plastic surgeon on earth who could perform a miracle on that face, even if the green blooded fucker wanted to go under the knife.
My money was on the fact that he would prefer to embrace his brutal new image, wearing the scars as a badge of pride.
I just hoped his bride could stomach it. I truly felt bad for whichever Deluca girl walked down the aisle to that. But I wasn’t their father, and the alliance hadn’t been my idea.
Speeding down the street, only good feelings surged through me.
Amanda was safe. We had a half-formed plan to neutralize the threat against her, and with a little more time, no more foreigners would come clamoring for her hand.
Her father’s businesses were crumbling, piece by piece.
The parts I wasn’t actively taking down would fall because of his deals with slimy scum like Varga.
The Morelli Famiglia thrived. This new alliance with the Irish would solidify our position in Boston for several generations—so long as the bride didn’t kill the ugly green mutt.
I was a king in the night, powerful, wealthy, and everything a woman like my wife deserved.
The engine purred, ready to rev and accelerate.
But a pair of headlights at the next corner had me easing up. A cold sweat broke over my skin. My heartrate quickened, and time slowed. The Ford Explorer was clearly on the prowl.
I wasn’t speeding.
There was no reason for him to pull me over.
Still, it took what felt like an eternity for me to travel the two blocks past where the cop lurked. My body shook badly enough to make the bike tremble.
The seconds ticked.
There was no moisture on my tongue.
The headlights brushed over me, reminding me that the law was waiting. One screw up, and I would fall.
The bike rolled down the street, and I took the next left. A block over, and I went right. Cars passed on the road, but I pulled off, parking at the mouth of an alley. My legs could barely hold me. The bike tipped, balance threatened.
I ripped off the helmet and gulped air. It burned my throat. But it was the only thing to keep the writhing, putrid fear away.
This—this was a principal reason why I built my empire. I could have been a successful mobster. The Morelli Famiglia would need a new don one day, and most of the soldiers probably assumed the crown would be passed to me.
But I wanted to walk away. I wanted to be free of the constant threat of detection. Only a man like that could claim a queen like Amanda.
It didn’t mean I was forsaking the morally questionable business tactics. Far from it! My empire was built off underworld principles. And I would still happily deal with kingpins, make deals with sharks, and partner with crime bosses.
I just didn’t want to be seen as one. I didn’t want to carry the risk of being caught by the law in an illegal venture. Being a villainous businessman was better than being a Made Man destined for prison.
“I won’t go back,” I rasped. I would rather die.
***
Since Guglielmo had been out ending the war with the Irish with his assassin’s stealth and cunning, I had Golia standing guard in my condo.
There were few men I trusted to watch over such precious cargo, but Golia was wired like a dog.
When I said to stay and guard, he might have moved to the windows to assess for threats, but as I opened the door, it was hard to tell.
His feet were planted in the same place as when I’d left.
I should have been clearer in my instructions. “All good?”
Golia grunted.
In the entirety of my life, I had maybe heard him say a dozen words. Every Made Man of the Morelli Famiglia understood those grunts, deciphering the meaning from the sounds. We didn’t treat him as any less human for it.
“Thank you, Golia. You’re dismissed.” As I set my things on the kitchen counter, the giant lumbered to the door, grunted twice, and left.
A smile twitched at my lips. I wondered what my wife thought of her bodyguard.
Since there was nowhere else for her to hide, I crept to the bedroom. A soft meow greeted me. Bianco rubbed against my leg before trotting to the sofa to take his evening snooze. But my other boy? The grey one.
He was curled in Amanda’s arms, watching me with a fierce glint in those emerald eyes.
I stripped to my boxers, stepping into the bathroom to wash my hands before pulling back the covers. The fitted material of the shorts tightened around my thighs as my dick twitched eagerly at the sight of her slumbering form.
I drank her in.
Amanda was sleeping, well and truly asleep. No medication buried her in a pool of unconsciousness. I hated to disturb her. After shutting off the kitchen light, I tucked my gun under the pillow and eased my weight onto the bed.
Resisting her was an impossible fight. I curled on my side, fisting my hands to my chest to keep from reaching out. She hadn’t invited me back, but I’d stayed away as long as I could. After battling fear on the streets, there was only one place I could go.
One place where I felt truly safe.
Tomorrow, I would apologize for returning before she summoned me. For tonight, I needed to hold her. To pretend that she was mine.
She wasn’t. Not truly. Not in the ways that mattered. Yes, her body responded with a fierce passion to me. I just gave her what her body needed in those moments. And while she might still thirst for that release, I craved her choice. She needed to want me as badly as I wanted her. Because I did.
Per sempre.
After our rushed disaster of a wedding, I used every opportunity to give her space to adjust. Fate, it seemed, had other plans.
That fickle fiend forced us together, over and over.
I dealt with the changes as best I could.
And truth be told, I was glad to be the one who could keep her safe.
Be her rock. When I came back from prison with every intention of destroying her father, I never planned to destroy her world—but other forces did that anyhow.
Which made it more important to have her desire freely given.
No tricks. No playing on her body’s carnal desire.
Having her truly want me would be the ultimate victory, and that required self-sacrifice.
So, I lay there as she slept, drinking her in from the short distance, resisting the urge to touch my beautiful wife.
Maybe I would be able to sneak out before she woke up. Then she wouldn’t know I’d been weak. That I couldn’t do the one thing that I said and stay away.