Chapter 42 – Liam #2
But to keep her safe, to prevent a war, I would do it secretly. She could never know it was me who did it. I would tell her my hands were tied by underworld politics, which technically wasn’t a lie. Although it was going to damn near kill me, I had to pretend disinterest and verbally refuse her.
Before I could answer, Gabriella fell to her knees. Just dropped. The motion didn’t jar her. There was no flicker of pain.
“Punish me if you want, but please, save my sisters.”
The sight of her on her knees, hands clasped in supplication was a knife straight to the chest. “You think I can do that?”
“You are the most powerful man I know,” she prayed.
The devil inside whispered. He saw the fucking opportunity that knelt in front of me.
Motherfucker….
It was right there.
This was a chance to play a complicated game of deception.
Let her assume that I would kill her father, get exactly what I wanted, and not do what she thought I would do while secretly doing it anyhow.
It was a complicated web. And in the end, she would be pissed.
I would deal with the fallout later. I wanted something, and this was the prime moment to get it.
Forgive me, little bird. I chose my next words carefully. “If I save you, I want something from you.”
Gabriella tensed, but her voice was full of relief as she blurted out, “Anything!”
I hummed, the sound almost loud enough to cover the self-hatred. “Are you sure you want to make that bargain, cailín?”
“Yes!” Tears sprang to her eyes. They made the amber flecks shimmer.
“Anything I want?” I leaned forward. I swore the shadow on the carpet had horns.
But Gabriella was blind to the danger. She nodded. “Anything you want, Liam.”
Slowly, with deliberate, punctuated movements, I plucked each finger encased in leather until the glove slid off my hand. I held the damaged appendage to her, letting her see what kind of vile beast she was selling her soul to to pay for her loved one’s lives.
Her delicate hand grasped mine without hesitation.
We shook.
But as she tried to let me go, I tightened my hold. I yanked her to her feet, bringing our faces directly in front of one another. Her secrets would be mine.
Finally.
“Go home,” I ordered. “Tomorrow night, have dinner ready by seven.”
Gabriella shook her head. Panic laced her voice. “What? Dinner? Why—what?”
“Do it.” I dropped my gaze to her bottom lip, which was red from her teeth. I wanted to kiss it more than I wanted to breathe.
But there was work to be done.
“Seven. On the dot.” I released her. If I didn’t, there might not be a chance for her to escape.
Gabriella faltered. Unbalanced, she managed to stumble to the door.
“Be prepared to pay, little bird,” I called after her.
Those whiskey eyes snapped to mine. They widened, just a fraction. And then she bolted.
“Buongiorno, Signor McDonagh,” Don Morelli emerged from his house, waving back his security detail. The fact that he had one at all was surprising. Their organization wasn’t flashy, and the single guard posed as a servant rather than hired muscle. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I stopped mid pacing, the worn plank under my heel groaned as I faced the don. “You have a problem in your ranks.”
“Intriguing.” Don Morelli held out a bottle of low carb beer.
The grimace twisted my lips before I could stop it.
The don only laughed. “I hate this shit too, but my wife says it’s better for me.”
He patted his stomach.
I clenched my fists at my side to keep from snatching the bottle and breaking it over his bleeding head. How could he stand there, laughing at me, when one of his men—his captain, no less—was currently committing domestic assault?
He doesn’t know.
That was the explanation I hoped for. While ignorance wasn’t an excuse, it was the best-case scenario.
“Tell me what’s on your mind, ragazzo?” he encouraged, setting my bottle on the porch rail and twisting his own open.
The rehearsed, polished response evaporated with my next breath. What I said instead was, “This is a formality. I’m going to teach your dog a lesson.”
The don cocked his head. “I haven’t had a dog in twenty years.”
This wasn’t a laughing matter. My restraint snapped, and my fist flew into the side of the house.
“Dio mio!” The don reared back. “What’s gotten into you?”
Shaking out my hand, scrapes leaking blood over the bare skin, I glared at him. “Deluca has been physically, verbally, and mentally abusing his wife and daughters, and you make jokes.”
To his credit, Don Morelli didn’t waver.
He looked me up and down, gaze sharpening.
That was the leader of the mafia. He might be a chameleon, polished when necessary, hoodlum when he was with his crew.
But underneath was the sharp mind that kept him out of jail and ran the most profitable black-market deals on the east coast.
“That is a very serious accusation,” he said, voice hard and cold. “What proof do you have?”
“Proof?” This fucker wanted proof? “Haven’t you seen his wife? Banged up and frightened?”
“Never.” The don held up a finger. “And before you say anything else, might I add that your source might not be the most credible.”
I took a step forward. “Did you just suggest my wife lies?”
“Gabby’s always seemed a good girl, but I’ve heard rumors that would twist even your gut, ragazzo.”
Great! Even this old fuck knew more about my wife than I did.
Shaking my head, I stayed focused. “You call yourself a leader but you don’t protect your own people.”
“And you do?” Don Morelli lifted a brow. “My condolences about your father, by the way.”
That was the last straw.
One moment, I was a few feet away from him.
The next, I had his sweatshirt in my fists.
“He needs to know that my wife is off limits,” I menaced.
It was that simple.
Don Morelli was unfazed. He took a sip of his bleeding bottle, despite being bent over and in the grasp of a madman.
“You kill him, and you’ll start a war.”
“I’m not killing him.” Yet.
No threat of war was stopping his death.
My wife was worth it. I would already be waiting in the shadows to kill the fecker if this charade wasn’t necessary.
But it was the only way to make my little bird sing.
So for now, we played the game and pretended that Deluca would escape unscathed with no more than a warning.
The wheels of a car squealed as the vehicle took the corner too fast. A tan sedan shot down the street. Brakes whined.
I saw the gunman right as he pointed the long rifle at us.
Time slowed to a handful of heartbeats. I twisted and grabbed the don. The gun popped. Morelli fell to the porch. Before I could join him, pain lanced my upper arm.
As the wooden planks rose up to meet me, the engine screamed in acceleration.
“Che cazzo!” Don Morelli thundered.
I gripped my upper arm, rolling over to see red lights disappearing down the road. “Fuck.”
The don swiped a hand through his hair. “Your friend?”
“How do you know it wasn’t yours?” I pushed up to sit, examining the leaking cut on my right bicep.
At least the gunman missed.
Don Morelli chuckled ruefully. “I know my enemies, ragazzo.”
I tugged off my jacket and pressed it on the wound.
“And,” the don sighed, rising and grabbing the unopened beer. “You’re not one of them. I’ll deal with Deluca.”
He held out the bottle.
It was better than nothing. I accepted the olive branch.
“No, I will.” This detail was important. “But you’ll be there. Dinner, my house. Tomorrow night.”
Don Morelli crossed his arms over his chest. “And why should I trust you not to kill my capo?”
You shouldn’t. Deluca was a dead man breathing. “Because I’m not interested in a war with my allies. But I will make sure he never touches my wife again.”
The don rubbed his jaw. “Deal.”