6. Chapter Six
6
Luca
The Moretti family seat was known as The Compound, a series of outbuildings surrounding the Neo-Classical mansion Lorenzo had built for his wife, Viviene, as a wedding present. Gaudy as hell and dripping with ostentatious wealth, the place had been designed to be a statement of power, but like most things Lorenzo did, it ended up being too showy for its own good, and the Compound had become the punchline of Boston's underworld. The estate itself had been in the Moretti family for over a hundred years, bought by their great-grandfather in the 1930s. Buildings were added later as the family grew and the needs of the household expanded. The Compound was a hub of activity, a gathering place for all the employees from the family’s both legitimate and illegitimate business endeavors. The grounds and garden were kept impeccably clean, a well-manicured lawn with a rose garden around the main house and a gravel drive that circled around the behind to the stables, garages, and guard shack.
It was late morning on a Thursday, so most of the people who lived or worked on the grounds were out. The groundskeepers were in full swing, mowing the lawn and pruning hedges, trying to take advantage of the first nice day we'd had in a week.
Pulling up to the front walk, I exited the hired car and made my way up the stairs, making sure to skirt around the workers. My appearance had changed, of course, since my days as a capo, and the looks on the faces of the people we passed told me they hadn’t forgotten. Some averted their eyes, while others stared openly. The younger ones, who hadn't known me before, were curious, while the older ones, who had known me my whole life, looked away with pity or disgust.
I kept my eyes forward and ignored them. Just being back here was already exhausting, and I had to force myself to concentrate on what I had to do instead of thinking about the beautiful woman lying in my bed back at my apartment. Sofia had been sound asleep when I left, her hair adorably messed and tangled on the pillow. Her eyes had still been puffy from crying and her skin had been scrubbed damn near raw, but I'd never seen anything more beautiful. I'd spent a good five minutes just standing there like a complete creep, watching over her as she slept, before I forced myself to leave, the memory of holding her in my arms the night before still fresh in my mind.
Helping her undress had nearly killed me. Sofia could barely function, exhaustion and the residual adrenaline taking its toll as I fumbled my way through helping her into the shower. Gentleman that I was, I kept my eyes closed as I helped her out of her soiled top and jeans, but I had hands—I could feel those curves, the goosebumps on her soft, chilled skin and it was all too easy to imagine them as a reaction to my touch, the little catch in her breathing because of me.
I was about five seconds away from hopping into the shower with her, and the only thing that stopped me was because she’d been traumatized enough, and I was, well, me.
Nobody wants to see what’s left of me, least of all her. I was going to have to drill that in my brain, or the next few days were going to be unbearable.
The first person I saw when I pushed through the mansion’s double doors was, inexplicably, Dante’s little sister Aria. She was bouncing down the grand staircase, her eyes glued to her phone, and I had to step back out of the way before she ran me over.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see—wait. Luca?”
I smiled wryly. “In the flesh. What’s left of it, at least.”
Aria’s eyes skated over me, then found something much more interesting to latch onto over my right shoulder. “Oh no, you look good. It’s just…wow. I didn’t know you were back.”
Good. Ha. I looked like a hobo. I shifted uncomfortably. I should have cleaned myself up first, maybe taken another whack at shaving or get a haircut. God, how could Sofia stand to look at me? Aria was a sweet girl—a little vain and flighty, but sweet—and she could barely look me in the eyes. Or…eye, as it were. I mean, I knew I looked rough, but I guess being around Sofia and the way she seemed to look past all that had made me feel like a real person again. Made me forget.
Almost.
“I’m not back yet,” I told her. “Julian needed my help with something. Do you happen to know where he is? Or Dante?”
Aria shrugged. “They’re somewhere around here. The mansion’s crawling with people today, I guess Sal’s having a meeting or something.”
A meeting? That was news to me. “Any idea what it’s about? I’ve been a little out of the loop.”
“Not a clue. I don’t pay much attention to the boys and their war games, I’ve got better things to do. Although I might start purely out of boredom. It’s been a complete snoozefest around here since Sofia left. She still playing nurse? Must be some home visits, I don’t hear from her much anymore.”
Aria wiggled her eyebrows, and I ducked my head. Despite the warmth buzzing in my blood at the thought of Sofia paying attention to me like that, taking care of me…touching me…there was still a larger part of me that was absolutely horrified to be seen in such a vulnerable state by her. It was a crazy kind of catch twenty-two; I craved connection, touch…yet at the same time, I couldn’t fucking stand it.
“I just saw her yesterday, actually, she was the one who told me Julian was trying to get ahold of me. I haven’t been the greatest at returning calls.”
Aria’s smile fell, and she sobered. “It’s not like you didn’t have your reasons. I’m glad to see you back, Luca, and on your feet. You’ll get there. It just takes time…”
“Thanks.”
“…and maybe the love of a good woman. I’m just saying, Luca. Sofia is right in front of your nose.”
Aaaand she was back. Aria winked at me and twirled off, her nose already buried in her phone. I watched her go, dumbstruck, before I shook myself out of it. No way.
I found Dante and Julian in the kitchen. Dante was at the stove, making himself an omelet. I had to blink twice at the oddly domestic sight of him cooking. Julian was sitting at the island, sipping a cup of coffee and scrolling through his phone.
They both looked up when I came in. Julian got to his feet, brow creased with uncharacteristic concern. "How is she?"
I sighed. As a forewarning, I’d briefly brought Julian up to speed on what had happened last night, keeping the details as light as possible. Sofia’s brother had processed the incident with meticulous control, although his hackles had risen when I’d mentioned Sofia’s involvement.
"As good as can be expected,” I said. “It was a shock. She's taking it hard."
Julian nodded. He looked exhausted. I wondered if he had slept at all last night.
Dante slid the omelet he'd been preparing in front of me. "Eat. You look like a corpse."
I ignored it. "Speaking of which, how did it go last night?"
"It's taken care of. They found the body this morning on the Red Line."
Julian blinked owlishly at Dante. "You dumped the girl's body in the subway? What the hell is wrong with you?"
Dante pointed at him with his knife. "If you saw what was left of her, you'd have done the same thing. Actually, you wouldn't—you'd have called me, because you wouldn't want to ruin that pretty manicure of yours."
"Luca called you," Julian scowled at him.
"Luca had to go take care of your sister, who had just watched her friend die. Apparently, that type of thing bothers some people."
"You're an animal."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
I stepped in front of Julian before their bickering could devolve further. "Sofia said the girl had a family. I told Dante to make it look like she'd had an accident, and he did what he could do. It's done."
Julian's shoulders slumped. "How did Sofia get wrapped up in this, anyway? Just who was this Beth person to her—Dante said she had connections to us?"
I didn't know how much Dante had told Julian, but one look at my friend told me he'd kept it minimal, just like I had. I would play along. I already knew Sofia was lying about where she worked, and I didn't want to get her into hot water with big brother.
"Just a girl she met out one night at a bar, I think. She lived a few blocks down. Sofia just happened to be passing by, must have been moments after."
Julian cursed. "She could have been killed."
I said nothing. That horrific thought had already crossed my mind. Sofia had missed the killer by minutes, maybe even seconds. And someone who could work a woman over like that wouldn't hesitate to put down a witness.
"Do we have any idea who did it?"
I looked over at Dante. The guy had ears all over the city and seemed to know everything about everybody. I guess it helped to know somebody's dirty laundry when you were planning to kill them.
"Bethany Nowak was a server at Tipsy's Sports Bar in Charlestown," Dante recited, not looking up from the pepper he was julienning. "Mom lives in Revere. Pop’s not in the picture, a bum who’s doing a dime down in Cedar Junction for larceny and aggravated assault. She’s got a half-sister by dear old Daddy who she was pretty tight with, but sis went off the radar a few years ago. I’m still working on her. Beth pays her bills on time, likes to smoke pot on the weekend, and has an Instagram account for her pet ferret."
"A ferret?" Julian asked.
"A small domesticated species belonging to the weasel family."
"I know what a ferret is."
"Then don't interrupt. Beth was a rather boring individual, apart from her abysmal taste in men. Losers and users, one right after another. Clear self-esteem issues. The current main squeeze was one David Henschel, the owner/manager of Tipsy's Sports Bar. He's cheating on Beth with one of the younger servers and owes us 200K."
Julian frowned. "What did he need that kind of money for?"
"Still digging," Dante said. "If he put it into the bar, I can't see where the hell it all went, because the place is a dump. Nobody's seen Davey since two nights ago."
I leaned against the counter. My head was starting to ache. "Murdered?"
"Flew the coop. Bought a one-way ticket to New York, but he didn't cover his tracks for shit. Give me a couple days. I'll find him."
Julian and I shared a look. Missing money and a mutilated woman on Sofia's doorstep. I could practically smell the tension rolling off Julian, and he didn't even know the half of it. Not only had Sofia apparently worked with both Davey and Beth at the sports bar, Beth had also confided to Sofia about Davey owing money to the mafia.
Money, apparently, one of our guys had committed murder over.
Julian's calculating brain ratcheted around the problem. "Are we sure it was us? Maybe it was the boyfriend. You know—Beth's murder could have been retaliation for her trying to steal the money from Davey. This seems brutal, even for us. I don't think one of our guys could have done this."
Dante cracked an egg into the pan. "If there was a hit ordered on either of them, I would have known about it. And our guys know better than to push a warning too far, especially with a woman. Whoever did this was a fucking butcher. I agree. It wasn't us."
Actually, there was one guy who fit the bill perfectly, but he'd been in exile since his hyper-fixation on the leader of the McTiernan Clan nearly brought us to blows again with the Irish.
Dominic Moretti
Lorenzo’s last surviving son blamed Tommy Quinn for the death of his father and his brother, and he had vented his rage by targeting Quinn's friends and family. What we didn't know at the time was that the Russians had been quietly stoking the fire between our two families in the hopes they could become king of the ashes, but Quinn had figured it out with a little help from yours truly, and in an unprecedented move, the Irish mobster had chosen to spare Dominic's life in return for his exile from the city. It was ballsy, and some might even have considered it a stupid move on Quinn’s part, but the tentative peace between the families for the first time in nearly thirty years was undeniable.
As for Dominic? He’d been shipped out of the state the next day—hell, maybe even out of the country. I wasn't sure where Sal was keeping Dominic these days, but Beth's murder had Dominic's MO written all over it. He was a brutal sociopath who loved to hold a grudge.
And even worse, Dominic and I had a history.
Two years ago when the war between the families was just heating up, Dominic and his little brother Angel had made Emilia's life hell. Angel had envisioned himself some kind of gigolo and hadn't taken it well when Emilia shut him down. You see, Emilia only had eyes for Alfie Doyle, the master-at-arms for the McTiernan Clan, and Sofia and I had kept her secret until the very end.
Even though that secret broke my heart.
I scraped my plate into the trash and ignored Dante's scoff. Even if I had an appetite, that last bit about Emilia killed it. I tried not to think about her, happy and married with the love of her life down in South Carolina, because it just made me feel like an asshole.
I should be happy for her. I was happy for her.
But the memory of our single shared kiss was burned in my memory forever.
It was one of those things. A what if. A what could have been. She was the only girl I'd ever loved, but I recognized it for the childish crush it had been, now. We were kids and I'd just wanted her to know how I felt. She had been my best friend, the only person I could really count on. I wanted her to know that I would never leave her, never abandon her, that I would always be there for her, no matter what.
That I would never hurt her the way her mother had hurt her.
So I kissed her. And for a few seconds it had been perfect. Until I realized she wasn't kissing me back.
Sofia, of course, knew all about my little crush. She seemed like such a kid back then, a wild party girl with romance on the brain and an overenthusiastic supporter of my pursuit of her cousin. Nobody had been more surprised than her when I'd crashed and burned. Except, maybe, for me. Unrequited love was something I was all too familiar with.
A hand on my shoulder made me jump. I didn't like being touched, especially when I couldn't see it coming. A byproduct of my body being moved and poked and prodded against my will at the hospital.
"You all right?" Julian was looking at me. He'd withdrawn his hand, but he was still frowning.
"I'm fine. Let's get on with this—Sofia said you needed my help?"
I was already tired. I just wanted this meeting over. I had the beginning of another headache, and I was anxious to get back to my apartment.
And Sofia.
"Yeah," Julian said. "I'm not sure how much Sofia told you about the situation we're in, but it's not good. We took a big hit in that last bout with the Irish—"
"It's a good thing Sal accepted Quinn's olive branch, because there wouldn't be enough of us left to mop the floor with once they got done with us," Dante finished. "We're hurting for guns, money is tight, and everybody's looking to muscle in while we thrash it out in our death throes."
Julian held up a hand, cutting Dante off. "It's about respect . In this day and age, respect is earned through wealth and influence. Through power. Not busting kneecaps. It's earned in the boardroom and it's earned through backing the right horse. Greasing palms and exerting our influence behind the scenes until we're in everybody's pocket, until they are asking us what their next move is."
"Julian has lofty ambitions," Dante said dryly.
"I see the future of this family," he corrected. "Sal doesn't. He's still operating in the stone age like this is a Scorsese film, all vendettas and breaking heads and streets running with blood, when in reality, we are living in the digital age. Our generation grew up with the internet, and this is how the game is played. Nobody’s going to take us seriously, and fear only motivates people so far, until they turn around and bite you back. We need to show the world we're not just thugs with guns. The Moretti family has deep pockets, a long history, and a respected name. It's about time we acted like it."
"You're not going to be able to make an omelet without breaking a few eggs," Dante quoted, holding up his plate.
"Funny guy. I am well aware of that, but there is a time and a place for that sort of thing. Sal’s methods are going to draw attention. Federal attention. We need to be smarter than that; this war isn't going to be won in the streets." Julian turned to me. "Which is where you come in. You’ve played both sides. You've got a level head, and you're not afraid to get your hands dirty."
"In case you noticed, my head's not too level right now. You know, on account of getting shot and all," I said bitterly. "And as far as my hands go..."
I held up my right hand. Fun fact—damage to the left side of your brain affects the right side of your body. Biology is wild. It cost me a lot to show Julian how my hand still shook like a ninety-year-old with palsy, but he had to know the truth before he put too much stock in my help.
I made myself look him in the eye. "I can't even hold a gun."
Dante had turned back to the stove, but he was banging the pans and utensils a lot harder than he had to. Julian studied my hand for a minute, his face unreadable.
"Do you know why I'm doing this?" he asked quietly.
I shook my head.
"Because I want to save this family. Because I want us to survive." Julian looked at Dante, and then back at me. "Because if I don't, who will? This war nearly killed us. If these trends, this brutish way of business keeps up, we're not going to be a family anymore. We're just going to be a bunch of dead bodies in the street."
He wasn’t wrong. Violence begats violence. I was firsthand evidence of that.
"This war nearly killed you, Luca. You didn't deserve what happened to you, and I'm sorry that it happened. But I need you now. We need you. I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but I can't do this without you. You have a way about you, a calming presence, and that's what we need. Starting right now."
"What's right now?"
"Sal called a meeting," Dante said. "Nobody knows what it's about, but Julian is going to make his bid for power. And he wants you there."
Julian crossed his arms. "Some of the guys feel like we do, but if the rest see you've come back..."
He wanted me to be a damn mascot. I should probably have been furious at that, but it wasn't like I was good for much else.
"All right," I said tiredly. "I'm in."
“Great.” Julian clapped a hand on my shoulder, and I winced. “Now, let’s go see what Sal wants.”
I started to follow him out of the kitchen, but Dante stepped in front of me, blocking the way. He leaned close so only I could hear him. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Julian, but I looked into that sports bar Beth worked at—Tipsy’s? You said that Sofia met Beth there and they became friends or something?”
My stomach sank. I didn’t like where this was headed. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“Uh huh.” Dante sucked on a tooth. “You might want to get the real story out of your girl. Because Tipsy’s? The Sofia I know wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like that. The joint makes Hooters look like a Michelin five star, and I wouldn’t trust the clientele around a woman if I had two forties pointed straight at their noggins. Oh, and while you’re at it, you should ask her how her commute to the City Councilor’s Office is going these days.
“What are you talking about.”
“Did some digging there too. I spoke to Alexander Hastings’ secretary. She’s never heard of Sofia. I don’t know what your girl’s playing at, but she’s hiding something. I thought I’d give you a chance to parse it out before I blow it sky-high. You’ve got more finesse than I do, and I don’t envy Julian’s blood pressure when he finds out what Sofia has been up to.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed until the red haze withdrew from my vision. From the doorway, Dante watched me carefully.
Keeping secrets was one thing. Sofia didn’t owe me explanations or justifications; her life was her own. But if Tipsy’s was the kind of place she was frequenting—or worse, working at—then I was going to have to get involved. Because the thought of her in a place like that, around that kind of degradation, that kind of danger juiced up my inner alpha male and made me want to give that bar a little interior decorating.
With somebody’s entrails.
“Or maybe I should be more concerned about your blood pressure,” Dante said carefully. “You tight, man?”
“Yeah. I’m tight,” I growled. “Let’s go get this meeting over.”
***
Salvadore Giordano had not changed a bit since I'd seen him last. Paunchy and balding with a comb-over that was fooling no one, he always had a permasmile like he was everybody's favorite uncle. He envisioned himself as some kind of mafia don, but in my opinion, he'd just watched too many movies.
Sal was related to the family through his wife Isabella Moretti, one of the late Lorenzo Moretti's many cousins. That alone didn't earn Sal his place at the table, but the fact that his cousin was Tony Giordano, did. Tony ran the mafia down in Providence, and his operation made ours look like a kiddie show.
We all filed into the conference room. Sal was already seated at the head of the table, pompous bastard that he was, with Lorenzo's massive portrait sneering behind him. I had to swallow hard as I looked at it. It was impossible to look at that picture and not see Lorenzo's sons in him. Dominic had the same heavy brow and the same dark hair. The same obsessive gleam to the eyes.
Looking around at the table, I was surprised by how many new faces I saw. I thought I knew everyone in the family, but I realized that a lot had happened while I was out. A lot had changed.
Julian took a seat next to me.
"Welcome home, Luca," Sal said. His voice was the same as I remembered, gravelly and phlegmy like he'd been smoking forever.
"It's good to be back," I said, looking around the table at old friends and strangers before settling on Julian, trying to telegraph my support.
"I don't think everyone here knows you, but this is Luca Mariano, one of our finest young capos. Or, he used to be. You may have heard about his recent difficulties..."
My face burned red and I looked down at the table, hating him a little for that.
"It's unfortunate what happened to him, and I know we all wish him a full recovery, but I think that his time off will give him a different perspective. And that's something that we can use right now. Perspective. And a new way of doing business."
I glanced over at Julian, who looked as shocked as I felt, although he probably hid it better. This sounded along the lines of the point Julian had made in the kitchen, a point Sal seemed to be leading up to.
And I kept right on thinking that, until Tony Giordano stepped into the room and put his arm around Sal.
The guy oozed power. Flawless, bespoke suit, black hair with a sprinkling of salt-and-pepper at the temples, a chiseled face that was more rugged than handsome. He had the look of an old movie star, a matinee idol that still had all the power and authority of a man who was feared rather than loved.
"Perspective," he began. "Perspective. It's so easy to lose it, isn't it?"
Tony smiled and walked around the table.
"Look around you, gentlemen. See these new faces? These are the faces of men that have come to make your family whole again. They're the sons, the cousins, the nephews of your fallen brothers. They've come from Providence and Boston and even as far away as Philadelphia. All of them have been handpicked by me to bolster this family, and to make you whole again."
Oh, shit. The new faces weren’t tapped by us for a seat at the table, they’d been given one by the Giordano Family. Plants.
Tony's eyes lingered on me as he continued. "Trauma breeds a change in perspective. Loss breeds a change in perspective." He smacked the table. "And I want to make sure we all have the same fucking perspective before we move forward."
Tony's eyes shifted to Julian, whose face was rapidly darkening. Under the table, I shoved my knee into his and shook my head.
"We know who the enemy is," Tony said. "The Irish…the fucking Russians. They have taken too goddamn much from you, and now it's time to take back what's yours. We will do this with vengeance, and we will make sure they never forget it."
Tony turned his back on us and looked up at the portrait on the wall.
"Lorenzo Moretti, may he rest in peace, was a good friend of mine," he said, "and I intend to do right by his memory. I have named Salvatore Giordano as Don of the Moretti Crime Family, and I trust he will carry out my wishes as if they were my own."
The room erupted. Most of the guys were cheering and clapping Sal on the back, but I saw plenty who were still sitting with the same shell-shocked expression on Julian's face. Only Dante seemed cooly oblivious to it all, like he was barely paying attention, even though I knew he was clocking every reaction in the room.
Sal held up his hands to quiet the room and skewered Julian with his gaze. "Thank you, and I hope this puts to bed any talk of changing up the playbook. The time for change is over, and it's time we get back to business. And as such..."
Another figure walked into the room, and my blood ran cold.
"I name Dominic Moretti as Consigliere."
Dominic smiled thinly as the room broke out into scattered applause, his eyes fixed on me. Any doubts I had over Beth's killer evaporated.
As sure as I was sitting there, Dominic had killed her. And Sofia was intimately involved.
Dante met my eyes and shook his head imperceptibly. I took a deep breath and kept my mouth shut.
Sal turned to Julian. "Now that we have that out of the way, I think there's something you wanted to say.
Julian stood slowly, his jaw set. I could see his pulse hammering in his throat.
"It seems to me," he said quietly, "that this is a time when we should be evolving. Not falling back into old habits that could draw unwanted attention."
Salvatore nodded, as if he was actually considering what Julian was saying. "I appreciate the advice, son, and I'll take it into account. But you have to understand that the time for talking is at an end. Now is the time for action. Aggressive action."
He looked around the table. "Anybody else?"
Nobody spoke, and Sal grinned.
"I thought not."