26. Bianca
Bianca
The Council occasionally hosts a party for protected families at Club Paradiso, on the top floor of the high rise on the Upper West Side, a block away from Central Park.
The club itself pays homage to the neo-noir aesthetic that defined New York back in the thirties and forties, only this modern version features a world-class DJ.
Curtained booths line the walls where people tuck themselves away to do who knows what, while the more daring commit their debauchery out in the open for everyone to see.
Since I’ve patroned Paradiso in the past hoping to rub elbows with people who could assist our family’s ascension to greatness, none of this comes as a surprise.
Carrying a gin and tonic, I match Marco stride for stride. The way we navigate the room with practiced ease, weaving through light conversations and empty smiles, is a shock to the system. We spent so long trying to tear each other apart that I never anticipated the fluid grace of our truce.
First up is Giulia and Filipo Gallo, founders of a nonprofit for runaway teens by day and peddlers in stolen organs on the black market by night. They’ve just returned to town from their second honeymoon in Italy and have a lot of advice for a newly married couple.
We let them prattle on for a bit before sneaking off. Marco leads me away, his raspy whisper against my ear making me shiver. “I bet you a hundred grand Filipo’s boning his secretary.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “What? You’re joking, right?”
Chuckling, he slips my hand over his forearm.
“Definitely not joking. Did you notice how Giulia constantly flashed that ridiculously massive diamond while we were talking? That’s the kind of thing you buy a woman when you’ve royally fucked up.
Remember how Filipo kept glancing ever so slightly to the left?
Check out his secretary over by the bar. ”
Intrigued in spite of myself, I peek at the ornately carved bar that runs along one entire wall of the club.
A pretty young man with blond hair and pouty lips tongues the straw of his drink while staring at someone in the crowd.
Marco gently tilts my head to follow the young man’s line of sight, where Filipo and his wife chat with Capitano.
Filipo stares right back, and I whistle beneath my breath.
Marco shrugs. “His assistant’s wearing a ring twice as big and twice as ugly as Guilia’s. A bribe to keep them in the closet is my guess. His wife probably never thought anything of the two of them working late together.”
I gawk at Marco. “All of that from a five-minute conversation about Roth IRAs?” I rock back on my heels. “Marco Argento, you are a certified gossip.”
He cuts me a devastatingly crooked grin. “I’m not a gossip, principessa. I’m informed.”
For the next hour, Marco gossips while I put his intel to good use among the other families present. We develop a rhythm, and before long, we’re finally in front of our target.
“Maresciallo, how delightful to see you!”
Maresciallo Leandro teaches at the Bronx Community College.
In addition to his day job, he also happens to work as one of Zanni’s marshals.
Tasked with cleaning up crime scenes, hunting down troublemakers, and enforcing the Code, it’s rare to catch Leandro at a Council party.
When he’s not grading papers and planning lessons, he’s disappearing bodies.
Leandro looks as out of place here as I feel. The forty-year-old is dressed in a suit that’s too big through the shoulders and a pair of worn loafers. His craggy face is unassuming, and his prematurely gray hair shines under the lights.
As Marco and Leandro talk, I stand quietly and sip my drink. As much as I’d love to take charge of the discussion, Leandro’s a traditionalist. Which means that he doesn’t necessarily approve of women holding positions of power within the organization.
It’s no surprise then that he doesn’t even pause to acknowledge me. No matter how many times I prove myself as capo, men like Leandro don’t think that I deserve to be where I am. Especially with the rumors that circulated after the Canary Club.
Men and women who once treated me with deference now whisper beneath their breath when I pass. The Ice Princess isn’t nearly as impressive after the airing of her dirty laundry and her public meltdown.
“Anyways, the ring belonged to my mother, and it should have been passed down to Bianca after we got married. Unfortunately, Papà submitted it to the Library a few years ago.” Marco winces. “I’m hoping to access the archives so I can get it back, but the approval process has been challenging.”
I try to get a read on Leandro the way that Marco would, but the marshal only peers into his drink before nodding to himself. “I’ll speak to Zanni on your behalf.” His eyes slide to me, linger, then drift away. “I might be able to arrange a visit as early as tomorrow.”
Marco nudges me with his good shoulder. “What do you think? Want to come with me and plead your case to Zanni himself?”
I frown to mask my excitement. “I would love to, but are you sure? I wouldn’t want to trouble him over anything so silly.”
“It’s not silly.” For the first time, Leandro addresses me directly, his dark eyes hooded and assessing. “A woman deserves a ring befitting her, after all.”
For a few seconds, I blink at him in shock. Before the silence grows too awkward, I cough. “Well then, we’d love the chance to speak with him. Thank—”
Someone brushes past me, knocking into my shoulder and causing me to stumble. Though I turn, the apology on my lips dies when Marco’s hand tightens on me to the point of pain.
I look up to find him staring at the new presence beside us. Sergio Romano. The casual smile vanishes, replaced by a sudden, frightening stillness. His eyes darken, and his posture stiffens defensively.
Sergio inherited the Romano bloodline, but he earned his territory.
He rose seamlessly through the organization, from associate to soldier, to one of three elite capos, and ultimately to consigliere.
His thoughtful, calculating nature makes him a perfect advisor to the don.
It helps, of course, that his meticulous mind is backed by his terrifying reputation as a world-class sniper.
He acknowledges me with a nod. “Bianca.”
“Sergio. It’s good to see you.”
I grunt beneath Marco’s weight as he leans deliberately against me. What the hell is going on? I struggle to cling to my poise while Marco sways and gulps from his highball glass.
Only the two of us and the bartender know that the glass contains water rather than booze.
“Yeah, you too.” Sergio’s voice rips me back into the moment. The usual threat he exudes is tempered as he studies the Argento don, his once-over briefly lingering on Marco’s glass before cutting to his face. “I didn’t expect to see you here. You usually skip these kinds of functions.”
My husband’s arm flexes around me. “The wife got bored, so I thought we’d come out and play.”
Leandro dips his head in farewell, and Marco waves an exaggerated goodbye as Zanni’s marshal disappears amongst the partygoers. The three of us who remain form a tense triangle. Well, Sergio and I seem tense. Marco, meanwhile, is…out of his mind.
Sergio’s face reddens with banked rage. “Everything’s always been one big game to you. Today is…” His throat works. “Today is the anniversary of Armani’s death, and you’re out drinking without a care in the world. Fucking figures.”
A light bulb flips on in my head, illuminating my husband’s confusing swing in behavior.
My survival depends on absolute control. Marco’s relies on chaos. He weaponizes his worst sins, flaunting his failures behind a veil of drunkenness so no one else can use them to destroy him, and that’s exactly what he’s doing right now.
About three years ago, Sergio’s brother died on a mission. News of a messy assignment-gone-wrong had ricocheted through our world. I knew that Marco led the operation that resulted in Armani’s death because we were all watching and waiting for him to fail.
Which he did, in a spectacular way.
Marco tsks. “C’mon Sergio. Liven up. ‘Sss a party.” He throws his hand out in a wild gesture that slops water over the lip of the glass.
Painfully aware of the mounting strain in every line of Sergio’s body, I force a chuckle and shift out of my husband’s hold. Marco is slurring his words on purpose, and I want to smack him out of this farce. This isn’t who he is anymore.
Disgust curdles the Romano consigliere’s words. “Do you remember my brother? Or has all the booze destroyed what few brain cells you had left?”
Only I can feel Marco’s flinch at the accusation. “You got me. It completely slipped my mind. My bad.” Sergio doesn’t seem to notice the hint of despair in Marco’s laugh.
As Sergio stalks toward us, Marco plants a wet kiss on my temple. “Hey, this party is dry as shit. Let’s get out of here and go find some real fun.” He smirks at Sergio. “It was great catching up. We should do this again sometime.”
As Marco tugs me after him, I peek over my shoulder. Sergio’s staring at the ground, his massive shoulders slumped.
I halt, shrugging Marco’s arm off. “Why did you do that? That…that act?”
He averts his eyes as if he can’t tolerate the thought of meeting my gaze. The drunken demeanor vanishes, revealing a hollow, haunted visage as he marches toward the elevators. “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s go.”
“Marco—”
“Leave it alone, Bianca.” The hissed warning is harsher than he’s spoken to me in weeks. I recoil, an instinct from years of Aldo’s abuse, and Marco sighs and softens his tone. “Just…please can we go?” He extends his hand again as a peace offering.
After a moment of deliberation, I shake my head.
“No. I’m not ready.” In my husband’s obvious distress, he’s forgotten that I depend on these connections.
We’re surrounded by some of the most important and influential mafias in the city, and Livia and I will require powerful allies if…
when we break from Aldo. I cannot afford to squander any chances to form relationships that could mean the difference between life and death later on.
Bitter disappointment flashes across his features at my refusal. “Fine.”
He strides to the elevators, nodding to the bouncer before stabbing the button for the lobby.
Our eyes lock a second before the doors snap shut, and a suffocating guilt settles over me.
He would die before admitting it, but he needs me tonight.
And maybe I want to smooth the lines from his brow, to quiet the rot in his heart and force him to understand he’s worth more than the wreckage that trails in his wake.
I take half a step toward the elevators before remembering exactly where I stand and why I have to stay.
Network. Connect. Ally.
Livia.
My sister’s survival depends on my focus, on the alliances I forge here. And I can’t let Marco distract me from that.
With reluctance, I spin back toward the party and make my rounds a second time. In the middle of a conversation with another capo, I spot Luca. He’s reclining in a chair while playing poker with several men from different families, a few I recognize.
I walk over, nervous and unsure if the request will work in my favor or bite me in the ass. Luca glances up, his gray eyes sharp with intrigue behind the glasses he sometimes wears.
“Mrs. Argento.” Luca plays another card, ignoring the grumbling it sets off at the table, before giving me his full attention. “To what do I owe the honor?”
My heart threatens to beat out of my chest. “I wanted to ask you a favor.”
The hunter slurps his drink with an amused expression. “You’re the wife of my don.” Laying down his cards, he rises to his feet so that he towers over me. The music shields what he says next. “There are no favors between us, Mrs. Argento. What are my orders?”