LUCA #2
Anzo leans down slightly. "Your fucking arrogance, Rocco, is really testing my patience," he growls. "Don’t think you’re untouchable just because I let a few of your little stunts slide. Your day’s coming, asshole."
How nice that he can't read minds, though I’m sure he wishes he could. If he did, he’d find more inside our heads than he could ever handle.
"Anzo," I say, trying to pull his focus off Rocco, "we need to talk about what you’re planning to do with Eliano and Mauro."
Anzo straightens slowly, and I hear the mechanical joints connecting his cybernetic arm to his spine click faintly as he moves.
He looks at me like I’m a fly buzzing around his face.
"Those two’ll sing the second the feds or even local cops start squeezing them."
I don’t know how to answer. Mauro and Eliano have already been cut from the inheritance. Anzo thinks they hate him most, but he’s wrong to leave me off that list.
Still, here we are. Those two don’t have much to lose… except if they talk, they’ll have to deal with Anzo’s payback. And Anzo doesn’t let shit slide. He’d chase them to the ends of the earth.
The question is: will they risk it? Will they flip and take a deal? Enter witness protection?
I get why Anzo wants to make a preemptive move. But they’re still my brothers. And the idea that he might actually want to get rid of them permanently? That’s out of the question, even for me. I have a soft spot for my brothers.
"Let me take them," I say. "They’ll be safe at my place. No feds around them."
Anzo’s jaw tightens.
"Not happening. They stay here."
"You can’t keep them locked in cages forever. If the FBI raids this place and finds them, dead or alive, it’s not gonna end well for you."
"Really?" Anzo sneers, ice in his tone. "So many brilliant advisors these days. Before I run a few volts through your system, think real hard about whether what you’re saying makes any fucking sense."
"It does," I say flatly. "If I were you, I’d pack my shit and disappear. Head to the Caribbean. Lowen’s not some cheap Russian outfit. If the feds get hard proof, they can authorize an emergency operation in twenty-four to forty-eight hours."
Anzo rubs his forehead again, smearing even more blood across it. Uh, Betas. I stare at him with disgust. Their senses are dull, muted like the humans who once roamed this planet. He could be soaked in blood and wouldn’t even notice.
I can. I do. I still smell it on him. All of it.
Most of all… my parents’ blood.
My grandfather’s. My uncle’s.
Nothing will ever wash that off.
Finally, the fucker says, "They’d need solid evidence. Like you said. And first, they’ll have to question the mercs and the soldiers. So I figure by the time they sort that out and get a court order, we’ll have about a week. That’s enough to clean house."
Yeah, asshole. They already have hard evidence. No need to wait on interrogations.
But I just sigh and shake my head slightly. I’m not pushing. I said what I needed to say so he can’t claim later that I didn’t warn him. So he doesn’t cut me out of his will.
I glance at Rocco, who’s still watching Anzo, his eyes narrowed. Is that a smirk on his lips?
It’s stupid, but I like to play this little game in my head: Who hates Anzo the most?
Me?
Rocco?
Mauro?
Eliano?
Ennio?
Hmm, only he seems to have any real loyalty to Anzo, since my uncle saved him from his sick family.
But I wouldn’t bet on that loyalty. That fucker’s cold.
Soulless. Whatever he went through made him robotic.
If the feds came knocking, I wouldn’t count on his non-existing conscience keeping him from stabbing Anzo in the back.
Truth is, Anzo raised a whole nest of vipers on his own damn chest.
And we’re biting.
Rocco’s smug grin deepens. I want to smile too. Hell, I want to laugh out loud. But I don’t, not outwardly. Inside? I’m howling.
Watching Anzo fall apart—it’s like a long, slow orgasm. The gift that keeps on giving.
"I don’t have the energy to deal with them today," Anzo mutters. "I’ll handle it tomorrow. Got other things to wrap up first."
He turns and walks out fast.
Domenico, who’s been trying to make himself invisible the whole time, finally speaks up.
"I saw the news. Word is, the Lowens’ old man flipped out when he found out about the hit…"
"Roan Lowen? That guy must be well into his eighties," Rocco mumbles.
"Yeah, he’s retired, chillin’ in his mansion, but he already gave a statement. Sounds like he didn’t take kindly to someone going after his youngest son. And a man like that? He’s got options. Anzo might’ve picked the wrong family to fight with."
"Shut the fuck up, Domenico," Rocco says. Gotta keep up appearances, of course.
"You guys screwed up just as bad. If you hadn’t sent that second team, only our guys would’ve gotten picked up. Now the mercs are gonna rat us out like a snitch on payday."
I agree. But I keep quiet. Like I said… I’m enjoying the chaos.
To keep up my own act, I say, "Rocco, maybe it’s time you left the compound. Better not be here when shit goes sideways."
Yes, the little game called let’s pretend we’re a united mafia family and care about each other continues for the eyes that need to see it.
"I’m not missing the fun Anzo’s got planned downstairs," Rocco grins. "Might finally get a taste of Sun and Summer’s asses. A few of the other guys got dibs too. Gonna be one hell of a party."
I stare at him, revulsion rising in my chest. But I can’t say a word.
Can’t let even the tiniest crack show. So I shrug. Like always, like I don’t give a shit. Even though I do. Deeply.
No one here knows why.
No soul in The Sun knows my secret .
When Rocco walks out, wiping his bleeding lip, I stay behind with Domenico for a moment longer. I untie his hands and help him up, pretending to be a caring caporegime , but I have my own reason for it.
"Sooo, where’d you stash the gardener’s parents? One of the F-12 warehouses? If this goes bad, we may need to let them go."
Domenico lifts his eyes, genuinely surprised.
"Anzo wouldn’t allow that. He wants them—"
I lean in, my eyes narrowed.
"You fucked up, Domenico. We’re in danger. If the feds come knocking, we need to clean house. And you don’t wanna go down with the rest of us, do you?"
"Then take it up with Anzo! I’m not doing shit without his blessing, everything’s pissing him off nowadays…"
"Smart. But if this falls apart, Anzo won’t be here to care. We will. You, me, Rocco. And we sure as hell aren’t going down on a kidnapping charge."
Silence. Domenico stares at me, then swallows hard.
"We need to be ready," I say almost softly, luring him into my reasons. "I warned Anzo. Told him to run. But I’m not going down with him. And I want you here too, with us!"
He blinks, then finally nods, looking a bit pleased.
"That makes sense…" he mutters. "Warehouse C-18."
I don’t care if he tells Anzo I asked. I’m just staying ahead of the fallout. And Anzo? He respects that.
Besides, I’m just the dumb meathead, remember?
Too stupid to betray him.