Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
ENZO
The walk to the don’s office feels longer than usual today.
Maybe because he told me he has an update from the cops to share.
There are many things I’ve kept from him over the years, but this is by far the biggest and most dangerous.
Secrets have a weight that people don’t realize until they’re forced to keep them.
They settle in your bones if you’re not careful.
Drag at your feet until every step you take feels like you’re walking through wet cement.
I keep my expression neutral as I move through the hallway, not making eye contact with any of the men as I pass, which isn’t unusual for me.
Most of Carmine’s men are my men in reality—loyal to me and not him.
Not the people in San Francisco though—the ones who’ve kept tabs on Rayne as much as I have.
Nor the couple of guards he keeps stationed in his home. They belong only to him.
But none of them can hear my heart pounding or see through the veneer of calm I’ve so carefully crafted these past six years.
While Rayne was right that I still often make decisions with my gut, I’ve also learned how to keep my emotions in check when absolutely necessary.
For example, when standing in front of the don discussing the murder of his only son, which I still don’t regret.
Like I told Micah, I always take precautions where the don is concerned, and today that includes documenting this conversation on my phone.
I slip a hand into my inside pocket and press the button to start recording.
The guards outside the office step aside when I approach. One of them pushes open the door. “Morning, Enzo. He’s expecting you.”
I give a brief nod of acknowledgment and walk inside. The room is dark except for a single lamp. Thick drapes drawn across the windows block out the harsh afternoon sun. It gives him headaches, he says.
He’s sitting behind his desk, staring at a picture of Vinny. “I still can’t believe that fucker killed him, Enzo.”
“I’m sorry, Carmine.” I offer a fake platitude because he would expect it from me today, now that the shock has worn off.
He lets out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Everyone keeps saying that.” He stares at me for the longest time. I’ve watched grown men break under the weight of that stare, but today it’s different. His eyes are bloodshot, his face pinched from grief and lack of sleep.
He looks weak, but I know the truth of men like him. His pain doesn’t make him weak, it makes him even more dangerous.
“Do you know what I miss?” he asks.
I remain silent, knowing he’s not expecting an answer.
“He never shut the fuck up. Always running his mouth about something.”
True.
A ghost of a smile appears on his face before disappearing just as quickly. “He would just talk and talk about nothing. Drove me insane.” His jaw tightens, eyes filling with tears. “Now the house is too quiet.”
“Silence is a cruel housemate,” I tell him, recalling how long it took me to get used to it when Rayne left.
She was always filling the house with noise, but not the kind that drove me insane.
No, it was the kind I cherished. Always singing, laughing, asking me how my day had been.
The silence without her was crushing, and it almost killed me.
“The cops have analyzed ballistics. Confirmed Vinny was killed with Joseph Bertelli’s gun, and they have it pegged as a targeted Russian hit. So you did well.” He gives me a grateful nod.
“And did you speak to the pakhan?”
“I did. He’s not going to publicly claim the kills, of course, but he’s not going to deny them either. He is young and making his name. It makes him look good to have taken out a made family.”
Something about that definitely doesn’t feel right. Since when did pinning it on the Russians mean coming to a cozy little understanding with them? “And what about the other families? They will expect some kind of retaliation against the Russians for this, even those who hated the Bertellis.”
He rubs his jaw, his fingertips rasping against the thick dirty-white stubble there. “They will fall into line as they always do. Although, in that regard, Vinny’s death could serve us well.”
What the fuck? I don’t say that, forcing myself to remember that the don doesn’t mourn his loved ones the way that normal people do. Everything is an opportunity. Everything turned into strategy. “How so?”
He sucks on his teeth. “Hear me out. Vinny was doing a little work with the Russians, trying to negotiate some trade deals. He went to a business meeting between them and the Bertellis. Joseph and Oscar wanted to undercut the Russians and there was a disagreement. The Bertellis fired first. Vinny tried to make Joseph and Oscar see reason, and they killed him for it. Ivan’s men killed them in retribution. Therefore, we are even.”
This is fucked up, but it also puts me totally in the clear. And it buys me time to figure out what the hell the don is up to without the other families breathing down my neck. “Sounds like a perfect plan, boss.”
He nods, satisfied with himself.
“Did you give any more thought to what Vinny said to Oscar, about him running his mouth and what that could have been about?”
His eyes narrow in suspicion. “No. Like I told you, Oscar was always making up stories. He lived in his own fantasy world. Why are you asking me this when I already gave you my answer?”
“Just trying to get in front of any potential problems is all. If Oscar has been talking shit about you, and now the Bertellis are dead, and you’re not taking any steps against the Russians, some people might think there was some credence to those rumors, is all.”
He snarls, face twisted in anger now. “Do you think that?”
“I’m just pointing out the optics, Carmine. It’s my job to protect you and your interests. If we at least knew what it was Oscar claimed to have had on you, then we could come up with a response.”
His jaw works and he stares at me intently. “I heard it was some notion that your father and I had covered something up. What that was, I do not know. And now Oscar Bertelli is dead. His sons and his brother and his nephews are dead. Thus, the rumor is dead!”
Thanks to that stupid fuck Vinny, I’ll never know what Oscar was going to say after mentioning Carmine and my father.
For all I know, he could have been trying to bargain for his life, about to tell me that they were all buddies.
Whatever it is that Carmine is trying to keep hidden, it’s big enough that it got the Bertellis killed.
“Looks like everything is taken care of then.”
He scowls, taking a pen from his desk and scribbling a note before shoving it into my hands. “The funeral is this coming Friday. I want Angelo to take the service and not that new priest. He smiles too damn much.”
Ah, Angelo. I’ve been purposely avoiding him since Rayne got back here, knowing he’ll ask questions I don’t want to answer.
I assumed she’d have asked to see him by now, but no.
She was obviously as happy to cut him off as she was the rest of us.
Plus, there’s the whole him being a priest thing, which tends to limit the interactions I have with him in general.
Not because we don’t approve of each other’s choices.
More like our worlds don’t often mix well.
“I’ll speak with him.” I glance down at the note. It’s a phone number. “What’s this for?”
“That’s Vinny’s aunt’s number. You should probably give her the details, but I refuse to speak to that whore.”
Have I only just noticed that he calls almost every woman he doesn’t like a whore? What the fuck is that about? “She does know that he’s dead though?”
“Yes. The cops told her. Give her the details and tell her not to bring her whiny bitch of a daughter with her.”
“Noted.”
He dismisses me with a wave of his hand, and I’m grateful for an excuse to leave.
I notice the two men hovering nearby when I leave the don’s house and it’s no surprise to find a car following me home.
I pull over and get out. Better to get this over with here than let these assholes follow me home.
The dark gray SUV comes to a stop behind me. The windows roll down. A guy with a buzzcut pokes his head out of the passenger side. “The boss would like a word with you,” he says in a thick Russian accent.
I groan inwardly. Just what I fucking need. “Then tell him to get out of the car.”
The guy shakes his head. “Boss does not do that.”
The back window rolls down now too, and I come face to face with Ivan Volkov. “Enzo Medici. It is nice to finally meet you.” The car door swings open. “Please join me. It is far too hot to talk on the side of the road.”
Ivan has no reason to kill me, and I have every reason to talk to him.
He’s young and ambitious, but by no means stupid, and I’m certain his allegiance to the don is fragile at best. Not to mention it is fucking hotter than hell out here today.
I glance at the two goons in the front seat. Three against one? I’ve had worse odds.
Ivan slides along the seat allowing me room and I climb into the car, closing the door behind me. The windows all roll up at the same time. I wait for him to speak.
“It is not ideal we are meeting in such circumstances.” He indicates he’s talking about being in the back of a car. “Usually a vodka would be shared, yes?”
“Depends on the reason for the meeting, I guess.”
The left corner of his mouth lifts up in a half smirk. “Let us not beat around rosebush. Carmine is don, but you are the man with the power. The connections in this city?”
Seems like the pakhan definitely doesn’t have shit for brains at all. I should let Micah know. “And who told you that?”
He shakes his head. “Nobody. Is what I observe for myself.” He shifts in his seat, turning his body so that he’s facing me. “Falcone is…” He sucks on his teeth. “How you say it here? He is snake.”
“You’re calling the don a snake?”