Chapter 23
GIULIO
Patience: [noun] what you have when there are too many witnesses.
Despite my words to the man I recognize as Emilio Cesari, the head of the goddamn Cesari Family Syndicate, I know there are too many witnesses here. Plus, Daisy is right there; held protectively against Alonzo’s chest, sure, but it wouldn’t be right to kill the bastard in front of her.
Emilio holds up the one hand not hugging a small, wiggling dog against his chest, in the classic sign of surrender. “I’m not here to hurt her,” he says.
“Giulio?” Daisy’s confused tone reaches my ears, but I wave a hand toward her, commanding Alonzo.
“Take her inside,” I growl.
“Wait—”
“Come on, miss,” Alonzo says, cutting her off as he urges her toward the front doors into the lobby of our home.
The doorman, ever the professional, doesn’t hesitate to open the glass door and hold it for them to enter.
All the while, I feel Daisy’s eyes locked on my back.
I don’t ease my stance until I know she’s gone, but even then, it’s not by much.
A man appears from around the corner, and Emilio doesn’t miss a beat as he holds out the dog in his arms for him to take. No doubt the animal was nothing but a distraction for Daisy. “Were you following her?” I demand as the other man backs off.
Now with both hands up, Emilio lets loose a breath. “Yes, but with good reason,” he states.
My hands itch to withdraw my gun. Still, though, we’re on the street, and though there’s a distinct lack of shops running up this block, there are still too many people walking by.
“Can we move inside?” he asks. “I promise that I’ll explain everything.”
Inside? Where Daisy is? I’d rather gut him in full view of the cameras on the outside of my building and the people striding toward the crosswalk not fifty feet ahead.
Unfortunately, with a glance around, I don’t see many other options.
I can’t exactly hash out my issues on the Cesari head right out here in the open.
Rising to my full height, I level the man with a dark glare and realign the lapels of my suit coat before nodding toward the entrance of the lobby.
The doorman opens the glass once more and keeps his eyes trained forward.
“Your man stays behind,” I snap as Emilio moves toward the doors.
The man, who’d been on the verge of following, stops and scowls.
Emilio doesn’t even try to assuage his bodyguard.
With a wave of his hand, he sends the man back the way he came.
“Walk Luna,” he orders. “And meet me back at home. If I’m not there in an hour…
” Blue eyes turn to meet mine. He lets the words drift off, but I know the unspoken threat.
If Emilio Cesari doesn’t leave this building and return home within the hour, there will be a war between the Cesaris and the Lucianis. Fuck.
Anger pounds through me. Despite being on my goddamn turf, he’s got my balls in a vise grip. Emilio’s man gives me a long look before nodding to his boss and then turning and striding away.
“There,” Emilio says as he walks into the lobby. “We’re all alone.”
“Not quite,” I say, aware of the eyes of those at the front desk and the doorman at our back.
No matter how professional they are, trust is earned, not given.
“This way.” I move toward the bank of elevators, and he steps in first. I follow, hitting the button for the top floor right before I release my gun and hold it at my side.
Emilio, to his credit, doesn’t tense. Instead, he looks down at the weapon in my hand and smiles. “You won’t need that,” he assures me.
“We’ll see,” I tell him. “At this moment, it’s not so much a need as a desire.” To maim. To kill. To eradicate any threat to Daisy.
When the elevator slows to a stop, I don’t go to the penthouse.
There’s no way in hell I’ll take this bastard to where I stay with Daisy.
That place is our safe haven, our home, and he is not fucking welcome.
Emilio doesn’t say a word as I lead him out of the elevator and down a side hallway into a stairwell.
Inaccessible via the elevators, the door I take him to leads into a small corridor with a low ceiling that’s far less luxurious than the otherwise perfect interior that caters to the long-term residents of this property.
This hallway is meant for employees only, and at this time of day, it’s deserted.
Without missing a beat, I latch on to the back of the white T-shirt Emilio Cesari is wearing and shove him into a room lined with black boxes, blinking with lights.
I flick the switch, and fluorescent bulbs overhead illuminate the rest of the space.
Closed in. No windows. Only him and me… and my gun.
“This would be a dumb place to die,” Emilio says casually as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his gray joggers and rocks back on the heels of his sneakers.
If I didn’t know his face, recognize the familiar features of Vito Cesari’s nephew and heir, he might have looked like any other young buck walking the streets of New York.
But I do know his face, and more than that, I know better than to take what I see at face value.
Despite the fact that I’m carrying the weapon, I have no doubt he has one of his own hidden somewhere.
No man who lives the way we do would be without a way to defend themselves.
Then there’s the fact that he sent his bodyguard away.
“Why did you follow my wife?” I demand, keeping the gun at my side by sheer force of will. I’d love to shove the barrel into his face and pull the trigger, but I can be controlled when the ends justify the means, and right now, the ends might lead to answers on who is trying to kill her.
“Because I heard through the grapevine that she’d been attacked,” Emilio states.
“Through the grapevine, huh?” My disbelief is evident in my tone, and no doubt my face.
“I have no desire and no intention to hurt someone who shouldn’t even be in the middle of this,” Emilio replies, his smirking amusement falling to the wayside as his eyes harden. “It’s beyond the pale that a civilian was brought into this in the first place.”
The quiet reprimand only serves to make me angrier. My fingers clench around the handle of my gun. “You’re one to talk, considering you’re the most likely source of her attack.”
“Most likely, yes,” he agrees, “but the right culprit? No.” Emilio Cesari shakes his head and releases a sigh.
“I have more than enough to deal with. I can understand why you’d have me at the top of your list of suspects, considering the background between our families, Giulio, but you’re wrong.
I could’ve killed her when I came upon her.
She didn’t even know who I was, and I can be quite unassuming when I want to be.
” He withdraws one hand from a pocket and gestures down to his wardrobe. I have to admit, he’s not wrong.
The man appears all-American. There’s not even a hint of Italian in his accent as there is sometimes with Dante. Not because my brother was raised in Italy—no, because the man who raised him had been, and children often pick up the accents of their parents.
“Then why did you approach her?” I demand.
“To get to you, of course.” Emilio’s hand disappears back into his pocket, and I have the distinct impression that letting him do so is a dangerous move, but we’re locked in a cold war of sorts, he and I.
He’s close to my home with Daisy, and he got to her once.
Letting him go free leaves open the chance that he’ll get to her again.
Killing him, however, would have other repercussions, and I am not the head of Luciani. I cannot make that call.
Emilio takes one step forward. With my back against the only exit, I do nothing but arch a brow at the action. “I want a meeting with Don Luciani, Giulio,” he says, his tone full of serious intent. “You can make that happen.”
“What makes you think I would let you anywhere near him?”
“Because, unlike you, I do know who’s trying to kill your wife.”
Those words silence me. A ringing starts in my ears, growing in volume as our gazes lock.
Using all of the skills I picked up as both a street kid and then as Stefano Luciani’s adopted son, I search his face for any hint of deceit.
Emilio Cesari meets my gaze head-on, something that not even many of the older capos in Luciani’s employ are able to do.
Damn it. I respect the son of a bitch for the boldness.
“I promise nothing,” I tell him, but as I speak, I arch away from the doorway and carefully put my gun back into the holster at the small of my back before flipping the tail of my suit coat over it. “And I will not take you to him now.”
Emilio nods as if he expected that answer.
“I will return to my family.” When next he pulls his hand out, it’s not to reveal a weapon, but a card.
I take it without looking at it. I already know what it will have.
His personal number. “Call me when the meeting is set, and we can discuss a truce between our two families.”
“Truce?” I tilt my head to the side. “That’s asking quite a bit.”
“It has to start somewhere,” he replies, “and as the new head of Cesari, I decide that it will start with me.”
“Perhaps.”
Emilio nods to the door. “You going to let me out of here now?” he inquires.
I consider it. The gun anchored at my back is still there, a heavy weight. Much like my desire to slaughter anyone who looks at Daisy or puts her in any sort of danger, the weapon is a noose around my neck. Emilio smiles as if he can sense the direction of my thoughts.
“To think,” he comments lightly, “the infamous guard dog of Luciani would fall so hard for a bride he never intended to marry.”
His words tell me, as much as his actions, that Emilio Cesari is not like his uncle at all. No. This man is smarter than that old, violent badger. He’s a fox, conniving and sneaky. Stepping to the side, I gesture toward the door.