Chapter 27 - Giulio #2
“Yes, I would have to agree.” Don Luciani nods.
“Though my sons are a bit unsure of you, I have done some of my own research, Emilio. What I have found is that you seem to be a fair man. You do not dispense violence like Vito did, but you are well-respected, especially amongst the younger generations.”
“My friends call me Emil, Signore,” he replies. “I would like it very much if you would as well.” Silence. No one touches the soup in front of them. It simply sits between us all, turning into a congealing mess of potatoes and sausage.
Don Luciani sets his wine down. “Why did you approach my daughter-in-law, Emil?”
It’s an effort to keep my hands from balling into fists. Cool. Calm. Fucking collected. Even if I am imagining ripping his head from his shoulders, draining the blood from his corpse, and sticking his skull on a pike outside of the Luciani Family Estate.
Emilio leans forward and plants two elbows on the table before steepling his fingers and resting his chin there. “I do apologize for any concern I caused,” he begins. “I needed to ensure that you knew I was serious about this meeting and that I would go to any lengths to get it.”
“You could have contacted my associates to set up a—”
Emilio shakes his head before Papá is even finished.
“The mole in your organization made that nearly impossible,” he states. “I knew any meeting I called through them would find its way to him.”
As one, all three of us stiffen. “Who is the mole?” Dante demands.
Cool blue eyes slide away from Don Luciani to him and then me. “I will tell you.” His voice is low, dangerous. Emilio’s focus goes back to Don Luciani. “In return, I would like your word that the rivalry between our Families ends here and now.”
I lean forward, and only by the grace of God and Dante’s arm slamming across my chest do my next words never leave my lips.
“That’s bold of you,” Dante snaps. “To assume that we would trust you.”
“You don’t have to trust me to know that I have no intention of harming any of you,” Emilio states. He looks pointedly at our soups. “You haven’t even tried the food, and I know my girls worked damned hard to cook for you. Yet, have I taken offense?”
“It sounds like you’re taking offense now,” Dante points out.
Emilio sighs and unlatches his fingers, resting back in his seat. “I don’t want to run things as my Uncle Vito did,” he admits. “I only wish for mutual respect between our two Families and territories. I think it would be in your best interests as well.”
Before Dante can say another word, Don Luciani is speaking again. “You still haven’t answered my question, Emil,” he says. “Why Daisy?”
Emilio’s face pinches. “Because you need to know just how much danger she is in. If I can get to her, then so, too, can the mole.”
When his gaze meets mine once more, and Dante’s hand eases away from my chest, the realization occurs. “Isa.” That’s all I have to say. He nods.
“Yes, the mole killed your original bride.”
“Why?”
Emilio tilts his head to the side before gesturing to the soup. “Why don’t you eat while I explain?”
“I don’t want your fuck—”
“We will.” To my shock, it’s not Don Luciani who makes the oath or silent command—it’s Dante.
At Emilio’s side, Leon glares at me as he slowly reaches for a spoon and begins to sip at his meal. Fuck. Me.
Emilio doesn’t say a word as the five of us finish our soups and the women from before return with plates for each of us laden down with pasta and chicken coated in marinara sauce.
Outside, the afternoon wanes, and dusk turns the sky through the windows into hues of orange and pink and red.
Has Daisy realized I’ve left by now? Will she be angry when I return?
My thoughts scatter as Emilio finally speaks.
“My uncle, the previous head of the Cesari Family, and his consigliere both had contacts within the Luciani Syndicate. Though my uncle is dead, his consigliere believes that getting rid of the competition near our territory is necessary for me to gain the respect and loyalty of the older generations of my organization.”
I can see that, but Isabella Ariotti hadn’t been married to me yet when she was killed.
“I don’t agree with bringing women and innocents into our world,” Emilio continues, “but my uncle’s consigliere has fewer scruples.”
“Have you kept him as your consigliere?” Don Luciani inquires.
Emilio’s face tightens, but he nods. “In name, at least,” he admits. “It’s the only thing that’s kept the elders from rising against me thus far… and Leon, here.”
My attention moves back to the man at his side. The man is at least ten years Emilio Cesari’s senior, but no weaker for the age. Amber-brown eyes glare back at me as he spears a tomato and a piece of chicken.
“Your mole isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty,” Emilio says.
“He’s been in contact with my consigliere, Ambrosi, and I’ve allowed the communication in return for updates.
Ambrosi is under the impression that I have signed off on the murder of first your wife, Giulio La Rosa, and then you and your brothers. ”
Red colors my vision.
Setting his utensils to the side, Don Luciani speaks.
“I am willing to facilitate a truce between our two Families,” he says, and when Emilio parts his lips to reply, he holds up a hand.
“If ”—he enunciates the single syllable with all of the grace and deep throatiness of a lion waiting to pounce on potential prey—“you, Emilio Cesari, as head of the Cesari Family, swear an oath here and now—and in your own writing—that you shall not intentionally cause harm to my Family or anyone attached to us herein.”
Everyone stops eating. The tension in the room mounts, filling each of our lungs upon each inhalation.
Even the soldiers against the walls appear unnerved, their gazes flicking from Emilio to Don Luciani.
“I am more than prepared for that, Signore,” Emilio finally says.
“I will have Leon prepare a document stipulating your request.”
“Good.” Don Luciani lifts his napkin and dabs at each corner of his lips before setting it back down. “Now, will you tell us who your final guest is?”
At just that moment, as if it were timed by the universe—or, more likely, Emilio fucking Cesari—the front door’s bell rings out, a death knell reverberating throughout the townhouse.
Emilio slowly rises from his seat, and unable to stop myself, so do I. In response, Emilio’s second, Leon, stands. “Carlo?” Emilio calls out, his eyes locked with mine. “If you would?”
The butler, who had, until that moment, been hovering near the doors to the kitchen, darts forward. “Of course, Signore.”
“Bring our newest guest to the dining room,” Emilio calls out as Carlo hurries through to the sitting room and then the just-out-of-sight foyer.
Emilio turns to the rest of us. “My final guest is your mole,” he states.
“Invited here by my consigliere, Ambrosi. They are my gift to you in return for peace between us.”
As one, everyone turns toward the doorway into the sitting room. The figure that appears there, however, backed on either side by two familiar faces, drains all of the heat from my body and turns me, all at once, into a mountain of rage and ice.