25. ANTONIO
The meeting continues with a few insults being exchanged and one or two threats thrown out, but otherwise, it settles into a regular board meeting.
"Where are you with your trial, Carlos?" Edoardo asks.
"The leverage I had against the judge is gone," he answers, irritated. I wait for him to look in my direction or give any other sign that he suspects I’m behind it, but he doesn't. "And Lambert is hiding in some secure building, under police protection.
" He fans himself despite the cool air conditioning; he's sweating as if he'd run a marathon.
"I still have four of the jurors in my pocket.
And Kevin Jaspar," Carlos adds confidently.
"Good. Good." Edoardo nods enthusiastically, but it doesn't escape anyone's attention that he's not offering any help. He's buddies with the governor and a senator, but neither has interfered in the trial.
I'm satisfied to hear that Kevin appears to be holding up his end of the bargain. But I'll make a note to send Vito by later to ensure he fully understands where his fucking loyalties lie. I don't care if he's double-dipping right now as long as he delivers the goods.
The anticipation of Carlos' utter surprise when the verdict is read makes this meeting far more intriguing. I watch him bite into a muffin and smirk. Enjoy, asshole. Your days are numbered.
"Well, that's too bad about the judge." Edoardo's eyes find mine. "You are not to interfere."
I clench my jaw. "You already told me that."
"Just ensuring you got the order."
Underneath the table, I ball my fists. One day, I'm going to punch that stupid grin off your face .
"We can't have our capos go to jail," Edoardo emphasizes.
"Wouldn't be the first," Fabrizio utters.
"Times are changing, old-timer. None of my capos will go to jail," Edoardo snarls.
There are a few sharp intakes of breath at the insult. Fabrizio looks pissed but bows his head. Whether in deference or to hide his eyes, burning with hate, I'm not sure. "Of course, Don Edoardo."
Murder is written on Enrico's face for the insult to his father.
His brothers aren't looking too happy, either.
I quickly scan the other men around the table.
None of them appear particularly pleased at the moment, except for Carlos.
If Edoardo keeps disrespecting us like this, I might not even have to do anything to topple the arrogant bastard off his throne.
Edoardo is barely twenty-four. His father died unexpectedly, forcing him to take charge of the entire family and organization in one fell swoop.
His head is filled with crazy ideas of bringing the Cosa Nostra into the twenty-first century .
It wouldn't be a bad idea if only he showed some amount of respect and had a backbone. Or even a clue on how to accomplish his grand plan, assuming he has one. All he has done so far is fan the fires of already existing internal family feuds and incite more, like Carlos’ murder of my father.
For some unfathomable reason, Edoardo has convinced himself that by playing us against each other, his power will grow—right now, it looks like this might backfire.
"He deserves much worse than going to jail," I bait, because it's expected. If I don't, the others will suspect I'm up to something, which any man with a brain in his head and pride in his blood would be. I know Edoardo is having me watched, but he's also arrogant enough to believe he has me cowed.
"I paid for my transgression," Carlos states flatly, staring me in the eyes.
This time, I don't even have to pretend. I rise from my chair so hard that it rolls against the wall with a resounding boom , and point my finger at him. "No amount of money can make up for what you did."
I pull out my Glock and point the barrel at Marcello's head. Chairs roll back, more guns are drawn, and curses ring through the room. The gun is pointed at Marcello, but my eyes burn into Carlos's. "So if I shoot your son, you'll be okay with me turning the LA territory back to you?"
"Put the gun down," Edoardo orders in a wavering voice that sends waves of disgust down my spine.
Marcello stays in his chair. He regards me with interest, not like a man with a gun to his head.
The man has balls. I’ll give him that. His father, on the other hand…
Carlos stares back at me, calculating. "That might be a deal.
There's a lot of money to be made in LA, and I still have the equipment to produce more sons. "
Disgust rises up inside me at his words. Marcello raises an eyebrow at me, and a mocking smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. The man is utterly unfazed by the gun pointed at him or his father's words.
"You disgust me," I say, re-holstering my Glock. "Is there anything else to discuss today?"
"If you think you can pull out guns during my meeting without consequences, you're sorely mistaken," Edoardo threatens.
Marcello raises his arms, "No harm, no foul.
" He inclines his head, "Don Edoardo." The biting tone in his voice makes me consider him.
Marcello has never been a player in this club.
It's no secret that Carlos much preferred his elder son, Angelo, and groomed him for years to be his successor while Marcello was shipped to Sicily.
Where, from all accounts, he built himself quite the organization, only to be forced to abandon it when he was recalled last year after his brother's sudden, unexpected death made him the heir apparent.
It doesn't seem like there is any love lost between father and son.
Interesting. That might be something to explore further in the future.
Thoroughly disgusted, I glare at the Capo dei Capi. "Like what? Who will you get this time to kill me or another member of mia famiglia ?"
The room is so quiet that the falling of a paperclip would have sounded like a bomb exploding. All eyes are on Edoardo and me.
I'm done.
I stretch out my arms and rub my hands together before I wave them out as if distributing ashes. "Ah, basta ! Finito !"
There are quite a few more things I would like to say, but this should do. Vigorously, I pull the doors open and call for Igio and Berto. "We're done, let's go."
My anger has reached its boiling point. One more second in that room, and I would have shot Edoardo and Carlos, consequences be damned.
"Hold on." A hand pushes the elevator doors open just as they're about to close. I would have expected Enrico, but to my surprise, it's Stephano.
He stays on the other side of the door, "A word?"
"Get in," I snarl.
Stephano is a few years younger than me, and his dad is still in excellent health. The two run fraud, cybercrime, and counterfeiting for our organization. So far, he and my family have always gotten along.
"My dad wants me to take the lead on this," Stephano explains as the elevator goes up. "If anything goes wrong, it was the hotshot," he grins, pointing at himself.
I get it. Gustave wants to side with me, but he also wants to ensure his family is not compromised.
Nobody wants to be in Edoardo's crosshairs.
If whatever they think I'm planning goes south, Stephano will take the blame as the son who wanted to prove himself.
They'll have to pay a hefty fine, and Stephano might lose a finger or two, but he'll come out of this alive.
Contrary to his father, who would most certainly die should he be caught in the conspiracy.
Clever and daring. Another man to take note of.
"I'll ride with you if you give me a lift back?" Stephano suggests.
"Be my guest."
The elevator stops, and we make our way to my waiting helicopter. The next hour goes by quickly as Stephano lays out his family's role in what he thinks I'm planning.
"My father and I both consider Edoardo to be a weak man. Dad is already auditing the accounts because some of the numbers are not quite adding up," he confides.
This is news to me. I've been so wrapped up in my desire for vengeance that it never occurred to me to investigate any other angles. The Contis are right, though; if Edoardo is weak on one end, there is no reason to believe he's on the up and up on the others.
"There are five families, six, counting Edoardo’s. If we want to avoid a war, we all need to be on the same page," I warn.
"That's why my father is working other angles as well. Trust me," he turns to convey his sincerity with his eyes, "what happened to you and your father is an atrocity that has not and will not be forgotten."
"So, you're telling me there are others in the family not happy with our current Capo dei Capi."
Stephano inclines his head. “Carlos is not one of them, even though I don't understand how he can still support a man who has left him hanging high and dry after following his orders."
That's an easy question to answer: "Carlos doesn't have a choice.
He has to lick Don Edoardo's boots. Otherwise, he has nothing.
It's not a matter of liking him. From here on out, he's always gonna be the man who killed my father in cold blood.
Nothing is ever going to change that. He knows the only person keeping him alive is the Capo di Capi. "
Stephano nods. "I suppose that makes sense."
The helicopter banks as my mansion comes into view, and suddenly I feel lighter.
"So what's your stake in this?" I ask Stephano directly.
"Besides not having my father killed on a whim?
" Stephano's hands stroke the fine leather of the seat he's sitting in, and I take his words as if they were meant, not as an insult, but as commiseration.
Edoardo never intended for it to get out that he was behind the hit on my father, but his backing of Carlos when all was said and done brought the message home loud and clear.
"Your father asked for a mozione di sfiducia," Stephano states.
He's right. A couple of weeks before my father’s death, he asked the other capos for a vote of no confidence against our Don.
The title Don is inherited, given from father to oldest son in our family hierarchy.
A mozione di sfiducia doesn't happen very often, but it is not without precedent.
Usually, it would mean the title would go to the next in line in the Zanello family, but Edoardo is currently the only male qualified to hold the title.
Meaning, the vote of mozione di sfiducia, if approved, would have moved the Don's title to one of the other five families.
"I'm a strong supporter of free speech," Stephano continues. "A right that seems to have been taken from us after your father's death."
At the chopper’s approach, I stare out the window, searching for a narrow frame on a balcony. But she isn’t to be seen.
Probably going through all the new clothes she ordered , I muse, shaking Stephano's hand as I climb out of the chopper. "Thank you for this meeting."
"Let's keep in touch," Stephano nodded, "it seems we have very similar goals in mind. And thanks for the ride."
I watch the chopper take off, Stephano pulling out his phone and talking animatedly to someone. His father, I would bet my money on.
Well, that was a very interesting morning. More so than I had anticipated when I left. Now, I turn toward my mansion, filled with anticipation at seeing Scarlet and hoping to spend the rest of the day in peace.