31. ANTONIO #2
"Hah!" Carlos crosses his arms over his chest, nodding both of his chins. "This wouldn't have happened under my watch in the LA territory."
"Antonio DeLuna was tasked with keeping vital information safe and failed," Edoardo declares in a slow, deliberate voice that sounds staged. "We all know the punishment for that."
I square my shoulders. I didn't expect anything less from Edoardo or Carlos, who sits on his chair, smiling. Enrico is tense, like a coiled spring, ready to jump. His father notices and places his hand on his shoulder to keep him down.
Silence stretches, and Carlos and Edoardo watch me, waiting for me to break. They'll be waiting a long fucking time.
"We don't even know what information they got," Enrico protests.
"You killed the bastards, right?" Marcello wants to know.
"They're dead," I confirm, "but they wouldn't tell me on whose orders they operated or what happened to the information."
"What failsafe had you put in place?" Stephano asks astutely.
"Alfonso never knew the names associated with the accounts. It was all encrypted. At the end of the year, a program would fill them in and send them to the IRS," I explain.
"On both businesses?" Dante, one of Enrico's brothers, asks for clarification, meaning the ones we report to the IRS, and the illegal side.
I nod. "He knew our names, of course, but they weren’t tied to the parts of the accounts he saw."
Stephano shrugs, "That's good enough for me."
"What do you mean?" Carlos rages, and his head turns beet red. If I cared, I'd worry he might have a heart attack.
"I mean," Stephano's voice turns sharp, "that we are all vulnerable, not just Antonio.
We all have enemies who can pick whoever the fuck they want off the street.
What if Nestor got snatched? Would you want to get a bullet to the head?
I bet he would have a lot to sing about?
" The last part he says with such derision that he leaves me impressed.
Carlos's eyes narrow at the insinuations. "Nestor would never talk." He stares at his second-in-command, who remains stoically leaning against the wall behind him.
Strangling hate wells up in my gut for the devil who dared touch Scarlet.
It's only thanks to my rational mind, telling me that a bullet through the head is too quick for the stronzo, that I can stop myself from shooting him right then and there.
When he is in my hands, I'll make him beg for a bullet, and it's only a matter of time until he will be at my mercy.
"Really?" Stephano doesn't let go. "Not even if they had his little girl?
"We're not talking about hypotheticals here, we're—" Sweat trickles down his forehead and neck, and if possible, his face turns even redder. Is it too much to ask of God for him to have a heart attack? To die right now, right here, right in front of my eyes?
"Stephano has a point," Marcello interrupts his father. "What happened was a very unfortunate incident. Antonio did the right thing, straight away. He didn't try to cover it up or downplay it. He had fail-safes in place, and he acted swiftly. I see no fault in this."
"I'm with your son on this," Gustave says, nodding at me. I suppose Edoardo pissing him off the other day didn't go over well with the old man.
"Well, it's a good thing the boy doesn’t have a vote yet, but I do." Carlos puffs his chest out.
"I'd be very careful, if I were you, on how you cast that vote," Fabrizio surprises me.
I've known him for a long time as Enrico’s dad, and I kind of like to think of him as an uncle, but Fabrizio never takes sides.
Not openly. He likes to play both sides of the political field, just like Gustave.
It must be an old-timer thing. "Because Stephano brought up a very valid point.
I, for one, do not fancy a bullet to my head because one of my men decided to sing. "
"Is that it then? Forgive and forget?" Edoardo fumes.
"You can make him return my territory to me. This wouldn't have happened under my watch," Carlos suggests slyly, dabbing sweat from his bald head.
Edoardo only glares at me. I cock my head, go ahead motherfucker, try me , my eyes convey.
"What about the Venezuelans?" Marcello brings the subject back to what I want to discuss as well.
"Matías assured me he will look into it, and that is good enough for me," Edoardo repeats his earlier statement. Stephano opens his mouth to say something, but Edoardo wipes his hands. "Basta, Finito. I don't want to hear another word about it."
Across the table, Marcello's and my eyes catch for a second time. Something is off here.
Edoardo is the first to storm out the door, running straight into Donna Margarita on the other side. "Donna Margarita, this is a surprise."
"… I want to know everything about the Venezuelans," I hear Marcello instruct his second-in-command, a large Sicilian whom he brought with him from his exile. Interesting. It seems like Marcello and I are on the same wavelength here.
A loud snap turns my attention back to Donna Margarita and Edoardo. Fuck, I missed her slapping him.
"You spineless bastard," she hisses, her voice shaking with fury. "What are you going to do about that killer?" Her finger stabs the air at Enrico.
"Donna Margarita." Enrico bows his head toward her, the sides of his lips twitch, and Fabrizio all but pulls his son out by his ear. I smirk at him.
“Giovanni kidnapped his sister. It was in his rights to kill your son. I'm sorry, Donna Margarita," Edoardo apologizes, and for a short moment, I feel sorry for the bastard. She is his mother-in-law, after all.
That moment passes quickly; the idiot deserves everything coming his way.
With that distraction, Marcello sidles up to me, his voice hard against my ear, low enough for only me to hear, "If you ever point a gun at me again, I'll kill you."
I grin at him. I can't help it. I'm starting to like him.
"Fair enough," I nod. "Just so that we're clear, though, if I point a gun at you again, I'll pull the trigger."
He returns my grin coldly. "Fair enough."