59. ANTONIO
A few days later…
The wake for Carlos Orsi is done. Not that the fucker deserved one, but it gives Marcello, Enrico, Stephano and me a chance to have a small meeting among ourselves without arousing Edoardo's suspicion too much.
The wake was held in the city, and now we're all piled on Marcello's couch in his penthouse, watching Marcello pour Blue Label for us.
Just the four of us. No guards, no second-in-commands, no women. No distractions. The stench of Carlos’s legacy will linger for a while, but it's finally done; one king buried, another crowned, making the air taste like war.
Enrico leans forward, elbows on his knees, holding a glass balanced between his fingers. “My old man sends his regards; he’s not backing Edoardo if the vote comes.”
“First smart thing he’s done in years,” Stephano mutters, rubbing a hand down his jaw. “Mine’s still playing both sides. Pretends he’s loyal to Edoardo, but I’ve put some feelers out to my sources in Venezuela. He’s got cash going offshore there. Lots of it.”
Marcello lifts an eyebrow. “Venezuelans again?”
“Same network Matías came from,” Stephano says. “Only bigger. Cleaner. These aren’t your run-of-the-mill street gangs—they’re building something.”
“Something?” I ask, feeling my stomach turn sour.
He nods. “Shipping routes. Shell companies. Private security contracts. All backed by blood money. They’re laundering through oil and tech.”
Marcello lets out a slow breath. “And Edoardo’s involved?”
Enrico speaks this time. “There’s chatter. Quiet meetings. A few Venezuelan names showing up on guest lists they shouldn’t be on. If he’s not taking a cut, he’s protecting someone who is.”
I swirl the amber in my glass, watching it catch the light as I voice my suspicions. “What’s the endgame? Replace the old families with a new power structure?”
“No,” Marcello says, his voice hard and certain. “Replace the families with one family.”
We go quiet as we mull his words over. Edoardo has repeatedly announced that he wants to ring in a new era. It just hadn’t occurred to us that he might want to get rid of us, just like we want to get rid of him. The words hang in the room like smoke from a bad fire.
“Edoardo’s not smart enough to plan that,” I finally say.
“He doesn’t have to be,” Marcello answers. “He’s just the face.”
“And the hand on his back?” I want to know.
Marcello looks at me. Then at Stephano. Then Enrico.
He doesn’t say her name. He doesn’t have to. Donna Margarita. Our Don's mother-in-law. She's been pulling strings for years. She sat herself up in a role of power, controlling Edoardo.
The silence shifts and starts to grow heavy. I watch Enrico finish his drink in one swallow. Stephano is the one to break it. “She’s playing a long game. If we don’t move first?—”
“She’ll burn us all,” Marcello finishes for him.
I nod once. “So we move.”
Marcello sets his glass down with a quiet click.
“Not yet,” he says. “Not until I know exactly what she’s hiding.” He pauses before he adds, almost to himself, “And where she buried it.”
Stephano leans back, brows drawn. “You think there’s more?”
Marcello doesn’t flinch. “I know there is.”
Enrico tilts his head, frowning. “You mean like blackmail? Insurance?”
“Worse,” Marcello says. “Something she doesn’t want Edoardo to know. Something that would ruin him if it came out.”
I shift forward in my chair. “And what makes you so sure she hasn’t already used it?”
Marcello lifts his eyes to mine; they're cold and certain. “Because if she had, he’d be dead by now.”
That's a good point.
Stephano scrubs a hand over his face. “What the hell did we let into the inner circle?”
“Not we ,” I correct. “Edoardo.”
Enrico grimaces. “So what do we do?”
Marcello stares out through the window. “We dig,” he says. “We find what she’s buried. And then we burn it, before it burns us.”
I raise my glass. “To fire, then.”
Marcello meets my eyes. His grin is all teeth.
“To war.”