5. Dominic
5
DOMINIC
Ever since Gigi and Carla Trapani flew in from Italy without warning, I’ve been on high alert. I’m always tense and overcautious, but something in their arrival triggered a new layer of worry in me.
Two Italian Mafia princesses running away all the way to the States isn’t normal, but this. This isn’t normal. Here’s Matteo married to Tasha Armstrong of all women, and now Stephano is falling like a brick for Gigi Trapani. This marriage they’ve entered into is a farce, but I can read my younger brother like a book. He’s trying his best not to develop feelings for her, but soon I’m going to have two brothers telling me all they want to do is fuck their wives .
Women. They are nothing but distractions.
Distractions I can’t afford.
In our line of work, this means nothing but our downfall. Failure, at best. Death, at worst. Weakness throughout.
As for Gigi, something happened to her before she fled Lake Como and Franco Fiore. She probably ran because of what Franco did to her. Even if Stephano would never say a thing, I can read between the lines. I can see it in the way he is protective over her. She’s been a rabbit caught in a snare, ready to chew off her own leg to ensure she got away from Fiore. It makes my blood boil.
The newlyweds leave Matteo’s apartment, and once Tasha and Carla have taken the stairs to their bedrooms, it’s just me, Matteo, Luca, and Benedict left at the dining table.
“Franco Fiore.” Now isn’t the best time, but I’ve spent the past week upgrading Stephano’s apartment’s security system and getting things in place to protect Gigi from that devil’s inevitable arrival in Boston.
“Really, Dominic? Now?” Matteo says with a groan as he picks up his wineglass. “You’re like a fucking dog with a bone sometimes.”
Yep. I’m extra because I know what happens when things go wrong. Out of habit, I reach for my left-hand pinkie and start to massage the stiff little fucker. Things don’t go wrong under my watch.
“Keeping my finger on the pulse, Matteo. Do you have anything new, Benedict?” We can’t afford to let any details slide just because we had our first family wedding today.
“The mole says that Franco is losing his shit. His ‘fiancée’ is on the run, and he doesn’t like it. He’s hunting Gigi down in every corner of Europe where his network extends to. For now, the only thing we can do is wait.”
So much for Franco’s fiancée. She just married another man. And it’s going to be our problem.
I hate being a sitting duck. Plus it stalls other projects I have going. Ever since the Don’s funeral where Il Consiglio’s capos lined up to swear their omertà to Matteo, I’ve been uneasy. Too many eyes stole to corners of the Don’s office to figure out the setup and how to gain access to serious confidential paperwork in said office. For all I care, we can put a match to the whole lot, but Mom’s things might be in the mix.
“We’re ready,” I say and shoot a glance to Luca. “Best you lie low for now.”
“Sure,” Luca says with a shrug. “I’ll hang out with Benedict.”
The twins were split apart early on to the outside world. People might know the Don had six sons, including one set of twins, but images of Luca and Stephano together are nonexistent, and the fact that they are identical has been a closely guarded secret.
We were homeschooled, because ‘the system’ didn’t teach us the shit we needed to know to survive in our world. Stephano is the only one who went to a private school due to his behavioral issues, and then got expelled from said school for beating a kid to a pulp. It was a bad move on the Don’s part, as it put us on the radar of social services and everybody else wanting a sneak peek into our lives. Stephano paid by spending two years in a juvenile facility just to keep the rats out of our business.
The Don roped in some of the best tutors in Boston who knew how to keep their mouths shut, reinforcing the mystery around the Scalera brothers. Benedict scrapes the internet for images of us daily. The twins are never together in public, and ever since that fatal night, when six became five, we’ve been even more careful. Benedict is probably the biggest enigma of us all. Going from homeschooled to hacker, if it wasn’t for a birth certificate, he might not exist at all.
As for Luca and Stephano, it’s always handy to have two of the ‘same person’ when you deal with fuckers like Franco Fiore. There’s no chance Franco will know what any of us looks like if he tries to hunt us down. We know what we’re up against. He doesn’t. I know one when I see one, and images of him are just as impossible to find. The question really is whether he is a psycho by nature or by training.
Time will tell.
“I’m heading out,” I say, standing up.
“You’re still at the Don’s house?” Luca asks.
“Yep.”
“Have you found anything interesting?” Matteo asks.
I might be like a dog with a bone, but Matteo is like a hawk, scouting for prey. I can’t shed this feeling he’s waiting for me to discover something only so he can swoop in and snatch it away. This feeling has been lurking around for weeks now, ever since he came back from Sicily.
“Nothing noteworthy. A lot of dated documents I doubt have any value.”
The only thing with value for me would be Mom’s journals. What I really want is to extract everything of hers from that house and put it in a shrine, but her journals, in her handwriting, is even more personal. I used to love watching her write and the calmness that seemed to descend on her when she did.
I don’t know if her journals are even still around, or if I’d have the stomach to read any of them, but she had to deal with her circumstances somehow, and a lot of shrinks would tell you to try journaling .
Fuck me. Maybe I should take up the pen.
“Keep me posted if you find anything—” Matteo breaks off with a shrug. “Just keep me posted.”
“Will do.” There are too many cabinets with paperwork to sort, so I moved back into the old family house to save myself the drive and make a dent in the paperwork.
Whatever I’m looking for, I bet Matteo is banking on me finding it before anybody else does. He’s looking for something, but he won’t say what. Maybe he doesn’t even know what he’s looking for.
I head to the parking garage in the building’s basement where my driver, Stan, and my bodyguard, Gus, have been killing time.
We hit the road to the Don’s house, and forty minutes later, I take in the beautiful grounds in the twilight. At this time of year, it’s truly an oasis with rolling lawns and big trees that will soon show hints of the coming fall. With the estate still under guard and being maintained by the same trustworthy staff the Don employed, it’s immaculate.
As the house comes into view, I already spot Bruno where he’s waiting at the front door. My heart clenches.
Dang that dog. Nobody has ever waited for me like this.
I’m a loner. Always have been. Mostly because of the Don, but also because I can’t let anybody close to me. All Scalera boys have done illegal things that come with being in the Mafia, but there are layers here. Where Matteo and Stephano have only killed in self-defense, to protect someone else, I’ve killed on command.
I’ve tortured and maimed; I’ve dragged information out of people like I would their nails, all with a cold-hearted brutality that’s been fine-tuned over years in the Don’s service. I know what I’m protecting my brothers from—I’m protecting them from someone like me.
The only way to survive in this world is to be the strongest, and now Matteo and Stephano have both gone and weakened our foundation by bringing women into the picture. Fucking madness…
There are unwritten rules about being in the Mafia and getting married, such as wives and children are off-limits when it comes to retaliations, discipline, or hostile takeovers. None of those rules will ever apply to me. I’ve done things nobody ever talks about—because they’re dead—but rumors are rife. There will be no mercy if I, or any woman associated with me, get caught by our enemies.
With a sigh, I clamber out of the car. Bruno wags his tail and hastens towards me.
“Hey, bud. Good day, hmm?” I say softly, a warm spot glowing in my heart.
Fuck it. To think this mutt is growing even more on me in his old age. Every day he does this: waits for me and then trails behind me as if I’m his last connection to the man he evidently loved. Then he whines so much when I leave, testing me like no human ever has.
For Bruno’s sake, we can’t sell the house in a rush. He shatters my resolve with those eyes that seem to search for a face, only to lean into me with his head against my thigh when he realizes it’s me and not the Don. Then nuzzling my hand as if it doesn’t matter, as if he’s happy to have his world revolve around me .
I sink down on the stairs to sit next to him and drive my hands into his thick fur to give him a good rub. He pants happily, and for a long time, we’re just sitting there, in companionable silence as twilight turns darker and darker.
Just like my soul.
It’s pitch black by the time I make the call. The fucker in the basement won’t see the next day. He’s the only capo still standing who hasn’t sworn his omertà to Matteo. He won’t talk, and I bet it’s because he’s involved in another crime ring, one that might be coming for us or stealing our business. In moments of delirium, he’s spewed out some Russian at me, basically sealing his fate. No kid puts the Bratva and Il Consiglio in the same sandbox and gets to play along.
With this Franco Fiore situation coming to a head sooner or later, there’s going to be blood and bodies. Matteo’s promession site has a limited capacity, and we wouldn’t want this fucker to cause a bottleneck.
Time to go do the thing I’ve been trained for.