Chapter 4
CALIGULA
“I’ve been looking for you for some time,” Luca D’Amato tells me.
“Then I’m glad to know I made it difficult for you.”
He chuckles. “It wasn’t all that difficult. Just inconvenient. The other Families get a little antsy when they think I have surveillance on them. So when you gave yourself over to Orsini, it complicated things. And yet—” He sweeps out his arm. “Here you are.”
“Here I am,” I agree.
My grandfather hated Luca D’Amato. Hated him so much, he was prepared to burn his whole kingdom down to get at the man, if that’s what it took.
I hate Luca D’Amato because he’s my Family’s enemy. But it doesn’t have the same fire as Nonno Lou’s hatred for him. And it certainly doesn’t have the eternal flame of Damiano Orsini’s hatred for my father.
And for me, presumably, now that I’ve escaped him.
The point is, I only hate Luca D’Amato in principle.
So emotion doesn’t get in the way while I’m observing him now.
I only know what the world knows about him, plus a few extra murders.
I know he’s successfully moved his Family into legitimate business streams, while keeping the most lucrative of the less legal.
I know he’s crazy in love with his husband, because you only have to see the man look at him to know that.
I also know, because my grandfather let it slip, that Luca D’Amato once tried to join the Clemenza Family. Nonno Lou would never have knowingly let a gay man into the ranks of his Family, of course. But if he had, I wonder if he’d still be alive today.
And I wonder how far Luca D’Amato might have gone as a Clemenza, instead of a Morelli.
He’s climbed a long way in a short time.
To have accomplished what he has, he must have an iron will and a burning ambition.
An ambition that, apparently, is not going to be satisfied until he’s completely obliterated his rivals.
D’Amato has been thinking to himself, his finger to his lips. Is he planning to kill me? Because if so, I will try to run. I’m not going to meekly sit here and let him end me. But I’m not sensing that energy, and if he wanted to kill me, he wouldn’t have had Fontana release me from the chair.
He seems to come to a decision. “I’m sorry they drugged you,” he says, pulling aside his jacket to put his hands in his pockets. And to show me that he has a gun.
“All of you seem to be sorry about it except the traitor who actually did it.”
He nods slowly. “After your grandfather’s death, I had to show mercy to many of your people. My goal was stability. But New York is as stable as it will ever be, I think. So I’ll revisit Scaglietti’s position with us in due course.”
“My grandfather didn’t die. He was murdered. By you.”
He ignores that. “How are you feeling?”
What the hell is going on in this man’s head? He’s starting to remind me of Damiano that first night after the auction, so concerned with my health. Making sure I was fed before he locked a collar around my neck. Making sure I was warm before he chained me to a bed.
“I feel like I just got pumped full of drugs and puked my guts out.” I lift up my chin. “Since you ask.”
“But not hazy? Muddled?”
“I am in full possession of all my faculties. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Yes.” D’Amato gives a small smile. “We’ve never met, Mr. Clemenza. But I’ve heard a few things about you. They say you’re clever. Are you clever?”
I say nothing.
“I hope you are,” he says after a moment. “Because I want to help you. And a clever man would accept my help.”
Now I stand. My legs are unsteady, the drug still lingering in my system, but I get to my feet with the help of the chair and hold onto it, because I am not going to let this man tower over me. “I don’t want your help.”
He sighs. “I know you don’t, Cal. Can I call you Cal?” He waits for my response, but I don’t give him one. “I know you think I’m your enemy. But I assure you, I am not.”
“You killed my grandfather.”
“You keep saying that as if it has any relevance,” he says, a touch impatiently. “Your grandfather was no saint, Cal. Surely you know that.”
“I know exactly who my grandfather was. And the point stands: you murdered him. Are you going to murder me, too?”
He looks at me, at my hand clutching hard onto the metal chair, at my teeth clenching against the nausea still rolling through me, at my attempt to stand as straight as I can. And I hate him for the pity that passes through his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you. As I said, I want to help you.”
“Why?”
“Because I know what you’ve been through.”
I let out a laugh. It’s only slightly hysterical. “I very much doubt that.”
“I know someone has been killing all the remaining Clemenzas with a direct line to your grandfather. I know you’ve been living rough. And,” D’Amato finishes gently, “I know about the Obelisk.” There’s that pity in his eyes again.
“How?” I manage to croak out. “How do you know…all that?”
“Do you really think I don’t know what’s going on in my own city? It’s my responsibility to know.”
“What a heavy cross to bear,” I say, retreating behind sarcasm once more. It’s the only shelter I have left.
“Indeed,” D’Amato says seriously. “And while I will not apologize for your grandfather’s death, Cal, I do apologize for what has happened to you.
You should never have been reduced to this.
It was not my intention. Whoever is hunting your people down, I plan to find them and stop them. You have my word.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “Your word?” And then I do something I saw my grandfather do many times over, something I found disgusting and peasant-like, but here and now, I understand why he used to do it.
I spit at D’Amato’s feet.
“That’s what I think of your word,” I tell him.
There’s no pity in his eyes now as he looks at me. “Nevertheless,” he says coolly. “I am giving it.” He tilts his head slightly, looking at me closely once more. “I also know about Damiano Orsini, and his vendetta against your Family. So if he’s the one who’s been—”
“It’s not him,” I say quickly. “He’s got nothing to do with it.”
“Cal, if he’s hurt you—”
“He hasn’t.”
D’Amato’s brows pull together. “You’re lying,” he says. “Perhaps because you’re more afraid of me than of him. But I can assure you, you have nothing to fear from me.”
I stand straight, taking my hand off the chair completely. “I am not afraid of you, Don Morelli. And I am not lying. Damiano Orsini is the only man in this city who has demonstrably protected me from an attempted assassination. You were at the opera that night yourself, weren’t you?”
He lets a few beats pass before he says, “If he’s protecting you, then why were you running away from his house in the middle of the night, with nothing but a backpack stuffed with clothes and food?”
Well, shit. He has me there. Nothing I say will convince him, so it doesn’t matter what I say. “I felt like a night walk. I took some snacks and some extra layers, because it’s unseasonably cold at the moment.”
He sighs again. “Alright. Have it your way. Do you know who this killer is?”
“No. But you don’t need to worry about it. That’s my problem, not yours.”
The blue eyes sweep over me once more. “You’re a puzzle to me, Cal,” he says at last. “You weren’t involved in your Family’s business. Never got made, did you?”
He means I’ve never killed someone. And that’s true.
I’ve never ended a life. To become a full member of the Family, I would have had to do that.
I always knew it would happen sooner or later; Nonno Lou started making noise about it when I turned fourteen.
Dad protected me when I was younger, told him it could wait until after college. And then everything went to shit.
But I remember what Damiano said to me the other night, when he was trying to needle me. That my grandfather would have been proud of me if he’d known me better.
I’m a venomous little viper, I told Orsini.
And it’s true.
Luca D’Amato is still waiting for a reply.
“I have a right to the Clemenza Family,” I tell him. “I’m next in line. So…I’m the Boss.”
D’Amato doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even smile, though I expected him to ridicule my claim. “As I said, you’re something of an enigma. Even more so now that we’ve had this conversation. So tell me: what kind of man are you, Caligula Clemenza?”
“The kind who fights for his Family. Just like you.”
“Then that makes you a potential enemy. Do you want to be my enemy, Cal? Do you understand what it would mean?”
“It’s you who doesn’t understand,” I say.
“I don’t have any other choice. I was born a Clemenza.
The Family is my birthright, whether I like it or not.
Perhaps that’s not something you can comprehend, since you were born a D’Amato and not a Morelli.
You don’t understand the power that a name, a heritage, can really have. ”
Ouch. I think I hit on something there, because his eyes get even colder, if that’s possible. But from behind me in the warehouse, a loud, wild laugh echoes off the metal shelving. I whirl around as a slow clapping follows, and a pink-haired man strolls out from between the shipping containers.
“Well, aren’t you a little firecracker,” Finch D’Amato says from several feet away. “It’s true, my husband didn’t inherit wealth and power. He took them. But if you want to make the kind of distinction you’re making, I guess you can say Luca married into the Family, since I am a Morelli by birth.”
It’s an open secret now among the Families that Finch D’Amato—born Howard Fincher Donovan the Third—was actually the old Morelli Don’s lovechild with the wife of a Boston Irish mobster. Finch walks to join his husband, not bothering to skirt wide around me.
He wants me to know he doesn’t consider me a threat. And I’m not, am I? I talk a big game, but it’s all hot air. I might as well be a child with a paper crown on my head insisting that I’m a king.
“I was nice enough to instruct my personal assistant to let you into Kismet a few weeks ago, Cal, and now here you are being rude to my beloved husband,” Finch goes on. “Do you think that’s wise?” He reaches Luca and slots into his side like a matching puzzle piece.
“I’m not being rude,” I counter. “I’m stating facts. And as for you, you don’t seem to know what your name is. Donovan? D’Amato? Now you want to claim Morelli?”
“Watch your tone,” Luca D’Amato says sharply. “You speak to my husband like that again, I’ll—”
“It’s alright, Luca,” Finch says, putting a hand on D’Amato’s arm. “Talking smack is just our new friend’s love language. Am I right?” He grins at me. “And hell, if I can’t take it, I shouldn’t dish it out. Now—” He looks expectantly at his husband. “What are we doing? Is Cal coming home with us?”
“Coming home with you?” I splutter.
“He’s not a stray dog, angel,” D’Amato says.
“He certainly isn’t,” Finch agrees. “Stray dogs are grateful when you feed them. This one bites.”
“And to hear him tell it,” D’Amato goes on, “Orsini’s done him no harm.”
Finch gives me a piercing look that makes me almost as uncomfortable as his husband’s. “Oh, is that right?”
I stare right back at him. “Dami offered me protection. I took it.”
There’s no way I’m going to admit to these two exactly what that protection looked like.
If I can persuade them to let me go, I can keep doing what I planned, and find my people before tracking down my cousin, Tiberius Vicario.
But I can’t tell that to Luca D’Amato. He’s not going to allow the resurrection of my Family, not for all his falsely friendly gestures.
“If you keep telling me that Orsini has been protecting you,” D’Amato says softly, “then I’ll be forced to hand you back to him, Cal. To assuage my own fears for your safety.”
Shit.
“Nothing would please me more,” I say, just before the pause becomes too long. “I was drugged and kidnapped off the street by my grandfather’s killer. I’m afraid for my life. All I want is to go back to Dami’s house. I’m sure he’s frantic with worry.”
“Well,” Finch says acerbically, “I guess he did pay a cool ten mill for you. I’d be worried if that kind of money walked out the door, too.”
Heat climbs up my neck. “He has been a very generous host,” I say stiffly. “The ten million was put into trust for me—”
“By the Bratva,” Finch breaks in flatly.
I can kiss that ten million goodbye, after threatening Daniel King as I did. Not to mention being involved in the death of his friend. But that’s the least of my problems right now. I need to get away from the D’Amatos.
“Dami also bought me my grandfather’s townhouse as a gift,” I counter. “He had no reason to do that except kindness.”
They don’t believe me. But they don’t not believe me. And I can see a way to thread this needle that might get me everything I need, everything I want, and show Damiano Orsini just how unwise he was to try outwitting a Clemenza.
“Why not call him here,” I say, “and ask him yourself? Bring in his Boss, too, the Giuliano Don. We might as well get it all out in the open.”
Luca D’Amato raises his eyebrows and glances at Finch, who shrugs. “I’ll make a few calls,” D’Amato says.
“Great,” I say, and I pull up a smile from somewhere. “I can’t wait for Dami to get here.”
Let’s hope the man has more sense than to try to kill me the second he lays eyes on me.