18. Dario
DARIO
It’s after seven by the time Giovanni and Rocco get there, and I’ve already been waiting with two of my other men—cousins, actually, Paolo and Lorenzo. They’ve always been loyal, and they’re big enough to provide some muscle in the even that some of our enemies show up to this fake shipment.
I’m not sure anything will come of it.
Beth can’t be the one pulling the strings on this, can she? It seems ridiculous to expend this much manpower for my little cousin, but... I have to be sure.
“There's a rat in our midst,” I say to the four of them when Giovanni and Rocco arrive.
Paolo looks up from his phone. He’s only twenty-four, but he’s done good work for me in the past.
“Family?” he asks, an eyebrow raised.
I blink at him. “How did you know?”
“Because the only one here who isn’t family is Giovanni, and he may as well be.”
I relax slightly. “You’re right. It is someone in the family.”
Lorenzo’s shoulders stiffen. "And you have some idea of who it is, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”
I nod slowly. “I’m setting up a fake shipment and only giving information to the suspect. If anyone shows up...”
“Then we know,” Giovanni finishes.
Lorenzo nods. “Who do you suspect? Neither of us, surely.”
I shake my head. “Beth.”
“Beth Conte?” Paolo asks incredulously. “She’s never been interested in the life.”
“But she does hate me.”
Lorenzo whistles. “That she does, but... I still think you’re barking up the wrong tree, boss.”
I shrug. “I hope I am.”
“Alright, so what’s the plan?”
“We’ve given her information for a midnight shipment at the warehouse downtown on Friday,” Rocco explains. “I’ve also let it slip that Dante will be checking it personally.”
“And we’re just...” Paolo starts.
“Backup,” I finish, and they both nod.
We talk for a while longer before it’s time to leave, and the tension in the air is palpable. Neither Lorenzo or Paolo believes that Beth is guilty. They think this is a waste of their time.
Maybe it is. I can’t help but feel conflicted about setting her up.
I know she’s always disliked me, and God knows I was a bully to her when I was young, but she’s Liana’s best friend.
It’s good that I’ve been avoiding Liana—for many reasons—but particularly because she might see something on my face.
Know that something is wrong.
I can’t risk her tipping Beth off.
But I also can’t stand that I’m lying to Liana.
And why does it matter? Why do I care so fucking much?
I shouldn’t. She left me. Left me bleeding and broken and moved on with someone else at the drop of a hat. I should hate her as much as she hates me.
But I can’t even think about her now. All I can think about is Beth.
I’m replaying ever interaction we’ve ever had, trying to determine where it all went wrong. I was an ass to her, for sure, pulled her pigtails and told her that her dress was ugly, but isn’t that something every boy does to his cousins?
Did it make her hate me enough to want to take down my empire?
I have to make sure. Mama and Papa would want me to be sure.
My throat tightens when I think about them. I can’t help but remember the last time I saw them.
“Are you sure you want to go to Europe right now? With everything going on with the Gallos...” my father trailed off.
I huffed out a breath, annoyed. He hadn’t liked the idea of me going to Europe when I first mentioned it weeks ago, and now he was trying to keep me here.
“You and Vincenzo have been at each other’s throats for years. What’s different now?”
My father sighed. “I would have thought you’d want to be a part of this. You know that one day all of it will be yours.”
Sure. One day when I’m old and gray, like him.
I didn’t want to wish for a life that’s twenty years in the future.
Mobsters live fast, die faster. I wanted to live my life as fully as I could, and part of that included going to Europe.
At the airport the next day, my father didn't show.
Typical.
My mother drove me herself, chatting idly on the way there. I’d barely listened, too excited about first class champagne and the women in France I was going to bed.
It was bad enough Papa wouldn’t let me take our jet.
“Your father would like it if you stayed,” she said quietly after she hugged me at the gate.
“Too bad,” I spat out, and the hurt on my mother’s face made my heart clench in my chest.
But she just waved, and I went to security and boarded the plane.
I was in France in bed with some woman and several empty bottles of wine when I got the call that they’d been killed.
I draw in a shaking breath, heading over to the bar and pouring myself a scotch.
I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until Liana kicks my shin.
“Hey, wake up,” she calls softly, and I pry open one eyelid.
The sunlight streams into my face and makes a spear of pain go through my temple.
“Ow, fuck,” I mumble, and Liana laughs.
“Tied one on last night?”
“Not really.”
I sit up, rubbing a hand across my face.
She solemnly hands me a water bottle.
“Figured you were hungover.”
“What gave me away?” I croak, and she smirks.
“The rumpled clothes you wore yesterday. The smell of scotch emanating from your pores. Maybe I’m psychic.”
“Cute,” I mutter, taking the water bottle and opening it, then chugging half of it in one gulp.
“What’s going on with you? You’re avoiding me and then... this.”
“I told you I’m not avoiding you.”
She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Sure, yeah, okay. You sent us out of the house last night.”
“Because I had a meeting.”
“It’s not the first one you’ve had since we moved in,” she points out, and she’s right.
I just couldn’t have her in the house while I was plotting to take down her best friend.
“I’m fine.”
She frowns. “No, you’re not. I know you, Dario. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I said I’m fine,” I snap. “And you don’t have to baby me, I can get up to bed on my own.”
Liana balks at that, holding up her hands in defense, and I feel like an asshole.
“Sorry. Just... rough night.”
She nods slowly. “Understood. I won’t ask any more questions.”
“Li, I didn’t—”
But she’s already stalking up the stairs. I groan when I hear her bedroom door slam shut.
Great. Now she’s mad at me.
I don’t see her again until after dinner. We either missed each other, or she and Sonny ate in his room, as they often do.
Especially when she's mad at me.
I’m moping around the house, nursing a hangover, but dinner makes me feel better. I’m leaving the kitchen as she enters and we freeze as we face each other.
“Just needed to get Sonny a snack,” she says quickly, brushing past me.
I grab her wrist. “Li. Don’t be mad at me.”
She wrenches away from me. “Who says I’m mad?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I drawl. “Maybe how your brows are drawn together. How your mouth turns down at the corners. Maybe I’m psychic.”
She snorts as I repeat her words back to her.
“I’m not mad. I just... I feel like I’m getting more out of this than you are,” she says, sounding earnest, and my eyes shoot to hers.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I get a place to stay, room and board, free food, anything I want. And you... what are you getting out of this? Why are you doing this?”
“I told you, the tax—”
“Any tax break you might be able to get would be negligible.”
I open my mouth to speak but then shut it again.
“So what is it, Dario? Why are you helping me?”
Because I’m still so in love with you I can’t fucking see straight. Because I hate you and I love you and I can’t stand the idea of anyone else having you.
Because you’ve been mine from the moment I saw you.
“I don’t know,” I say finally, flatly, and Sonny comes jogging down the stairs, a frown on his face.
“Don’t fight,” he says in a small, strained voice, looking up at us with glaring gray eyes. He looks so much like his mother that it makes my heart skip a beat.
“We’re not fighting, baby,” Liana assures him. “Just talking.”
“Sounded like fighting.” He rubs at his eyes, clearly still sleepy.
“I’m sorry we woke you,” I say, picking him up.
Instead of putting his head on my shoulder like usual, he looks into my face.
“Do you think... do you think you could be my daddy? Since I don’t have one?”
Something in me cracks straight down the middle, tears springing to the backs of my eyes. But just as quickly as the feeling starts deep in my chest, Liana snatches Sonny from me.
She sets him on his feet.
“Dario is not your daddy.”
Sonny’s lip trembles. “But—”
“He’s not,” she says flatly, and takes his hand. “Now, let’s get you to bed.”
My jaw clenches so tight it feels like my teeth might crack.
So nothing’s changed. She still fucking hates me.
She takes him up the stairs and I make a phone call.
“Rocco?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“You said to call you if I wanted to get drunk.”
“Hell yeah! I’ll pick you up in fifteen.”
Maybe I’m relying on alcohol as a crutch too much, but I’m a mobster. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?
Rely on our vices?
It’s better than relying on my other vice: Liana fucking Rossi.