Chapter 14 Carlo
Carlo
“Francesca… I heard what happened.”
Every word had been a trial to push past my lips, but the worst was her quietly broken reply. "You don’t have to worry about me.”
Those fucking bastards. How could I let this happen? How can I ever make it up to her? Letting my monster loose had satisfied my rage temporarily, but it hadn’t absolved me of my failure. Nothing ever will.
“Christ, Carlo…” Luca mutters when he finds me in the wake of my rampage at Red Hook.
"They were squeaking little rats," I say, opening my tired eyes. Small-fry dealers who wanted to avoid a few months of jail time. The omertà, our vow of silence, duty, loyalty, honor; they’re the pillars of life in the mafia for Made Men.
When our head Enforcer called me after I heard the news from Vegas, I told him to let me handle them.
"Have them dumped where they'll be found by the others. "
Luca squints at the second body. "Did you use a goddamn drill on the bastard?"
I nod toward the power tool on the table. "So many little holes. The other didn't want to watch… until it was his turn."
"You know Father doesn’t like for you to get your hands dirty.”
“Fuck what he wants.” I sound like the spoiled princeling Francesca accused me of being, but I can’t help it. I’m furious with everyone and everything, including him. Just because I’ll be the boss someday doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy getting my hands dirty.
A week ago, I would’ve married the wrong woman for the sake of a pact crafted by others. Now, I can't forgive myself for a broken promise I made to myself – that I would keep Francesca safe.
“The fact that she suffered, that she could have died…”
Luca studies me shrewdly for a moment, trying to peek inside at something that shouldn’t be there. “Well, she’s alright now,” he says at last.
“I imagine she’s very fucking far from alright after that cousin of hers tried to rape her! After her uncle nearly killed her!” My voice rises in volume until it echoes off the walls of the empty warehouse, causing my headache to intensify. "She never should’ve been returned to their territory."
“You’re just pissed you didn’t kill them.”
“You’re goddamn right about that.” The cousin was put down like a rabid dog by Caterina. Alessio’s petite young bride has deadlier aim than I would’ve guessed. Silvio’s death was his son’s honor… and perhaps his downfall.
“Father says there will be a Tribunal tonight in Chicago for Alessio’s crime of killing his Capo. He expects you to fly there with him.”
I played my advantage last week to get the bride I wanted. Silvio played his own devious game. He lost, but I nearly did as well. I cannot leave her unprotected. If Alessio dies while she's still in Nevada… I don't want to consider the outcome. “Tell him I’ll be there.”
***
Many hours later after Alessio is unanimously absolved of his crime and named Capo of the West, my father and I are alone in the car that carries us to our hotel for the night.
The old man tires easily, another complication from his heart attack.
Every day, I’m taking on more of his duties behind the scenes.
“I have always treated you with respect around the men you will soon lead, have I not?"
“Sì, padre. More than I deserve at times.”
“From birth, you understood duty better than your brothers ever have.”
As much as I care for them, I can’t argue the fact. “Perhaps each of your children are blessed with their own strengths.”
“My children reflect how a man’s strength wanes with age, from blessings to weakness and curses, the wages of my many sins. My first born was strong and cunning like me. You were followed by two more strong boys, though unruly. Then came the girls… and Giulia.”
My rage explodes as understanding dawns. “Your daughters are not a sign of weakness. Giulia’s deafness is not a fucking curse for your sins. How can you-”
“Argue with me when you have children of your own,” he says, raising his hand.
It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to rage at him.
“I am weak, Carlo, and my health has not recovered. Soon, you must rule, and it’s better to rule over a Trio at peace with itself if possible.
You must marry, and you will need heirs. May they be strong like you.”
May they be sons, he means.
“I have raised no objection to your suggested match with the Donnelly girl.”
“No, you have not.”
“But as I am your Don and your father and no one may listen to our conversation now, I would like for you to explain it. Why her? What possible advantage could there be in such a match?”
Because I am bewitched.
If I voice that reason aloud, he might tell me to pull over so he can shoot me on the side of the road.
I can’t begin to explain to him my reasons for wanting Francesca – how I want to protect her, vex her, and make her laugh.
His strategic mind views marriages like mergers.
He’d never accept anything less from me.
He will expect logic. Hell, I expect more logic from myself than Francesca evokes.
“She is a De Luca by blood. She's close to Alessio’s wife. It may help improve our bond with Vegas. Considering she helped Sofia escape, I believe it’s wise to keep an eye on her.
In time, Sofia may grow tired of living on the run and reach out to her beloved cousin.
But most of all, I'm certain her brother will reach out to her again while Francesca’s father still breathes freely somewhere when he should’ve been drowned in a bucket of piss three years ago. We will have our revenge at last."
I harbor no real hatred of Ronan even if his plan to whisk Sofia away made us look foolish. But I have wanted to kill Brian Donnelly from the moment I saw her black eye the day Beppe was captured.
“You think you may find a way to lure the brother and perhaps her father out of hiding by marrying her?” my father asks, his cold eyes flashing with keen interest.
“It’s what I expect. I will have Francesca in New York under my protection. We’ll ensure Boston and our contacts in the Bureau know it. Hiding out grows very dull as time passes, I imagine.”
My father gives me a small smile. He’s pleased with my answer. Nothing stands in my way now.
***
Nothing stands in my way except the bride herself, that is.
Two weeks later, Alessio comes to New York with Francesca for a hasty family dinner. Her mother has joined them, but Enzo was not invited. Whether or not he mourns his son and brother, I don’t want him anywhere near her.
A formal betrothal dinner isn’t required - the pact has been agreed to - but my mother insisted on this meeting.
Admittedly, I would like to observe how my bride-to-be interacts with my siblings, especially Giulia.
Other than Luca, she wasn’t permitted to meet them when she was here last time since we were essentially holding her hostage.
However, I do wish I’d been able to get her ring before she arrives tonight. It’s a mere symbol, but it would make it feel official.
“I’m sure she’s grateful to be offered a ring at all, no matter when she receives it,” Mother says dismissively from beside the window where she’s been watching for their arrival like a sentry. “God, who dressed her?”
“I would think she dressed herself,” I answer, ignoring the boyish impulse to race to the window so I can see her, too.
“She’s not as elegant as Sofia,” Bianca declares, following our mother’s bitchy lead.
“Not another word like that from you, marmocchia,” I bark.
“She suits me and, as I will have a hand in choosing who you marry someday, you will be your most charming self with my bride and her mother tonight.” Bianca quickly blinks back tears at the empty threat while Anna laughs over me calling her sister a brat. “And you will be polite, Mother.”
“I'm always polite,” Fiorella Vicini replies haughtily before muttering, “Even when I’m forced to host such…”
“Francesca’s likely to throw something at them before the night is over,” I complain to Luca as he follows me to the front door.
Luca laughs and, when I open the door, he laughs harder before choking out the words, “Good evening, Sister Donnelly.”
“What in the holy fuck?” I ask.
Francesca, wearing a very traditional nun's habit, drops into a damned curtsy, tartly replying, “Holy is correct. I’ve decided to take different vows. Singing is allowed at the convent I’ve chosen. Thus, I’m afraid I can’t marry you, Carlo, as I will soon be a bride of Christ.”
“Fucking hell.”
“No, I’m trying to avoid that place.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Yes, Him.”
“Frankie!” I shout, exasperated. Alessio smirks from beside her while Beatrice is clearly in agony as Luca doubles over, wheezing and trying to catch his breath.
“You called me by my nickname.”
Yes, I did. I’m not even sure why, but my lips are twitching as my father and Renato enter the foyer. Both stop dead in their tracks when they see her.
"Is it Halloween already?" Renato asks, looking like he’ll soon be on the floor laughing next to Luca.
My father looks like he’ll join them there… from having another heart attack.
“You’ve had your fun. Take it off,” Alessio says to Francesca, poking her in the side.
“Alright, fine,” she huffs, pulling the nun’s habit off to reveal a sexy red dress underneath.
“Holy fuck,” Renato whispers behind me. I frown at the kid, but I’m thinking the exact same thing. Her curves would bring sinners and saints alike to their knees.
While I’m busy trying to control a rapidly developing situation in my briefs, her mother profusely apologizes to Father for the joke.
I don’t hear half of what is said, and I don’t care if my father is looking less than amused.
I want to be alone with her. And maybe spank her ass thoroughly for that stunt.
These past two weeks I’ve been worried about her after everything that happened.
Her playfulness was the last thing I expected.
As we’re guiding our guests into the living room to meet everyone, Francesca surprises me once more, murmuring in my ear. “We need to talk later. Alone. Could you have me brought to your penthouse around midnight if I can get Alessio to agree?”
“What the hell are you up to, Red?” I ask, shaking my head. Married life with Francesca won’t be dull at least.
She grins, the most innocently wicked grin I’ve ever seen. “I have an indecent proposal for you this time, Signore Vicini.”
Married life with Francesca? I’ll be lucky if I survive dinner.