Chapter 7
LUCA
Ican’t let this stand.
What Mancuso tried today cannot be allowed to go unaddressed. Victor advised against retaliation, advocating for peace and diplomacy through Caroline, but my anger demands some form of retribution for what happened.
Once I know Valentina is back and safe at the mansion with Luca, I drive straight for the Mancuso residence, on the southeastern edge of Mayfair.
Rising mightily against the starry evening, the two-story villa greets me with deep shadows and motion-activated lights, along with six armed guards, who are nowhere near willing to let me in.
Regardless, I stand at the gate and raise my arms slowly in the air.
“I need to talk to your boss,” I say.
“No can do, Mr. Petrucci,” one of the guards says with a hard look on his face.
“I could’ve come here in a different setup, gentlemen. You might as well appreciate that and let me in. Because if I leave now, I’ll come back in a different mindset, and none of you will like it.”
One of their radios crackles loudly with an incoming transmission. The guy takes a couple of steps back and listens—I can’t make out what the order is until he gives his colleagues a nod, and one of them goes ahead and opens the gate for me.
“Mr. Mancuso is willing to see you,” he says.
Good for him, I think, and I follow him into the house.
The Mancuso villa is a palatial behemoth with a classical vibe.
Traditional, turn-of-the-century style furniture.
Plenty of Renaissance and Baroque-period paintings on the walls, sporting original Sansovino frames.
Beautiful porcelain vases overflowing with freshly cut flowers and bronze statuettes at every door and archway.
Mancuso seems intent on preserving the past in a world that keeps moving forward faster and faster.
Maybe that’s why he’s part of a dying breed.
I find him seated by the fireplace, draped in a burgundy-red robe, glass of cognac in one hand and a cigar in the other. He gives me a spiteful glare.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here, Petrucci,” he says.
The guard stands back but doesn’t go far. He keeps one hand on his holstered weapon to make it clear that he will intervene if he has to.
“My nerve is nothing compared to what your men tried to pull earlier today in the city,” I bluntly reply.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The Marchetti brothers.”
Mancuso stills, his nostrils flaring furiously. I give him a wry smile.
“You continue to confuse me with my brother, Mauro. I get everything I want, no matter the cost. People, information. Always. Which is why I know you got the Marchetti brothers involved. And why I got to Valentina and her son first. Don’t fucking try me.”
He gets up and sets the cigar aside. It’s not lit yet. I’m hoping I spoiled that pleasure for him. I look forward to spoiling much more.
“I’m aware of the Marchetti brothers, but I still don’t understand what you’re getting at here,” Mancuso says.
Time has not been kind to this man. He’s barely a husk of the giant he used to be.
There’s barely a tuft of white hair left on the top of his spotted head, and deep wrinkles draw dark shadows under his milky-grey eyes.
His back is hunched slightly, and his fingers are slightly darker in color—a sign of rheumatoid arthritis, if I’m not mistaken.
“Again, you continue to insult my intelligence,” I tell him. “The Marchetti brothers have been on your payroll almost exclusively for over a year. And there is nobody else brazen or desperate enough in this city to try to come after my fiancée except you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, a mixture of anger and amusement testing his features. “You’ve stolen my grandson, Mr. Petrucci.”
“Not by any legal or biological definition,” I say. “Michael is Stefano’s son. My nephew.”
“And Valentina is my daughter!” he snaps, the fury of his own impotence getting the better of him.
I take a step forward, eager to defy him. He doesn’t frighten me, not in the least. The loyalty of his men keeps me from doing what I’d rather do. I have a woman to go back to—a thought I never thought I’d muster in this lifetime, but survival has become a prerequisite in my line of work.
Mancuso’s guard inches closer, and I give him a sideways glance. “Relax,” I mutter, then look at the old man. “Stepdaughter. Legally, you have no claim over that child, which is why you tried your luck in the alley today. Though I do wonder what the plan was exactly. The child wasn’t with her.”
“I don’t have to explain myself to the likes of you!” Mauro explodes. “You’ve made your point. Now, get the fuck out of my house.”
“Stay the fuck away from my family. And that includes Valentina and Michael. Or I will be forced to take measures.”
“Measures?”
“Measures that will upend your lineage a lot sooner than you might hope.”
Mancuso scoffs and shakes his head in disgust. “Are you really threatening me, boy?”
“With at least one witness present,” I say, nodding at the guard. “All bets are off, Mauro. I’m drawing a line here for the whole world to see. Valentina and I are getting married on Sunday.”
“That ungrateful little bitch.”
“Valentina Peroni is my concern,” I say, raising my voice enough to get the point across. “And so is her son. My nephew.”
Caroline barges into the living room, livid and shaken at the sight unraveling before her. “What is the meaning of all this?”
The guard tries to keep her from coming closer, ready to get physical at any given moment, but she slaps his hand away with a furious scowl.
“Cut it out, Shane!” she snaps. “This is ridiculous!”
“Caroline, stay out of it,” her father warns.
“Like hell!” She takes the very center of the room, positioning herself clearly between her father and me. Shane, the bodyguard, remains speechless on the sidelines, watching and clearly unsure of what to do next.
“This ends here now,” Caroline says. “It’s gone on far too long.”
Mancuso rolls his eyes and resumes his seat by the fireplace, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…”
“No, I’m serious. It’s done, Papa. It’s done. To the victor goes the spoils, as much as you might hate to admit it. Luca played the game, and he won it fair and square. We should show some honor and dignity before we become the laughingstock of the entire fucking city.”
“Caroline—”
“Enough,” she insists, tears twinkling in her eyes.
“Valentina is safe with the Petruccis. Her son is one of them, Papa, like it or not. The most we can do is accept the defeat and look for another way forward. We can’t keep doing this.
Somebody always dies; somebody always grieves.
Hasn’t there been enough grieving already, for God’s sake? ”
“Your daughter makes a lot of sense,” I tell Mancuso. “You should pay attention to what she’s saying.”
He points an angry finger at me. “I will not be taking advice on how to run my family from someone who couldn’t keep his own brother out of my stepdaughter’s panties!”
“This is the last time you’ll ever speak crudely of Valentina,” I warn him. “There won’t be another.”
Caroline sighs with genuine exasperation.
“Papa, cut it out. The Mancuso pride is what got us into this mess in the first place. Just accept the situation. Be a man. Be a father. A leader. It’s how you want your people to remember you.
Most importantly, remember what we already agreed upon.
Peace with the Petruccis is the only way forward. ”
“Meh…”
“If it’s not me marrying into the Petrucci family, it’s Valentina.
Why not do this peacefully and put together a future merger instead?
” she asks. “Why have guns slinging and blazing and threats hurled, and God knows what other foul things, when we could all just take some time to heal, then sit down and talk about this?”
“Talk?” Mancuso grumbles.
“Talk,” I agree. “I’m more than happy to discuss a merger in the future.”
Terms of said merger will be mine to establish, but the Mancusos don’t need to hear that yet. I’ll have all the bargaining chips, and the old man probably already knows it. Caroline shakes her head slowly.
“I’m tired, Papa. All this fighting, all the threats—”
“Add today’s kidnapping attempt to the list,” I politely cut in.
The blood instantly drains from her face as she glares at her father. “What?”
Mancuso brushes it off. “You’re right, it’s exhausting.”
He’ll probably get an earful later, but for the time being, Caroline leaves it. The Mancuso pride is never too far behind, and I can’t take that away from her, not after I canceled our wedding.
“Caroline, it’s really simple,” I reiterate.
“This Sunday, Valentina and I are getting married.
I will adopt Michael. His bloodline already favors him as a Petrucci, but I will take it a step further to secure his heritage.
If the Mancusos wish to bury this ancient hatchet for good, the only way forward is to make sure Michael inherits your syndicate, as well, someday in the future.
“Bringing the families closer together will give us one hell of an edge against the Russians and the Irish,” I add. “You know it, and your father knows it, as well. For too long, our skirmishes have cost us territories and suppliers. If we show strength in unity, we prevail.”
“I wholeheartedly agree,” Caroline says. “We need to remind the others of what the Italians are capable of.”
Mancuso groans in discomfort, but he doesn’t seem to disagree with the premise either.
“Fine,” he ultimately says. “I’ll follow my daughter’s lead on this.
But when it’s time for us to sit down and discuss unity, Luca, you’d better play fair.
Or I won’t have a problem wiping you all off the face of this earth. ”
“I have been nothing but fair since day one,” I remind him, then give Caroline a polite nod. “I hope my message got across.”
“It did. I apologize on behalf of the family,” she replies.
“Tell the Marchetti brothers they should move out of Chicago. They won’t survive otherwise,” I add, then head straight for the door.
I feel Shane tailing me.
The rest of his security crew joins him once I reach the top of the front stairs.
Their glares drill burning holes in the back of my neck, but I know they’re not foolish enough to do something.
My demise will lead to an all-out war, and Victor—ever the advocate for peace—will set everything ablaze in response.
Besides, not one of Mancuso’s men is a faster draw than me.