Chapter 31
LUCA
It’s been twenty hours since Valentina and Michael were taken, since I failed to keep my wife and nephew safe, since one of those fuckers got lucky and close enough to daze me, costing me fucking everything, since my most trusted advisor was rushed to the hospital, clinging to life by a slender thread.
“Mr. Petrucci,” Solomon’s voice cuts through the heavy silence.
I’m in the back seat of an armored SUV, phone in my hand, waiting for updates from our security team. They’re scouring the city, leaving no stone unturned, as they search for Valentina and Michael. I know this is Mancuso’s doing, but I can’t prove it yet.
“Yes,” I reply.
“We’re here,” he says.
Solomon left a separate team to keep an eye on the Mayfair house as soon as he found out what happened at the motel.
Now, we’re outside a private venue near River North—a regular meeting spot for the Camorra.
The council is about to begin, and I have neither the attitude nor the focus to deal with what’s left of the organization.
“I should be out there, looking for her,” I mutter, checking the phone again.
There hasn’t been an actionable update yet. No one on the council knows about the events that took place or Valentina’s whereabouts. Some of the members are scared, others have no idea. A few were honorable enough to send their own men out with mine to widen the grid and deepen the search.
“You’re needed here, too,” Solomon reminds me. “The last thing you want is for the sharks to catch the scent of your blood in the water. It’s what they’re all waiting for.”
“I know. It doesn’t mean I like it.”
“Sir, I don’t like it either. But with Mr. Ellison still in the ICU, they need to see you, to hear from you. We have a better shot at keeping Mrs. Petrucci and the boy safe if you keep your hold over the organization.”
“That’s going to be difficult, given how few of them were left after the Gamberetti debacle,” I say and shake my head in dismay.
“Difficult, but not impossible.”
I have to admit I appreciate Solomon’s grit. I’m fucking losing it here. I’m a walking powder keg, unable to eat or think clearly until I have Valentina back in my arms, with Michael standing next to us, but Solomon is doing a decent job of keeping me focused on the bigger picture.
“Any word on Mancuso yet?” I ask.
Solomon nods. “He’s upstairs, waiting with the rest of them.”
“What about Mayfair?” I ask Solomon.
“I’m expecting an update soon. Once I get it, I’ll ping it straight to your phone.” Solomon pauses and turns to look at me. “They took her and Michael alive, Mr. Petrucci. It means they need them both to stay that way. That should give you a bit of comfort, right?”
“I’ll keep my phone close throughout the entire meeting, Solomon. Stay outside at all times. And keep an eye on everything. I want to know every single detail, anything that stands out. The fact that it happened last night wasn’t a coincidence. There’s a bigger plan at play here.”
“I’ll be here. And as soon as we get any updates on Mrs. Petrucci or Mayfair, you’ll be the first to know. But in the meantime, we need you up there, focused and in charge. It’s where you belong.”
I give him a slight nod and get out of the car, looking both ways before I go into the building—a steel, concrete, and mirrored-glass behemoth with twenty stories and heavily armed security.
As soon as I walk through the doors, I’m greeted by two large gentlemen.
One of them wands me before I’m escorted to the elevator.
Every thought in my mind reverts back to Valentina and Michael. The poor little boy must be so scared, and we didn’t hear a goddamn thing until it was too late. They moved like thieves in the night. Victor was no longer conscious by the time I got to him.
They waited in the darkness for the opportune moment.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the elevator mirror while the security guard presses the button for the fifth floor, where the meeting always takes place.
It’s in the Vandenberg Wing in a private conference room with no cameras and where they regularly sweep for bugs.
Personally, I don’t like the fact that I’m about to walk into this meeting without my weapon despite no guns being a central rule for every gathering.
The bruises on my face are fresh. They’ll heal quickly, but for now, I take them as marks of my failure.
“Mr. Petrucci, welcome,” Johnny Mancini says as soon as the elevator doors slide open. He gives me a tired half smile. “How are you holding up?”
“How do you think I’m holding up?”
“Yeah, it was a dumb question,” he replies.
We shake hands, and he nods to the security guard—his cue to go back downstairs. They need all of their key men on the ground floor. No one else is allowed to come in.
“Getting any closer to finding her?” Johnny asks.
We’re headed through a spacious and brightly lit hallway of the Vandenberg Wing. At the end of it, behind smoky glass walls, is our meeting room . I see the men’s silhouettes, all of them—what’s left of them, anyway, gathered around the table.
“Not yet,” I reply. “But thank you for sparing some men of your own for the search.”
“It’s the least I could do,” Johnny replies. “And I know Carmine’s widow sent a few of her own, too.”
I nod. “Yes, she did. Good woman.”
“She won’t be attending today’s meeting, however. She sent Frankie Caruso. Do you remember him?”
“Carmine’s cousin.” I exhale sharply. That’s not good. It certainly won’t work in my favor, because Frankie bends like a reed in the wind.
“It’s not looking great in there; I’ll tell you that much. It’s why I came out to greet you,” Johnny says. “What happened at the gala changed everything, and not for the better.”
“Whatever is on the plate tonight, it will have to do.”
I enter the conference room with a scowl on my face, my shoulders squared.
My biggest challenge will be to refrain from tearing Mauro Mancuso limb from limb.
To my surprise, he didn’t come alone tonight.
Caroline is by his side—and I wonder if he brought her with him to keep me from giving him what he deserves, or is the old fool ailing and finally ready to hand the reins over to his daughter?
The sour look on his face tells me it’s not going to be an easy meeting for any of us.
“Gentlemen,” I say, taking my seat.
The others offer a nod in an unsynchronized unison. The elder dons look tired and worn out, as if they’ve been through the wringer their whole lives, and they’re nearing the end. The younger ones seem miserable. Some show signs of fear. The Gamberetti massacre took its toll.
Caroline smiles. “I’m glad you could make it, given the circumstances.”
“I’d rather be somewhere else right about now, but I’ve got good people handling the situation,” I reply.
By now, it’s common knowledge that someone took my wife and nephew. They were all supposed to know. That was one of the main reasons behind the wretched operation to begin with. Now, I just need to confirm that it’s Mauro Mancuso’s disease-addled brain behind it.
“I’m sorry there are so few of us left,” I say. “I’m counting, what, twelve of us? Out of twenty-four. Someone did their job at the ballroom alright.”
Mauro Mancuso glares at me. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing, but now that you bring it up—”
Joseph Romano interrupts, his voice heavy and loud. “The first order of business is the structure of our leadership organization.”
Joseph is one of the dinosaurs, having come up in Capelli’s crew before he branched out on his own. I used to have his full confidence, but something tells me that has changed.
“While the grieving families bury their loved ones and get their affairs in order, it will just be the twelve of us. One vote per family. A tiebreaker will be called in if necessary.”
“Who’s the tiebreaker?” I ask.
“Loretta Gamberetti,” he says. “Nicolo’s daughter. She has expressed an interest in taking over for him when the time is right, but she’d like to deal with the aftermath of that debacle first. For now, however, she’s still a phone call away. Is everyone in agreement?”
Hearing the Gamberetti name feels like a punch in the gut. Nicolo was my good friend. I’m Loretta’s godfather, and since Nicolo was killed, she hasn’t returned any of my calls. Losing my goddaughter’s confidence is a dark omen. She won’t break the tie in my favor, that much I suspect.
“The second order of business is the kidnapping of Valentina Petrucci and her son,” Romano adds, turning the entire room’s focus on me. “You have our support, Luca. Whatever you need, you name it.”
“I need my wife and nephew back, for starters,” I reply, looking directly at Mancuso.
“Again with the accusations,” the old man hisses, ready to start a fight.
His demeanor tells me he’s enjoying this. He’s itching for a brawl, anything physical, to take the focus away from the fact that we all, in some measure, suspect he’s behind the kidnapping. But Caroline cuts in, placing a hand on her father’s shoulder.
“I’m sending you a few of our men to assist with the interrogations,” she says, focused entirely on me while the old man softens under her touch. “Like Joseph expressed, you have our full support. We’ll find them, Luca. I’m sure of it.”
“What’s the third order of business?” I ask Romano.
I’m nowhere near patient enough to receive the sympathies of people who may or may not have had a hand in my wife’s kidnapping.
Mental snapshots of a terrified Valentina and crying Michael keep haunting me, making it increasingly more difficult for me to focus.
I’m hanging by a thread here, but Solomon made a good point.
Losing my leadership over the Camorra’s council will cost me and my family our future.
“A vote of no confidence has been put forward,” Romano says. “Against you.”
“Who put it forward?”
Mauro raises his hands, pairing the gesture with a wry smile. “I did, and for good reason. You’ve got some serious holes in your organization, Luca. It cost the rest of us too much. The Gamberetti massacre proved it.”