CHAPTER FOUR
Achilles
It wasn’t just Sangue Blu at the meeting.
The round table was filled with the upper echelon of the Coppola clan. Stefano sat across from my father, who had donned some makeup to give his lifeless skin some vitality.
My mouth curled in distaste. My father pathetically clung to the last shreds of his existence. I’d kill him myself if I had any sense of altruism. But I needed him to crown me his rightful heir first. Do things by the book. My position couldn’t be contested.
He’d be a fool to deny me the role. Enzo was too softhearted. Luca had the charisma of pencil lead. Another nameless Ferrante bastard lurked somewhere in the world, but that was just who he was—a bastard. If he was stupid enough to come forth and challenge me, I’d treat him to a butcher’s special.
Sangue Blu was a medium-height man, athletically built, clad in formfitting cigar pants and a silky dress shirt. His dark hair was tied into a ponytail. He had a snakelike air about him, a combination of elegance and repulsiveness many ugly, powerful men wore.
“Achilles.” He opened his arms. “Anything you want to say to me?”
The entire room eyeballed me, waiting for an apology for killing his underboss.
“Sure. The ponytail looks stupid.” I grabbed the back of a chair, taking a seat. Luca and Enzo followed suit. I coiled my fingers together on the table. “Why are you here?”
Stefano’s beady eyes danced with perverse excitement. He rolled his pinky ring with his thumb. “What, no pleasantries?”
“That ship has sailed. Now start talking before it fucking sinks.”
“All right, fine.” He rolled his eyes, the gesture dripping amusement. “I’m here to shake hands.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Just like that?”
“Any day is a good day for peace.”
“I slaughtered your underboss.”
“Dante had it coming. He should’ve never touched that little girl. I’d have done it myself if you had waited a few days.” He waved me off. “Plus, I blew up the church and took out fourteen of the guests before his body stiffened.” Sangue Blu shrugged. “A sufficient payback in my book.”
None of said guests were family or even high-ranking Camorristi. No women or children were hurt, either. Then again, he already knew that. That he chose to settle things diplomatically told me something was off.
“See, the circle of violence always ends in resolution.” Stefano looked around the silent room.
“I’d rather strike a deal before we both lose manpower and weapons.
We all abide by the same system. What is the point of more bloodshed?
In the end, what’s the Camorra really about? Loyalty, alliances, power, and blood.”
My father and Luca nodded. Enzo and I exchanged skeptical glares.
“Well, thank you so much for the uplifting speech.” Enzo clapped his hands together, his enchanting smile on full display. “And I’m eager to proceed to the kumbaya portion of this evening, but if you’re here to make a deal, you better wow our pants off.”
“First order of business: I think we should work together.” Stefano’s impudent smile made me want to carve his mouth off. “How do you feel about selling me some of your coke? You have the best in the city.”
That’s because we sourced it ourselves. Visited our coca farms in an undisclosed location quarterly to supervise the process.
“We’re open to it,” Luca chimed in. “For the right percentage.”
“Understandable. I’m sure we can find a number that works for all of us.”
“Before we get into the numbers, our men in Naples are telling me you’ve been treading into some parts of Chiaia and Forcella.” My father scowled. “Double-charging protection money and selling weed.”
Stefano feigned confusion. “Who said that?”
“Cut the crap, Sangue Blu. I have eyes and ears everywhere,” my father hissed out. “This is our territory.”
“I mean no disrespect, Don Vello,” Coppola cooed, “but it’s a busy area. Lots of human traffic. Your people don’t seem to keep up with the demand.”
“Our supply is none of your concern.”
“That’s true, but if your customers want to buy more drugs, why shouldn’t I sell to them?”
“You know exactly why. Retreat to your borders.”
“Or what?” he drawled, kicking back in his seat.
“The Ferrante clan rarely visits Naples. You’re out of touch.
Powerful, yes, but if you want to keep ground, you need a strong alliance with us.
I’m willing to pay for your drugs and guard your territory for you.
But you need to offer me something to make it worth my while. ”
“You want us to make concessions?” Luca asked.
“Peace isn’t free.” Sangue Blu shrugged. “I’m willing to pay you for drugs. What are you willing to do for me?”
“Not kill you,” Enzo offered charitably. Coppola laughed.
“What do you want?” my father grumbled.
“I’ll pay you ten percent commission for the coke we sell, no more than that,” Sangue Blu said, bargaining. “And I want to buy it below market price. Three thousand euros per kilogram.”
“That’s less than half of what we charge our affiliates.” Luca’s eyebrows slammed together.
“I’m not your other affiliates. I’m the rising king of Naples, with an army twice your size. And as much as I want peace, I won’t shy away from war.” He pushed a cigarette between his lips, grabbing a Clipper from the table and lighting it.
“Thirty-five hundred euros per kilogram,” my father said decisively. He wasn’t wearing his oxygen mask, and for a moment, I saw the man he once was: The great Machiavelli Ferrante I lived to impress. “And you pay in advance. Final offer.”
Shit agreement, but I’d deal with it later, when I had the throne.
Sangue Blu nodded. “I also want my incoming shipments in the port untouched. You’ve been raiding our goods for years.”
“We’ll see to that, but if we catch your men on our turf again, selling drugs or touching kids, we make an example of them,” Luca said laconically.
“My soldiers will keep their drugs and hands to themselves,” Coppola reassured us. “I want a guarantee you’ll do the same.”
“Don’t worry,” I snapped. “We don’t recruit pedophiles.”
“And the redhead I saw outside the church that day, while I was overlooking the operation.” Sangue Blu slouched back, drawling slyly with his gaze locked on mine, one leg folded over the other. “I want her, too.”
I stiffened, my entire body revolting and convulsing from the inside at the blasphemy that fell out of his mouth. The only thing keeping me from gouging out his Adam’s apple with my fingers was the knowledge he deserved a slower, more painful death than that for this request.
“She’s not for sale,” I grumbled around the cigarette hanging from the side of my mouth.
Though I could understand why he’d jumped to that conclusion.
Trust Tierney to prance into church looking like a high-class hooker and make everyone think she charged by the hour.
That little red dress had less class than a cum stain on a motel carpet.
The fact that I didn’t rip it from her and cover her in the priest’s robe was all the evidence my family needed that I had control where she was concerned.
I’d saved her that day, and I would save her life all over again.
Because she was mine.
To control. To ruin. To obsess over.
“Not just for fucking.” Coppola rolled the amber liquid of his whiskey in his tumbler, puffing out a cloud of smoke. “I want to keep her. Marry her.”
“Marry her,” Enzo repeated, eyebrows hitting the ceiling.
“Yes.”
“You want to marry Tierney Callaghan,” he double-checked, probably hoping if he said it enough times, Coppola would understand how fucking stupid it sounded.
“The one and only.” Stefano’s smile just begged me to crush all his teeth into dust. “I did my due diligence. She has connections. Pedigree. A great piece of ass. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is she won’t consent to marrying a low-grade mobster,” I deadpanned.
“Low grade?” Sangue Blu tipped his head back, laughing.
“I am the son of a titan, just like you. As for the life I have to offer her…” He scanned the room to make sure he had everyone’s attention.
“I dug into her family tree. She’s in the Irish Mafia.
Like knows like, yes?” He licked his lips.
“She’ll feel right at home in my crooked kingdom. ”
Sensing I was about to kill and drain my second victim in twenty-four hours, Enzo piped up. “What about Katya Rasputin? She’s in the market for a groom. Young. Hot. Bratva affiliated. You’ll get way more connections. The Irish are small fry.”
“I like fries,” Stefano said. “And I like the redhead. She’s the one I want. Not anyone else.”
“She’s not ours to give,” Enzo said good-naturedly.
“That’s not what I’m hearing.” Coppola rubbed his lower lip contemplatively, his gaze flicking to me. “Word in Naples is Achilles is in charge of her matchmaking. Well, I’m a widower, wealthy, and willing. Now, deal or no deal?”
I opened my mouth to tell him to start running before I was interrupted.
“Give us ten minutes.” My father stood up, wobbling over to the door on his cane, clapping my shoulder from behind midstride. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
We filed into the drawing room. Luca closed the doors behind us with a soft click. My pulse hammered against my eyelids. I felt like I had five minutes to stop the world from imploding and zero fucking tools to prevent the inevitable.
I needed to remain calm if I wanted to come up with a plan.
Smoke. I should smoke. Or kill someone to take the edge off.
No. Enough killing for today.
Producing a cigarette from the soft pack in my pocket, I lit it up and sucked in a long drag.
Then I noticed Tiernan in the room. He was sprawled on an upholstered recliner, legs crossed and arms draped on the armrests with that steadfast, malevolent expression that made people turn inside out.
I recognized a psychopath when I met one because I saw one every day when I looked in the mirror. And Tiernan definitely fit the bill—dead eyes, flat stare, merciless air.
My father brought reinforcements.