Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Vittoria
Amanda sprawls across my bed like she owns it, scrolling through her phone with one hand while eating grapes with the other.
"So Dylan wants to meet my parents," she announces. "Can you imagine? My parents who are never home and barely remember they have a daughter?"
I glance up from my laptop. "That's actually sweet. He wants to know your family."
"Sweet." She tosses a grape at me. "The man is delusional. There's nothing to know. They'll shake his hand, ask what he does for a living, then disappear to their next charity gala."
Before I can respond, my door flies open.
Valentino stands in the doorway, holding a bottle of wine. "Ladies. I come bearing gifts."
Amanda sits up immediately. "Oh look. It's Sicily's finest export. Tell me, Val, do they teach you that dramatic entrance in mobster school or is it natural talent?"
"Natural talent, bella." He grins. "Unlike your hair color."
Her mouth drops open. "Excuse me? This is one hundred percent natural platinum blonde."
"And I'm one hundred percent believing you." He moves into the room, setting the wine on my dresser. "Just like I believe those are your real—"
"Finish that sentence and die," Amanda warns.
I watch them. This is their routine.
He needles her. She fires back. Neither one backs down.
It's entertaining. Most of the time.
"What's the wine for?" I ask.
Valentino turns to me. "Pietro said you've been working too hard. Thought you could use a break."
"Pietro said that?" I raise an eyebrow. "Pietro who hasn't taken a day off in two years?"
"He worries about you, piccola."
Amanda makes a gagging sound. "God, you Italians and your family drama. It's like a soap opera."
"Says the woman who cried watching The Notebook last week," I point out.
"That's different. That's art."
Valentino laughs.
I realize I haven't heard him laugh like that before. Not in the month he's been here.
"Well?" She gestures at the wine. "Are we drinking or are you just going to stand there looking pretty?"
"I can do both." Valentino uncorks the bottle with practiced ease. "Glasses?"
I point to my bathroom. "Cabinet under the sink."
He disappears. Amanda immediately turns to me.
"Your cousin is insufferable," she whispers.
"You like him."
"I tolerate him. There's a difference."
"Uh-huh."
She throws another grape at me. This one I catch.
Valentino returns with three glasses. He pours generous amounts, hands them out.
"To what are we toasting?" Amanda asks.
"To Vittoria's upcoming wedding." Valentino raises his glass. "One month until you become a Baganov."
I take a long drink of wine.
"You okay?" Amanda's watching me now. That too-perceptive look she gets sometimes.
"Fine." I force a smile. "Just tired."
"You've been tired a lot lately."
"Wedding planning is exhausting."
It's not a lie. Between choosing flowers and finalizing the guest list and dealing with the caterer, I barely have time to breathe.
But that's not why I'm tired.
I'm tired because Dmitri has been gone for three days dealing with shipment problems. Some issue with their routes. He calls every night but it's not the same.
I'm tired because I still haven't found anything useful about who attacked us. Who took me.
And I'm tired of pretending I'm fine when I'm not.
"So." Amanda kicks her feet up on my bed. "Tell me about Sicily, Val. Is it as romantic as the movies make it seem?"
"More." He swirls his wine. "The sun. The sea. The food. Nothing compares."
"Then why are you here in freezing Chicago?"
His expression shutters. "Family needed me."
"Right. Family." She takes a drink. "You people and your family obligations."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It's not bad. It's just... limiting."
"And being alone is better?"
The question hangs in the air.
Amanda's smile doesn't waver but I see the flash of hurt in her eyes.
"I'm not alone," she says lightly. "I have Vittoria. And Dylan. And my Instagram followers."
"Ah yes. Instagram followers. The pinnacle of human connection."
"Better than being chained to people just because you share DNA."
Valentino leans forward. "Is that what you think family is? Chains?"
"Isn't it?"
"No, bella. Family is—"
"Oh my God." I interrupt before this turns into something heavier. "Can you two not fight for five minutes?"
They both look at me.
"We're not fighting," Amanda says.
"We're debating," Valentino adds.
"You're giving me a headache."
Amanda grins. "Poor baby. Is the mafia princess stressed?"
"Yes. Actually."
Her expression softens. "I'm sorry. I'm being a bitch."
"You're being Amanda."
"Same thing."
Dmitri
Lucio Corelli sits across from my desk like a man who thinks he still has options.
He doesn't.
Igor stands by the door. Silent. Watching. His hand rests near his weapon but he won't need it.
Not yet.
"Mr. Baganov." Lucio's voice carries false confidence. "I appreciate the meeting, but I'm not sure what this is about."
I lean back in my chair. Let the silence stretch.
This office still smells new. Fresh paint. I bought this building two weeks ago. Legitimate business. Import company.
The kind of place where meetings like this look normal.
"You're not sure." I repeat his words slowly. "Interesting."
"If this is about territory—"
"It's not about territory."
Igor shifts his weight. The movement draws Lucio's attention.
Good. Let him be nervous.
"Then what?" Lucio spreads his hands. "We've always had a cordial relationship with the Bratva."
"Cordial." I taste the word. "Is that what you call it when your people sell drugs with my family's mark?"
His face goes pale. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"No?"
I open the folder on my desk. Slide the first photo across.
Drake. The seventeen-year-old kid we caught. The one who told us everything.
"This boy says a man approached him. Said he worked for the Corellis. Offered him five hundred dollars for two deliveries."
"That's not—"
"The drugs had my mark." I slide another photo. "Poor quality. Killed three people."
Lucio stares at the images. His throat works.
"Anyone can claim to work for us," he says. "That doesn't mean—"
"The recruiter knew your distribution routes." I lean forward. "Knew your safe houses. Knew which corners your people work."
"That's impossible."
"Is it?"
I slide the final photo across. Security footage from one of their own warehouses. A man loading product into a van.
The same van Drake described.
Lucio's hands shake as he picks up the photo.
"I don't..." He trails off.
"You don't what?" My voice drops. "You don't know how someone from your organization is using your resources to destroy my reputation?"
"It's not—we would never—"
"Wouldn't you?"
Igor moves closer. Just a step. But Lucio flinches.
"Mr. Baganov, please." Lucio sets the photo down carefully. "If someone in my organization is doing this, I had no knowledge of it."
"Your organization." I stand. Walk around the desk. "Your responsibility."
"I'll find out who—"
"You'll find out?" I stop in front of him. "You think I need you to investigate?"
He swallows hard.
"I already know who." I grip the edge of my desk. "The question is what you're going to do about it."
"Anything. I'll do anything to make this right."
"Will you?"
"Yes. Of course."
I study him. This weak man who can't even control his own people.
"Someone in your family is working with an outside party," I say. "Someone who calls himself Smoke."
Lucio's eyes widen. Just slightly.
There. He knows the name.
"You've heard of him," I observe.
"I... rumors. Just rumors."
"What rumors?"
"That someone new is making moves in Chicago. Quiet moves. But I thought—I didn't think—"
"You didn't think it involved you." I cross my arms. "That's the problem with weak people, Lucio. First they do harm. Then they don't have the balls to take responsibility."
"I'm taking responsibility now."
"Are you?"
He nods frantically. "Whatever you need. Whatever it takes."
I let the silence build again.
Let him sweat.
"I could end every Corelli member within five minutes if I wanted to," I say quietly. "Do you believe that?"
"Yes." His voice cracks.
"Good. Because it's true."
Igor's hand moves to his weapon. Just resting there. A reminder.
"The only reason I'm not doing it," I continue, "is because the Sartoris asked me not to."
Lucio's shoulders sag with relief.
Premature.
"But that protection has limits," I add. "You understand?"
"Yes. Yes, I understand."
"Do you?" I move closer. "Because from where I'm standing, you're harboring someone who attacked my engagement party. Who kidnapped my fiancée. Who killed twenty-three of my people."
"I didn't know—"
"You should have known." My voice hardens. "That's your job. To know what happens in your organization."
"You're right. You're absolutely right."
"So here's what's going to happen." I return to my desk. Sit. "You're going to find out who in your family is working with Smoke. You're going to bring me their name. And you're going to deliver them to me personally."
"How long do I have?"
"Forty-eight hours."
His face goes white again. "That's not enough time to—"
"Forty-eight hours," I repeat. "Or I reconsider the Sartoris' request."
"Mr. Baganov, please—"
"Forty-eight hours, Lucio." I open my laptop. "Igor will show you out."
He stands on shaking legs. "I'll find him. I promise."
"You better."
Igor opens the door. Waits.
Lucio walks toward it. Stops. Turns back.
"For what it's worth," he says, "I'm glad your fiancée is safe."
I don't look up from my screen. "Get out."
He leaves.
The door clicks shut.
Igor returns to his position by the wall.
"He doesn't know a thing," He says.
I close my laptop. "I know."
"Then why—"
"Because I had to make the move." I stand. Walk to the window. "Pietro asked me to mention the Sartoris' name. Show the other families that we're working together. That they're providing support."
Igor's quiet for a moment. "Respect."
"Exactly." I watch the street below. Cars passing."We need the other families to respect us the same as before. Even more, now that my father's gone."
"And you think Lucio will actually find anything?"
"No." I turn from the window. "But he'll try. And when he fails, everyone will know the Corellis couldn't protect their own organization from infiltration."
"Weakness."
"Weakness," I agree.
Igor moves to the desk. Pours vodka into two glasses. Hands me one.
"You really think Smoke isn't connected to them?" he asks.
I take a drink. The vodka burns. "I think Smoke is using them. Like he's using everyone else."
"For what?"
"Chaos." I set the glass down. "He wants us fighting each other. Blaming each other. While he moves in the shadows."
"And how are we reacting?"
"Exactly how he wants us to." I lean back. "Suspicious. Divided. Questioning our own people."