Chapter Marcello
The next morning…
I transfer a large amount of money into Violet's account. Payment for services rendered. It doesn't help to make me feel any better. She ended things. Ended things!
She did!
Nobody has ever broken up with me before.
I don't think she has the slightest idea what she did to me, the slap in the face she delivered when she got out of bed, declaring that this, us, was a mistake. Who the hell does she think she is?
Does she have any idea that she is the first woman I've ever allowed to sleep in my bed? Who I fucked in my bed? Who I wanted to spend the night with?
For the hundredth time, I run my hand through my hair. For such a little thing, she sure has burrowed under my skin and turned my mind upside down. I should be thinking about who the fuck is trying to kill me, not a slip of a girl, who… fucking broke up with me!
The worst thing is that I know she likes me. I know she desires me as much as I desire her. So what the fuck?
In the light of morning, with some of the fury dissolved, I'm able to think a little bit clearer.
A little. She was hurt and almost killed in the hospital because of me.
She is a civilian! I repeat that word a few times.
A civilian. She doesn't understand our lives.
For a moment, I entertain the thought that maybe it would be better to let her go. For her.
But then I remember who I am. I am Marcello Orsi.
I'm the head of an empire that I built with my own two hands.
The heir to another that my father doesn't want to leave.
In life, want only matters if you have the power to make it happen.
My little nurse has no idea who she just told no.
But she'll learn. I don't let go of what belongs to me.
And she belongs to me. She has been mine from the moment her voice penetrated my mind in the hospital.
She can have a day or so to cool her jets; I'll give her that much. But then I'll be after her—if she doesn't come to her senses first.
Right now, I have a shit ton of other things to worry about. There is still the small matter to be cleared up on who tried to kill me. Not once, but three times.
"Are you even listening to me?" Luciano slaps the marble counter of my downtown office.
"Sorry, no." I turn my full attention back to him.
"I was saying that I don't think it was the Venezuelans who ordered the hit on you."
"You have my undivided attention," I lean back in my chair, focusing on my second-in-command.
This is one of the reasons I hired him, because he's fucking brilliant.
He would have put Thomas Cromwell to shame.
Or maybe he's his reincarnation if I believed in that kind of shit.
Either way, his network of spies is admirable.
"I have reason to believe that it was Don Edoardo."
I whistle through my teeth. Had anybody else thrown this ludicrous accusation out, I would have laughed him out of the room, probably chased by a round of bullets, but Luciano doesn't toss accusations out he can't back up, especially one as loaded as this.
"Why?" I steeple my hands to listen intently, finally being able to put my thoughts on things other than my little nurse.
"Who gave the orders to have Jacomo killed?"
"Careful," I warn. This, as far as I know, has not been proven.
My father insists it was the Don who ordered him to eliminate the head of the DeLuna family—claiming Jacomo had sealed his fate the moment he publicly declared a voto di sfiducia—a vote of no confidence.
It's no secret that I don't trust my father, but honestly, there was no reason for him to kill Jacomo.
As far as I know, the two of them haven't had any issues other than the normal bickering between capos.
Edoardo has enough pull to get my father out of this farce of a trial, but as of yet, he hasn't intervened.
But at the same time, he's also ordered the heir of the DeLuna family, Toni, not to seek revenge on his father's killer.
Instead, he forced my dad to hand over our part of the Los Angeles territory to Toni as retribution.
By all rights, Toni and I should have a vendetta going at this point, especially considering he drew a gun on me during one of our capo meetings.
But we have too much in common to allow it to divide us.
I made it clear to him, though, that he would never do that again unless he was willing to risk a bullet through his head.
"Alright, so Jacomo asks for a voto di sfiducia, which would have pissed Edoardo off," I say, entertaining Luciano's theory.
It's not without merit. Ever since Edoardo took over, all our profits have been down; there's a better-than-average chance that Edoardo could have lost that vote.
"So he ordered a hit on Jacomo, using my father," I summarize.
I can get on board with that theory. Still, I fail to see how that connects to the assassination attempt on me.
Luciano must see the question on my face. "Do you know the name of Edoardo's favorite nephew?"
I shake my head, but a foreboding feeling spreads out inside my stomach.
"Casimo Matteo."
I narrow my eyes, and my fist hits the top of my desk. "Why didn't that come up during the vetting process?"
"Because they kept it secret. He is the nephew of Edoardo's mistress, Helen Gordon. I sent a detail to Casimo's funeral, and when I saw the pictures of the guests in attendance, I recognized Helen."
Edoardo hasn't made a secret of his affair. As a matter of fact, he and his mistress are sharing a house while his wife, Isabella, is fuming but unable to do anything about it. Rumor has it he's head over heels in love with Helen Gordon.
"So Edoardo tried to rid himself of two capos—the head of the DeLuna family and the head of the Orsi family. He hires one to kill the other and then lets him take the fall. Next, he wants to rid himself of me, to install his incompetent nephew Casimo in my place."
"That's what it looks like to me," Luciano nods.
I drum my fingers on the desk. Edoardo picked me as his next target, not Toni, because he still needs Toni to get rid of my father.
"Do you have any proof?"
"Besides what your father said and the family ties?" Luciano shakes his head. "Not yet, but I'm working on it."
"That still doesn't explain how Fabio comes into play.
" As much as Luciano's theory has validity, I feel like we're missing something—something about Margarita.
I don't think Benny was lying. He was too scared to lie, and I don't think there is another man who fits Fabio's description, at least not in the city.
And I don't think Edoardo got to Fabio. This whole thing is starting to make my head hurt.
But I also feel like we're getting closer…
Luciano's phone vibrates. He reads the text with a growing frown and then looks up at me, "Roberto is dead."
That gets my full attention. "What? How? When? What happened? What about Sophia? Was she hurt?"
"She's missing," Luciano fills me in darkly.
I go ice cold. Missing? What the fuck? Roberto's dead?
My jaw tightens, teeth grinding like concrete under pressure.
Missing?
What the fuck?
Roberto's dead?
My jaw locks, teeth grinding like concrete under pressure.
Sophia's gone. A thousand images flash through my mind—none of them good.
None I can live with. I lunge for the nearest object—the office phone—and hurl it at the window with a roar.
Glass cracks, but not enough to shatter.
Not enough to satisfy the storm inside me.
Breathing hard, I plant my fists on the marble desk, forcing myself to steady. I need focus. I need clarity.
My sister is missing. And Roberto? He's dead, before I could lay a hand on him. That bastard was mine. After what he did to her, I wanted him broken. Begging. But someone got to him first. Whoever took him out just made themselves a target.
I didn't even know they were back in New York.
Someone's been moving pieces behind my back.
I don't like that.
And I really don't like what it might mean for Sophia. Fuck! I should've trusted my gut and flown to L.A. the moment she called. If something's happened to her, that's on me.
But guilt won't bring her back.
Only action will.
I straighten, spine like steel, and turn to Luciano. "What do we know?"
Several scenarios play out in my head, one bloodier and more horrifying than the other. Did Roberto kill her and then himself? Or was it the same people who were after me?
"Nothing. Well, nothing but that the cops found Roberto's bloody corpse so mutilated they had to do a DNA analysis to confirm his identity with the driver's license stapled to his caved-in chest. Other than that…" Luciano sure has a way with words.
"Other than that, yes," I tap the screen with my mouse to wake it up, scanning my emails.
Luciano runs a hand through his hair, "I forwarded everything to your email. They searched Roberto's house and ran into a massacre. All house personnel and bodyguards were butchered. Not a trace of Sophia."
Wordlessly, I stare at the images Luciano sent me. Shots of mutilated bodies greet me as I browse through them. I've seen some carnage through my years, hell, I've inflicted carnage, but nothing like this. Nothing even close.
"How can they be sure Sophia isn't among the dead?
" I demand, staring at remnants that are barely recognizable as human remains.
Blood is everywhere. The walls, the ceiling, the furniture.
There is nothing human left on those corpses.
Not a trace. Whoever did this is not only one sick son of a bitch, but efficient too. A true psycho.
"DNA." Luciano walks over to the bar and fills two glasses with whiskey for us while I press Sophia's number on my phone. I am not really expecting her to answer, but I am hoping.