Marcello #3
"I'm waiting to get answers from two of the men responsible. They're waiting for me in the morgue." I lay my cards on the table. I don't give a shit about Enzo, he's outside his territory, but—like it or not—he's Violet's father.
Violet.
Just thinking her name creates an empty hole in my stomach that tries fucking hard to bring me down to my knees. If I give in now, I have a feeling I won't get back up again.
Enzo stares at me thoughtfully.
"What do you want?" I ask point blank. There are many reasons why I haven't killed him yet; one is that he is Violet's father, but another is that right now, he's the distraction I need not to go crazy with worry over her.
"Right now, I want to see my daughter. I want to know what happened to her."
"And after?"
His expression, already grim, turns downright lethal. "Then I will deal with my bitch of a wife and see my other children, the ones she took from me."
"Violet is my fiancée, we are about to get married," I push any thought of the possibility that this might not happen from my mind. I can't afford to think that way. "That makes her family mine. Turns her mother over to my protection."
"If," he gives me a sharp glare, "I give my permission to this wedding, that will also make me your family."
Fuck me.
I asked for a distraction. Be careful what you wish for, Zia Rosa's voice echoes in my head. I always thought it was a stupid saying; now, I'm starting to get it.
"Let's tackle this one step at a time." I nod at him to follow, but stop him by the door. "But let's make one thing clear. Those two about-to-be-dead men are mine. You are nothing but a silent observer."
He looks as if he's ready to object, but wisely, albeit grimly, nods. Good, I can see now where Violet gets her good sense from.
The moment Enzo and I enter the morgue, we hear a subdued banging coming from inside one of the refrigeration units.
"Sounds like they have enough air," I remark dryly.
I nod at Marco, who pulls the door to the banger open and slides the gurney with him bound to it out.
"Nice touch." Enzo looks around approvingly.
I ignore him, already breaking the rules of a quiet observer, and step toward the man on the metal tray. I slap him in the face a few times, hard enough to split his lip and get his attention. At another nod from me, Marco takes the gag off.
"What's your name?" I don't give a shit what it is, but his answer will give me an idea of how easy or hard he'll be to break.
Not hard at all, it turns out. "I'm Elias White. I work for Donna Margarita."
Luciano and I exchange a grim glance. Donna Margarita's name keeps popping up all over the place. I don't like it. It's about time she and I had a conversation, preferably aboard my yacht. The sharks are very hungry around this time of day.
"That was almost too easy," I shake my head regretfully.
"Who is Donna Margarita?" Enzo wants to know, earning him one of Luciano's famous scorching glares. He's not happy the Vegas capo is here. Well, get in line; neither am I.
"A local problem," I put emphasis on local to get my point across.
Predictably, he shakes his head. "Nothing is local if it puts my family in danger."
"Why does that woman want my daughter dead?
" Enzo moves into Elias's line of vision.
The man pales. Everyone knows Il Macellaio, even a scumbag from New York.
The scars on his face are unmistakable. Some say he received them through unimaginable torture; others say he did them himself to frighten his enemies.
I don't think we're at a point in our relationship where I can ask him about their origin, and I'm not sure I ever will, but they have the desired effect on Elias.
"She's after him. Not your daughter."
Normally, Luciano would have sent a smirk my way, but not today. Not when some good men died, and Violet's life is hanging in the balance.
"Why?" Enzo keeps up the interrogation.
"What part of silent observer misled you?" I ask in a scorching tone. I don't give a shit if he's asking questions or not, especially not since he's getting answers, but I do mind him undermining my authority, which is exactly what he's doing, and he's well aware of it too. Bastard.
"I don't know," Elias cries, oblivious to the power play between Enzo and me. "I swear, I don't know."
"Take him and his friend for a cruise," I order Luciano, then keep the boat ready and ask Donna Margarita to join me."
Luciano raises an eyebrow, a silent question, Are you sure you're ready for this kind of war?
Donna Margarita is Don Edoardo's mother-in-law.
It doesn't matter if there is any love lost between the two or not.
An attack on her is an attack on him. But that woman has been trying to kill me for months now, and I want to know why.
Granted, her latest attempt was probably a retaliation for the death of her lover, but she doesn't have any idea that I was behind it—shouldn't have, I amend.
I nod at Luciano. I'm ready. I'm ready for an all-out war.
And so are Enrico and Toni. Stephano doesn't have much blood in the game yet, but he has indicated he would side with us, while his father will officially support Don Edoardo, keeping the family's options open for all eventualities.
If the other capos and I succeed in removing Edoardo from power, we will keep Gustave around as a favor to his son.
If Edoardo wins, Stephano might lose a finger or two, but his father's support of Edoardo will buy him his life.
It's a cowardly way of politics, but wily and beneficial for the Conti family.
I can't fault them for having two pokers in the fire.
It does make Stephano a wildcard, though.
So far, he's been useful and an asset, but I worry that shifty loyalties could leave us exposed.
At some point, I'll need to have a serious conversation with him.
Feel him out and see where he really stands.
"I'll have everything ready whenever you are," Luciano assures me.
"Good." I turn to Enzo. "Let's go back upstairs and talk to the doctors, unless you want to watch these two assholes become shark bait."
Enzo hesitates, gives the invitation some serious thought, but in the end, his need to see his daughter is stronger than his need to watch the men who brought her to the hospital die. A decision for which he has my respect.