Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Tre
Joaquin’s expression is curious and attentive, but Lord only knows what’s going through his head that he doesn’t want me to read.
He doesn’t rush me, which is good because I need to collect my thoughts.
And if the other guys perceive any questions from him as pressuring me to divulge family secrets, then this will go sideways fast.
“Six months ago, Don Francesco Toretta reached out to Uncle Tommaso.”
Too many names that fucking overlap in these families.
The Sicilian douchebag that’s pressuring me shares the same name as my dad, though as much as he hates it, my dad goes by Frank most of the time.
My dad’s sister, Vittoria, has the same name as one of my best friends.
My Sicilian American aunt goes by Tori while my Venetian friend goes by Toria.
And you can throw a rock and hit at least twenty Mikeys, Paulys, and Tommys.
“Your family already does business with the Sicilians.”
My brother, cousins, and friends narrow their eyes at Joaquin, who rolls his.
“No fucking surprise I know that. I know what you had for dinner last night.”
I doubt he does, but we all know he could. My thumb swipes over the back of his, hoping it’s calming. When he isn’t curled next to me on the bed, our fingers are entwined. The only time we let go of each other is when one of us needs to go to the bathroom or someone comes in to examine me.
“Don Francesco wants information about the Mancinellis. He thinks they’re pulling away and not supporting the Torettas the way they’re supposed to.
He thinks Salvatore owes him more loyalty and should’ve come to his aid when the turf war began.
He resents your family brokering the truce when he believes it should’ve been Salvatore.
He wants to know whether Salvatore supports the Mala del Brenta more than his own Cosa Nostra. ”
While Jorge was dating his wife, Anneliese, a dispute broke out among four rival syndicates in Italy.
The Venetian Mala del Brenta and Sicilian Cosa Nostra against the Calabrian ’Ndrangheta and Neapolitan Camorra.
It was a proxy war that was really the O’Rourkes versus the Kutsenkos.
The O’Rourkes supported the Venetians and Sicilians, and the Kutsenkos supported the Calabrians and the Neapolitans.
I only know this because my dad had to fill me in enough to know what to listen for.
“He cannot seriously believe Salvatore isn’t supportive. Salvatore is married to the man’s cousin. Salvatore’s nephew through his sister married Sylvia’s niece through her sister.”
“Yes, and Sylvia’s sister is married to the Mala del Brenta don. He suspects Salvatore is siding with Piero rather than him.”
“Is he?”
“I don’t know. Since I refuse to betray anything Sera or Toria tell me, and it’s not like we talk about these things anyway, I haven’t had much to pass along. Elle certainly won’t let anything slip.”
It doesn’t help that Toria’s father is the Mala del Brenta’s consigliere. I suppose that’s supposed to help me spy, but it only complicates my life.
“What’s Don Francesco holding over your uncle that made him believe he could coerce you into this?”
I meet Rocco’s gaze for a moment, wanting his consent before I say more. I hate that I have to defer to someone rather than be open with Joaquin, but this affects my entire family. My cousin nods with resignation.
“He threatened Toria and me. Said he’d kill us both. He sent two carved-up hearts to my apartment here. I don’t believe he sent anything to Toria, but he included her in the threat I received.”
I observe Joaquin’s reaction, and it immediately becomes shut off. I know it now, so it doesn’t spook me as much. It’s the clearest sign that I shouldn’t ask what he’s thinking. It’s likely something that would terrify me.
“He wouldn’t dare. Sending that would understandably freak you out, but your dad and uncles know he wouldn’t touch you.
He definitely wouldn’t send anyone after Toria.
They wouldn’t survive her. If they did, they wouldn’t survive Alejandro.
Hurting her, let alone killing her, would send Nicolò on a rampage.
I wouldn’t put it past Sera to seek her revenge too.
She can be as sweet as her pastries, but I know she can have an edge to her. ”
He isn’t dismissive of my concerns. Rather he reassures me.
My family has too, but it wasn’t by much.
Sending me down to NYC means Francesco has something on my family or offered some major incentive.
The Sicilian don loves to remind everyone of his position.
He’s flashy and arrogant. You wouldn’t pick my dad out of a lineup if you didn’t know he’s a Mafioso.
He looks like a football dad without the dad bod.
I look at my family, hoping they can shed more light on the situation.
I’m positive they know more than I do. I got briefed enough to do the job, but I don’t know half of what goes on behind Uncle Tommaso’s closed office door.
Emilio’s remained quiet, and he’s the one I wish would speak up the most.
He’s Salvatore’s nephew, of sorts. His dad, Domenico, is Salvatore’s adopted second cousin.
Domenico’s sons, Emilio and Matteo, have always been more like Salvatore’s nephews than cousins.
No one knew Domenico was adopted until the man was in his late forties.
He’s Salvatore’s younger brother’s best friend. They all grew up together.
Emilio made some seriously horrendous choices when he was a teenager. They were only mildly better in his twenties. Salvatore basically banished him to New Jersey to oversee minor operations there. He’s still family and invited to major events and holidays, but he generally stayed away.
Whatever happened between him and Luca, the underboss and Salvatore’s oldest nephew, has been a secret only they kept.
The tension’s apparently eased over the past couple years since Emilio decided to make amends.
But he hasn’t earned Salvatore’s full forgiveness.
Some deal was made with Uncle Tommaso, and he moved up to Boston to serve my family.
He’s observant and astute, but he speaks only when spoken to.
“Emilio?”
Hopefully, that’s enough of a prompt to draw him in. I’ve learned that asking questions makes him shut down. But if I make statements that can elicit a response, then he’ll chat.
“I don’t know what’s going on between Uncle Salvatore and Don Francesco. I’m not privy to that.”
Better than nothing. It surprised me when he first moved up to Boston that he still refers to the NYC don as uncle.
I got the impression the family ties were so frayed he wouldn’t be welcome to use that term.
In that family, it’s what all my generation has called Salvatore regardless of whether they’re biologically his nephew or niece.
All of my generation in NYC was raised like my generation in Boston.
We’re more like siblings than cousins or family friends.
“Emilio, would Salvatore tell you anything if you asked for Tre’s sake?”
Emilio shrugs in response to Joaquin’s question.
I sense it irritates Joaquin, but they’ve known each other longer than I’ve known either of them.
I don’t know their history, but I’m certain they have one.
Emilio received all the same training as the rest of the Mancinelli men, so he went on missions until everything fell apart.
I’m sure that means he’s faced off against Joaquin before.
“Could you ask?” Joaquin’s tone conveys he shouldn’t have to ask the obvious.
“Sure.”
“Maybe sooner, rather than later.”
Joaquin’s stare is intense. Emilio must feel like it’s boring into him, but he doesn’t flinch.
“Where would you like me to take it, Joaquin? Out in the hall where anyone could hear me? In here or the bathroom where Tricia can hear it? I get it.”
Emilio doesn’t snap at Joaquin, but he’s annoyed. His mutinous glare screams he doesn’t take orders from my boyfriend. I look at Rocco or Dante, waiting for one of them to intervene or tell Emilio what he should do. Neither of them reacts.
Do they want Emilio to stand on his own two feet against Joaquin? Like it would cut off his balls if they stepped in?
Or do they not care that Joaquin’s pressuring Emilio?
I don’t know, but it brings the conversation to a halt.
“The doctor said I can go for a walk. Joaquin, will you take me? The guys can have the room.”
“Are you sure you’re up to, chiquita? I meant he should talk to his uncle today. I didn’t mean right this minute.”
“I’d like to stretch my legs.”
Joaquin appears skeptical, but he hands me the robe a nurse left this morning.
He helps me get it on over my IV lines. I adjust my gown, and the guys look away as I attempt not to flash anyone.
Joaquin walks around to the opposite side of the bed to help me up.
He keeps one of my hands in his, and his other arm wraps around me, ensuring I can balance.
I’m not that wobbly, but he’s worried, and I won’t turn down an opportunity for him to hold me.
“Five minutes.”
Joaquin’s gaze locks with mine, but I know he’s giving the others a heads up.
He wraps his arm around my waist, and I grab my IV pole.
He walks me to the door and opens it. Once we’re outside the room, he holds my hand instead.
He doesn’t want to let go, but he wants to be sure I can walk around on my own.
I’m slow, but that’s to give Emilio time to talk to Salvatore.
“Are you angry that I didn’t tell you this sooner?”
Joaquin offers me a soft smile before he answers, keeping his voice low. There’s no one else in the hallway, but we don’t need any of this to carry.
“No. It’s family business. You know I won’t tell you most things that go on that aren’t about my legit businesses. I don’t love you keeping things from me that involve your safety, but I get why you hesitated.”
“I didn’t want to betray my family.”