CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
conall
My phone buzzed. It was Theo, again. She’d been frantic all evening. Calling, texting. Trying to come up and see Francesca. I’d finally convinced her that she needed to sleep.
Theo: I’m going to bring her those doughnuts she likes in the morning. Rain or shine. I need to make sure she’s okay.
Me: She’s okay. I promise. But she’ll like that.
After checking in on Sean, I stood in the kitchen, my hands pressed against the counter, the cold marble grounding me. The house was too quiet, the kind of silence that felt like a breath held too long. Francesca was upstairs, finally resting, and I didn’t want anyone to wake her. Not yet. Not until I figured out what the hell to do with what she had just told me.
Vanello had given her the phone she requested and then instructed his men to leave. He’d told her that he wasn’t disappointed in her and then left her with a dead body and a bleeding bodyguard.
A name I’d always associated with war, bad blood, and power plays that had cost lives. Vanello wasn’t just another mafia boss; he was a don in New York, who had once worked alongside my father. However, he had never accepted the blood oath that united the Irish, Italian, Greek, and Bratva factions. That agreement had blocked the trafficking routes he desired, and he’d resented it ever since. His bitterness transformed into outright aggression over the years, fueling the violence between our families.
But now… now I had to consider the impossible. Had Vanello just found out about Francesca, or had he known all along? That didn’t make sense… right? But why would that even be something he was questioning at this moment?
I clenched my jaw, suppressing the spiral of questions that threatened to choke me. If Vanello had known, if he had held onto this information for years, then every move he made could have been calculated around it. Every attack and power grab could have been part of a bigger game I hadn’t even realized I was playing.
My fingers tapped against the counter, the sole outward sign of the storm raging in my mind. I didn’t know how to restore balance to my world. If Vanello had protected Francesca and claimed her as his, then the war we had been fighting would no longer be the same. It had transformed into something else.
Vanello was still a trafficking piece of shit. That still hadn’t changed. However, his trafficking business had slowed by nearly eighty percent in our estimation over the last three months. We’d thought that was due to our efforts, but perhaps there was more at play.
The distant sound of footsteps made me tense. The others were arriving. I turned toward the door, exhaling slowly and forcing my expression into an unreadable mask. I still didn’t know what this meant.
One thing was clear—this changed everything.
“How is she?”
Angelo looked haggard, his hair disheveled. Even Remo seemed more unsettled than usual, which said a lot. “Can we see her?”
“She’s sleeping, so keep your voices down. No, you can’t see her,”
I growled back. “Sit your asses down and be fucking respectful.”
I pointed to the living room, ignoring their snorts of disbelief as they glanced at the plants and cushions that Francesca had arranged.
“Don’t get her shit dirty either.”
Maxim sat in silence, crossing one leg over the other, while Ilias followed suit, rubbing a hand over his face.
I didn’t allow them the chance to ask questions before I got straight to the point. “Cosimo was the one who led the team to kidnap her.”
Maxim’s expression remained unsurprised, but Angelo stiffened. “What?”
“He was the one who took her,”
I repeated. “He wanted information about his brother’s death. Apparently, it was a deal with Vanello: ten minutes with Francesca.”
All the men tensed. They understood what type of man Vanello was. Ten minutes was an eternity.
“To talk to her about Fausto? Jesus, what a loser. The guy just couldn’t let it go.”
Remo was disgusted.
“Damn, that must have been a hefty price Cosimo paid to Vanello. Now that he’s dead, the Oliveto mafia is finished,”
Ilias said in awe. It was what we were all thinking. What had been Vanello’s price for those ten minutes? We fell silent for a few moments before Ilias continued. “So, Cosimo thought she knew something?”
Ilias asked.
“He claimed he had footage of her in the car. She denied it was her.”
Francesca had been clever, sticking to her story. Even if Vanello believed he knew about the murder, she was better off not giving them anything.
“Smart,”
Maxim muttered, his tone thoughtful. “And Vanello? What was his role in all this? Do we even know? Taking the Olivetos off the board? Do we think that he was playing Cosimo the whole entire time?”
I exhaled slowly. “So… this is going to blow your mind. After his ten minutes were up, it was Vanello who shot Cosimo.”
The room fell silent.
Remo was the first to react, slowly exhaling as he leaned back. “He shot another don in front of a witness?”
“Yeah.”
Angelo let out a low whistle. “Shit.”
When Francesca told me, I couldn’t believe he let her live. I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“That’s not all,”
I added. “He showed Francesca proof. DNA evidence that he somehow obtained proving he’s her father.”
Silence stretched between us. Angelo and Remo exchanged glances, but their faces showed no shock. It wasn’t the murder that rattled them—it was something else entirely.
Remo shook his head. “This doesn’t change what we already knew. We always suspected we weren’t legitimate, but this? This means she?—”
“Our mother,”
Angelo interrupted bitterly, “was a bitch.”
The weight of that statement hung heavily in the room.
“She played everyone,”
Ilias murmured.
“Our mother,”
Angelo interjected bitterly, “was more malicious than we realized. She slept with him intentionally, I guarantee it.”
Silence stretched again before Angelo leaned back with a groan. “Well, at least we know where we get our cutthroat tendencies.”
Remo snorted. “Speak for yourself.”
“You’re literally the most violent person here.”
Remo shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I got it from her. Maybe my papa is some psychopath out there. You just know our bitch of a mother picked out each daddy special based on what they could do for her or on how to thumb her nose at Don Santelli.”
Maxim sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we focus?”
I exhaled, rolling my shoulders to release the tension. “Vanello didn’t say anything else. She demanded a phone, and he gave her one.”
“Nothing?”
Ilias pressed.
“He said that she wasn’t … disappointing.”
I shrugged.
“I suppose that’s something. Our little Frankie is certainly not a disappointment,”
Remo said smugly.
Ilias leaned forward. “So what does this mean? Do we think he’ll back off? Stop the trafficking?”
Ilias’s eyes narrowed, and I could see he was already making mental calculations.
I flexed my fingers, repeating my movements to steady myself. “We wait. We watch. And we don’t make a single fucking move until we know exactly what game Vanello is playing.”
Angelo groaned. “You and your waiting.”
I shot him a look. “Do you want to make a move without knowing all the pieces?”
He raised his hands. “Fine. But if you start moving those damn coasters around again, I’m out.”
I looked down. Without realizing it, I had arranged the coasters on the coffee table into perfect rows. I gritted my teeth and forced my hands to my sides.
I ignored them. The game had changed. I simply needed to figure out how to navigate it.
“We’re still targeting the trafficking runs, right? We’re in agreement on that?”
Maxim asked with a frown. “We can also pick up the remnants of the Oliveto outfit. There’s no way they will be able to recover. We can’t let Vallone take over their territory.”
“Hell yeah.”
There was unanimous agreement among us on this matter. “I think we should continue pursuing those shipments as we have been. Nothing changes there until we know otherwise, but perhaps we should take it easy in other areas until we see what unfolds.”
I pushed the coaster back into place where Remo had moved it, shooting him a glare.
Once we had all agreed and devised our next plan, I returned to the bedroom and curled up next to my wife. Her dark hair fanned out against the pillow, and her hands were crossed protectively over her chest. A faint bruise already marked her cheek, and there were marks on her wrists from the zip ties. Pulling her close, I breathed her in, burying my nose in her hair and thanking all the stars and guardian angels that she was safe in our bed.