29. Bianca
Bianca
North Cove Marina in Battery Park is a popular dock for the elite and their luxury toys.
Marco parks the car in a spot that’s tucked away from everything else, and we head for the yacht anchored just off the pier.
The name of the vessel, Joker’s Council, is a bit on the nose, but at least we’re in the right place.
Despite Marco’s sob story at Paradiso last night about his mother’s missing ring, the Council won’t let us into the Library out of the goodness of their hearts.
Zanni will likely require us to pass some sort of test first. Marco and I head up the gangway with the early autumn sun warm on our backs, the wind off the Hudson carrying the scent of brine and iron.
The yacht itself features three levels of enclosed living space.
I don’t know enough about boats to identify the model, but it’s easily over one hundred and twenty feet of sleek engineering, complete with a retractable overhang and tinted windows that are impossible to see through.
The gangplank empties Marco and me out onto the deck, where several lounge chairs and umbrellas surround a crystal clear pool.
Twenty minutes pass, then a half hour, so Marco and I retreat deeper beneath the overhang and commandeer a couch to wait for Zanni to arrive.
Did we get the time wrong? I checked Leandro’s instructions no less than six times on the way here.
My leg bounces, and Marco places a hand on my knee to still the nervous tic.
“I could have been fucking you.” Marco’s huffed murmur is his only comment, and I don’t bother admonishing him because the thought crossed my mind as well.
He gives my knee a final squeeze as a clamber of boots on the gangway signal an arrival. We get to our feet as Leandro, not Zanni, boards the boat with a smaller man in tow.
Leandro seems just as unassuming as he did last night, but his companion, a lanky young man with sharp, rat-like features and an arm covered in tattoos, appears terrified. His cheeks are pale, and he’s breathing quickly through his nose.
Marco regards him with a frown, but I keep my attention on the marshal. “Good morning, Leandro. Will…Zanni be joining us?”
Leandro sniffs, sweeping his gaze somewhere behind us before answering in a bored tone.
“Zanni doesn’t grant favors without knowing the full breadth of the request.” He cocks a brow at Marco.
“And that bald-faced lie about your mother’s ring was weak, Argento.
So, what’s the real reason you want to get into the Library? ”
Marco shifts in irritation, and I eye the nervous man at Leandro’s side again, wondering how much to divulge.
“Information.” No point in beating around the bush. He clearly didn’t buy the sentimental couple approach, so it’s time to give him a slightly more believable story. “My father is becoming a problem, and now that I’m with the Argentos, I need intel that will help…keep him in line.”
Leandro raises a brow, amusement momentarily overshadowing the exhaustion that lines his face. “You want to corral Aldo Conti?” With a disbelieving snort, he shakes his head and mutters beneath his breath. “Zanni’s going to love this.”
I figured he would. The family drama will appeal to the Councilor’s thirst for chaos. “In addition to that, I’d also like the chance to speak to Zanni personally.”
Leandro angles his head to one side in open curiosity, and I imagine he looks at his students in that same fashion. “What for?”
It’s my turn to raise a brow. “With all due respect, that’s my business, not yours.”
Leandro considers me in silence for a long time before pivoting to Marco.
“You’ve married an interesting woman. Interesting marriages seem to run in your family, don’t they Argento?
Your brother, Dante, made a very interesting choice in match before he ran off.
” The air between us grows heavy. “You haven’t heard from him lately, have you? ”
Marco stiffens at the inherent threat behind the inquiry, and pain flickers briefly across his face before he laughs it off. “I already told the Councilors that I haven’t. But, if he reaches out, you’ll be the first to know.”
Leandro flexes his right hand, repeatedly curling his fingers into a fist and relaxing them.
“It would be in your best interest to make sure your husband stays true to his word. I would hate for the Council to think you’re keeping secrets for him when the Contis are already juggling so many of their own.
” Rolling his shoulders as if shrugging off some invisible weight, he strokes his chin, panning his eyes to the sky.
My mouth dries out, and I glance at Marco from the corner of my eye.
I shouldn’t ask this in front of him, not when I’m still lying about Father and the book, but if I’m going to do damage control, I need to understand what the Council believes they have on the Contis.
Information is and always has been power. “Explain yourself.”
Leandro bristles, outrage darkening his features. I realize my mistake too late, but I don’t back down. He’s probably never had a woman speak to him this way or have the status to back it up. Unfortunately for him, I’m done pandering to his fragile ego.
The marshal sucks on a tooth. When he tilts his head with dark mirth, I know I won’t like his response.
“Your sister told us about Dante’s relationship with Sara Boyd.
” He utters the claim with relish, anticipating the effect the statement will have on me.
Marco rocks back in surprise as Leandro lunges at the strange man he brought aboard.
“Her recorded confession has proven to be quite useful. In fact, she’s been kind enough to also help us keep track of your father’s machinations over the last few weeks. ”
How much has Livia shared with him?
Does he know about the book?
Of course he does.
All that is bad enough, but what really freezes my blood is learning, for the first time, that the Council’s been blackmailing my sister.
How could she not have told me?
My stomach drops to my feet, and my eyes find Marco again.
He’s very carefully not looking at me, his attention focused solely on Leandro, who grabs the strange man by the back of the neck, shoving him forward so that he trips and falls into the lounge chairs, scattering them across the deck.
When he lands on the teak wood at my feet, I cautiously inch back.
Marco nods toward the man, his voice stiff. “Who’s your companion? I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Zanni’s marshal sneers with malicious satisfaction. “Collateral.”
My husband and I exchange glances as Leandro pulls a black leather glove from his back pocket and yanks it on his right hand.
“Zanni will grant your requests so long as you return the favor.” From beneath his coat, the marshal extracts a nine-millimeter handgun and lays it on the only upright lounge chair.
Marco frowns. “Wha—?”
“No questions.” Leandro steps toward us.
“And I mean none. Don’t ask him anything.
Don’t speak to him. Don’t even look at him longer than it takes to do the job.
Ignorance is bliss, boys and girls. Don’t say I never taught you anything.
” The marshal inclines his head in Marco’s direction and veers back toward the gangplank.
“Just follow my instructions, and you’ll get what you want from Zanni. ”
The moment Leandro’s footsteps die out down the corridor, my shoulders drop. I exhale a long, ragged breath, shaking off the residual chill of his presence. Marco and I have both spilled blood, but always with a purpose. Neither of us has ever crossed into the realm of senseless slaughter.
Marco glances down at the man on the ground as he struggles to untangle himself from the lounge chairs. With his hands tied behind his back, the boat’s gentle rocking renders it nearly impossible for him to gain his feet.
Let’s get this over with.
Marco crouches before the captive, his face alight with curiosity. “Are you all right?”
My relief goes up in flames. Leandro just left for fuck’s sake, but Marco seems unfazed by his final warning. “Marco, he said not to— ”
“Do you have any idea why they want you dead?” Marco ignores my protests and shifts one of the lounge chairs away from the bound man.
I pause, painfully curious myself. Why do they want him dead? Just as importantly, why are Marco and I the ones tasked with killing him? And how is Zanni supposed to know we heeded his instructions if Leandro didn’t stick around to ensure we completed the job?
Marco’s still talking, his tone placating, and from the corner of my vision, I watch him offer his hand to the man. “Look, I can’t make any promises, but I might be able to help you if—”
The deck creaks, and I whip around. My hand goes for the bowie knife I stole from the war room that’s now stashed beneath my skirt’s waistband.
Ren loiters by the bar under the overhang. He’s pouring Rum Chata into a glass of ice, his motions smooth and unhurried as if he has all the time in the world. Glancing up, he takes in the toppled chairs, the captive, and Marco with his outstretched hand. His eyes harden to flint.
“You’re not very smart, are you?” His crushing baritone seems to suck out all the air, and my heart rises up to choke me. How long has he been here? How much has he seen? How much has he heard?
He’s going to report back to Zanni.
What will the punishment be for so flagrantly disobeying a direct order from one of his marshals?
Finally realizing that we might be in deep shit, Marco gets to his feet, though he’s more intrigued than concerned. “Honestly? I’m usually a little slow on the uptake, yeah.” He scans the room and frowns. “By the way, where the fuck did you just come from?”
Ren pauses for a beat before sipping from his drink. An apex predator through and through, he doesn’t have to do or say anything to get his point across. He simply watches and waits, his gaze both the scope of a rifle and the lens of a camera.
Witness and executioner.
We never had a choice regarding how this would end. This isn’t a favor for Zanni…it’s a threat.
Our captive opens his mouth and makes a plaintive, panicked noise that shoots ice down my spine. In that brief flash, I notice that stub of flesh where his tongue should be. If they went that far only to still want him dead, he must be hoarding some huge secrets about the Council.
Ren sets his glass down, mixing the dregs of his drink with one finger. “Mrs. Argento, I hope you haven’t forgotten our talk.”
My mind rewinds to the wedding night…Ren looming over me and an unconscious Marco as my body still buzzed with remnants of my orgasm.
“Your family’s in a vulnerable position. I recommend you act accordingly.”
Marco looks between Ren and me, his green eyes flaring. “Bianca. What the hell is he talking about?”
A gleam of light from one of the office buildings on Vesey Street, directly adjacent to the yacht, catches my attention. I squint until I spy it again. The sun reflecting off the scope of a sniper’s rifle.
No wonder the man on the floor never tried to flee from the boat. Even if Ren weren’t here, Marco and I won’t escape this yacht alive with one of the Council’s snipers targeting us. Not as long as the stranger continues breathing.
Ignoring Marco, I march over to the bright yellow lounge chair near the railing and pick up the gun Leandro left for us. Upon closer inspection, I can see it’s a Smith and Wesson equipped with a state-of-the-art silencer.
My target is impossible to miss.
Now that I’ve been reminded of what’s expected of me, the nerves that have plagued me since my alarm this morning are gone.
As capo, I have one purpose and one purpose only.
To protect the lives and interests of the Conti family at all costs.
Anything else is just a distraction. “No.” My voice remains as steady as always as I meet Ren’s gaze. “I haven’t forgotten.”
Marco gravitates toward me. “Bianca, let me—”
But it’s too late. The bullet whispers through one side of the bound man’s skull and out the other. He collapses to the deck, a neat hole where parts of his brain should be. Wiping my prints off the trigger with the hem of my skirt, I toss the gun onto the stranger’s chest.
An absolute, suffocating stillness follows. Panic claws at my throat. If I peer up at Marco, what will I discover? Abhorrence? Disgust? Will I glimpse the Ice Princess caricature he’s always despised, reflected in his gaze?
I brace for his revulsion, but it never comes. Instead, a dangerous hint of pride curls his mouth, allowing my ribs to release their stranglehold on my lungs. Beyond him, Ren’s tongue swipes some Rum Chata off his finger, his teeth flashing in an almost-smile. “Good girl.”