11. Leona #2
His jaw clenched. “One of the capos who beat the shit out of me.”
“Hmm. Got it.” I turned back to the table. Greco’s capo still leered at Max while he cracked his knuckles. The sound snapped across the table like a whip.
“Now, before we begin, I must thank you all for coming,” Greco said diplomatically. He looked at each of the Heads, giving us all a nod before moving to the next. “There have been some changes in New York in recent months, and it’s time we all met to discuss.”
I almost snorted. Who the fuck did he think he was?
Instead of giving him the lip I so desperately wanted to do, I stretched backwards, my arms over my head with my hands curled back so I could slip my fingers into the razorback of my sports bra.
Discreetly, I pulled the small knife I’d put there free.
With it braced between my two fingers, all it took was a firm flick of my wrist.
The knife careened through the air.
It landed in Greco’s capo’s neck.
His hands flew to his throat, yanking the blade free, but it was too late.
It had nicked his artery, and pulling it out had doomed him.
His eyes went wide while his hands tried to staunch the blood.
All around us, shouts echoed, men yelling.
I was dimly aware of Sandrini shoving to his feet and pointing at me, but I watched calmly, unmoving, as the capo fell to his knees, then plonked to the ground face first.
Dead.
Greco held up a hand, and the room went silent.
Obi put his hand on my shoulder. My men crowded forward, trying to protect me from however Greco would react, but he had his eyes locked on me. Anger rippled beneath their surface.
“Why have you killed one of my men?” he demanded.
“Here’s the way I see it, Greco.” I folded one leg over the other and leaned back in my chair. “Max Volpe belongs to me. Your man hurt my man. It’s only fair that I retaliate. Now, we’re square.”
Greco narrowed his eyes. Lightning practically crackled between us. I kept my face passive, while my heart pulsed a steady beat inside my chest.
How would Greco respond?
I could have flicked that knife at him. It would have buried in his neck just as deep before he could even blink.
My men would have backed me up. Ciel still had his garrotte.
Even if things devolved into a fight, I had six men behind me, where Rossi and Sandrini had three.
Greco might have had more, but if we all turned on each other, our numbers would be close to even.
Greco’s eyes trailed over my arms and my chest, as if he were looking for other weapons. Then he did the same to each of my men.
“I see,” he said finally. Another of his capos bent over to whisper in his ear. He waved a hand, and the man stepped backward. “That was highly inappropriate.”
I shrugged. “I don’t take well to my things being broken.”
A muscle feathered in his jaw. “This meeting was offered in good faith.”
“I didn’t kill you, did I?” I leaned forward just slightly, like I might grab another hidden blade from my undergarments, and he tensed in defensiveness.
I sat back against the chair, elbows on the armrests, and hands folded in my lap.
Finally, I inclined my head. “I apologize for interrupting the meeting. Please continue.”
Fury blazed in his eyes. “Well, then,” he finally bit out with a tight frown. “We’re square, as you say.”
Rossi and Sandrini watched like they were waiting to see which of two apex predators would kill the other first. The entire dynamic around this conference table had shifted, and every single person knew it.
Greco ignored his men removing the body of their fallen comrade from his pool of blood. He sucked his teeth with a sigh. It almost felt like he was less upset at the death of one of his men than he was at me for being rude.
“I shall cut to the chase, then,” Greco said, shaking off some of the blatant fury and replacing it with careful calm, meant to command the room. “We have come to the States because the American Mafia families are clearly falling apart. Apparently, you even lack proper manners.”
Rossi bristled, but kept his mouth shut. Sandrini nodded, as if he were desperate for a leader he could finally rely on.
“We cannot let our power fade while the Five Families kill each other from within. This in-fighting must stop.” He scolded us like he was our father and we were his disobedient children. “So I’ve come with a proposal. One that I think is in the best interest of all of us.”
Somehow I knew that if I turned around, I would probably see Ryu’s eyes rolling out of his eye sockets.
“And that is?” Rossi asked.
“I will take leadership of New York,” he said. “The Camorra will infuse structure back into the American Mafia. We never should have split. The Heads remaining here today may work with us in friendship. In partnership.”
“Which means what, exactly?” Sandrini croaked. He sounded like he smoked at least two packs a day.
“You will report to me. The current structure of the Five Families will dissolve. You may remain in power over your men, but your territories will be absorbed into one, you will pay a tithe, and you will work toward goals that I determine. In exchange, you will be offered the protection and partnership of one of the greatest criminal organizations in history. Protection that will extend far beyond anything you’ve all had before.
New York will be just the start of our new empire. ”
His voice was matter-of-fact. As if we had no option but to agree and obey.
Behind me, Obi’s fingers brushed against my spine. The protection Greco offered was clearly his connections to law enforcement and city officials, but we couldn’t let him gain control over them.
“This does not sound like it’s in the best interest of us all,” Rossi said carefully. Not aggressive or defensive, his voice was simply factual.
Greco inclined his head. “At first glance, I understand how it appears that way. However, the alternative is conflict. The fact of the matter is that we are not leaving. Choosing to reject this partnership will cause your inevitable death.” He shrugged with a sad frown. Sad but true, he seemed to say.
“You don’t belong here,” I said. “This isn’t Italy. You haven’t been welcome here in two generations.”
“When we see our brothers bleeding out in front of our faces, is it not right to step in?”
“Some would say it’s none of your business,” I returned. “For over forty years, we’ve dealt with our problems internally. You have no right to step in.”
“Ah, but Maximiliano made it my business,” he said smugly. “When he asked for my help against Luciano Vero—to bring your father to justice for his crimes—he brought it under my jurisdiction.”
I didn’t turn around.
We already knew that Max had allied with the Camorra because of my father’s affiliation with the Albanians. He needed help to stop them, and the Camorra were already fighting them in Europe. We couldn’t change that, and as much as it pissed me off, it wasn’t the bait Greco thought it was.
“By that logic, you failed to manage the Albanian threat and allowed them to infiltrate New York City. I believe we’re owed compensation since we had to deal with the problem you couldn’t control.”
“Your father invited them here, not me.”
“Exactly, which is why we dealt with it on our own. The Albanians are eliminated. The small conflict between Max and me over the control of my father’s legacy is over. As such, the American Mafia is not at risk and not falling apart as you claim.”
Greco’s smug smile made my stomach turn. “Oh, is that correct? Did Maximiliano not tell you?”
The way my head wanted to snap backward to look Max in the eye. It took all the strength in my body not to react.
“To what are you referring?”