15. Cassio
“What is going on between you and Francesca Manci?”
I wiped my bloody hands on the towel and kept my eyes on it, ignoring Vitelli completely. Pain radiated from where I had broken my rib, but I ignored it. The skin where I had gotten ten stitches was beginning to itch as well, but like the ribs, I ignored them.
“Since I know you haven’t gone deaf, I’ll take your silence as my answer.”
Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I gave him my attention. “Drop it” my eyes ordered him, but knowing my brother, that only fueled his imagination.
“So, there is something going on?” he whispered even though there was no need to.
I turned my attention toward the dead Russian in the room. He was strapped to a metal chair, his face busted, and bullet holes made him look like Swiss cheese——a courtesy of yours truly.
Interrogations had always been Luciano’s forte, his area of expertise. But after what happened last week, I needed to vent some remnant pent-up rage from that night. Attacking that Russian bar had been a bad idea, but they were growing on my nerves, and after I learned that they killed two of my men in a brawl, I lost my shit.
In my rage, I’d forgotten my promise to myself and had drunk two shots of vodka before pulling my gun out and killing the Russian fuckers. All of them were affiliated to the Bratva. I didn’t let a single one live. Although I felt guilty for drinking, I knew I was getting closer to avenging my sister.
“Vitelli,” I sighed again. “Don’t you think we have more troubling issues to discuss other than my sex life?”
He grinned like a motherfucker. “So, you two, hmm?” He wiggled his brows.
I stared at the ceiling and contemplated if God would forgive me for committing fratricide. Sometimes I wondered how he was still breathing. Vitelli had a gift of pissing people off, constantly, always getting on their last nerves.
Ignoring my brother and his questions, I turned to my enforcer who was still in the room. “Take the body and dump it where the Russians will find it.”
“We are poking the bear,” Vitelli finally dropped the Francesca matter. “Grigori will come for us.”
“I’m counting on it,” I said. “We can’t kill him if he remains locked up in his fort,” I explained.
Grigori Petrovich had been hiding in his mansion ever since he killed my sister. His place was highly protected, making the White House look like child’s play. Which was why it made it so difficult to kill the man.
“We need to lure him out,” I said running my thumb under my lower lip—pensively.
“What about this Volpe?” Vitelli reminded me of the spy.
I looked at the dead Russians.
I clenched my hands and said to Luciano. “I want you to send a message,” I said with a calm I did not possess. “Tell Grigori I’m coming for him, and that I know who his spy is.”
“But we don’t know.” Vitelli shot out.
“He doesn’t need to know that,” I said. “All we need is for him to believe it. And that’s how we are going to lure him out.”
“Using his own spy?”
I nodded. “This is what we are going to do.”
Then I proceeded to explain my plan. From what we learned in tonight’s interrogation, was that the Volpe was amongst my higher ranks. Something I already suspected. So, my plan consisted of two parts. I would give each of my underbosses an order, a message of sorts. About the cargo I was sending, a time and place for it, etc. Then, all I had to do was wait for the Russians to show up, and I would know who betrayed me.
If this fox thought himself cunning, then he was in for a treat because I was about to hunt him down as if it were a rabid dog. When I found him, because I would, then I’d skin him alive and tear him piece by piece.
After discussing the plan thoroughly, I headed upstairs to my office. Once inside, I headed toward the cabinet and poured Vitelli——who had followed me——a glass of whiskey while I took a bottle of water.
“Who do you suspect the spy is?” he asked, setting his tumbler on the table.
I stopped by the floor-to-ceiling window and observed the empty room below. It was still early. The club wouldn’t open for hours. I pondered Vitelli’s question. “I have my suspicions.”
“I think it’s Donato.” His answer did not surprise me, not in the least. “Just think about it before you dismiss it. He’s a slimy fucker.”
I cocked one brow. “The Outfit is full of slimy fuckers.”
Vitelli shook his head. “Not like him.”
“What would he have to gain?” I mused.
“What would anyone have to gain by allying with the Russians?”
Power.
I thought about it but kept it quiet. That’s when I saw the glimmer in my brother’s eyes and knew whatever he was about to say was probably going to hit a nerve.
“You should be careful with Francesca.”
I knew he would come back to that. “I’m not in the mood, Vitelli.”
“I’m just saying.” He picked his drink up and stared at it. “She’s his daughter.”
“Vitelli,” I warned. “Enough.”
He sighed and leaned back. I wasn’t going to talk about her with him. Francesca had been on my mind since…always. I couldn’t—even if I tried—forget her. Ever since I kissed her, it was hard forgetting her taste. Cherry. Francesca tasted as sweet as cherries. She was my favorite treat.
“You know she was married to Paolo Biancini.”
That was a fact I wanted to forget. “And?”
“And,” he deadpanned. “He and Donato had a falling out. You never wondered why?”
All the damned time. Lately more than before. “What are you getting at?” He turned the whiskey in his cup and took a while to speak his mind. “Spit it out.”
“Maybe you should talk to her,” he suggested. “She might know something.”
Vitelli left me with that thought and it didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t want to involve Francesca more than I already had. Going to her place after what happened at the Russian bar was a mistake. I put her in danger. If anything happened to her, I would never forgive myself.
The clock struck five, I still had work to do, but Francesca was on my mind and when she was there, I was a goner. I looked at my computer seeing all I had to do and stood up. I had to see her. It was a bad idea, but I couldn’t stop myself.
So, I left.
It took me twenty minutes to reach the hospital, from what Vince—the guard I had designated to follow her since the night I saved her from jail—said, she was still with her mother. I had known about Domenica Manci’s illness for a while now, ever since Francesca began visiting the hospital every day. I grew curious, so I investigated it.
The sight of her almost brought me down to my knees, and like a perverted fuck, I watched Francesca walk out of the hospital. It was early autumn, and she wore a purple floral dress that offered me a privileged view of her legs. What was she thinking, she was going to catch a cold this way. I couldn’t help looking at her legs and imagine them wrapped around my waist as I–
I shook that image away and focused on the task at hand. It wouldn’t do having her affect me this way every time I saw her. Francesca was like a blazing star, much like the sun. She was heat, she was light. Her beauty was blinding. And here I was, a black hole, a tragedy in the making.
She was walking my way, so I left the shadows. The moment Francesca saw me she halted. She looked both ways, probably thinking about running, but there was nowhere she could go that I wouldn’t follow.
One by one her feet moved my way; I stood there still, trying to get my bearings. A gust of wind hit her, and her scent traveled my way, and I breathed it in greedily.
Francesca stopped before me and hugged herself. “What are you doing here?” she grilled me.
Good question, what are you doing here, Cassio?
I watched as her enticing sapphire eyes narrowed and she looked both ways, then past me, and then finally she met my eyes. Francesca opened her mouth and then closed it.
“We need to talk,” I blurted before she had something else to say.
“Talk,” she scoffed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I wasn’t asking, Francesca.” My voice sounded harsher than I desired.
She had this effect on me, I couldn’t control myself when I was so damned near her. Her eyes, her scent, her smart mouth, her beauty, it was too much. So, anger was the only way to ward off these… feelings I had whenever I was close.
“I have nothing left to say to you.” She was digging her nails into the palms of her hand, and I hated she was hurting herself because of me.
“There’s a coffee shop down the street,” I said, ignoring her observation.
“I’m tired, Cassio,” she said weakly, and I almost caved then.
Francesca, despite her alluring beauty, did look exhausted. She looked thinner and paler, and there were deep circles under her eyes. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, held up by a pen, which I had the urge to pull out and watch as it fell over her shoulders, I always loved her hair.
“It won’t take too long.”
“The last time we talked it didn’t end so well,” she stated.
Was this how she thought about our kiss? As a mistake? It hadn’t been one of my best moments, but the kiss had been stellar. I knew she thought so as well, Francesca had melted into me like butter on a hot piece of toast.
Mistake, my ass.
“Come,” I said and turned to walk away.