18. Cassio
Isat at the table with the Ferraro brothers, Romeo Ferraro, Capo of the Cosa Nostra, sat directly before me while his brother, Apollo, sat before Vitelli. There was also another man with them, one everyone in the Mafia knew of—Nero “The Reaper” Albiatti. A beast of a man.
Romeo Ferraro looked at me with those disconcerting blue eyes of his. I had blood on my hands, but the Capo before me had his drenched in it. Story was, he had killed his own father and stabbed the man repeatedly to death. It was also rumored that he killed his first man at the age of nine in a church. That’s how he earned the name il Diavolo. The devil. Few men dared sit in a room with him; even fewer were courageous enough to do business with the Devil. I was one of those few.
Romeo Ferraro didn’t scare me. Neither did his brother Apollo who wouldn’t stop grinning from the moment we sat to dine. Now I understood why they called him the Joker. The fucker never seemed to do anything but smile. Not a sweet one or a happy one either. There was malice in it, something dark and twisted. Something even I didn’t want to discover.
Vitelli was right, maybe I was a mad man for doing business with the infamous brothers from New York, but desperate times called for desperate measures. On both sides, that was—Romeo was just as willing for a partnership with me as I was with him. We were different sides of the same coin. Two Capos doing what they must to keep their people and territory safe.
The only reason Romeo was here in Chicago doing business with me wasn’t because I was desperate. It was because despite his sociopathic tendencies, the man was loyal to his blood, especially his family. Something I could relate to. Respect even.
“Now that dinner is over,” I began.
“I would still like dessert. I heard the cannoli in this place is to die for,” Apollo Ferraro said with a grin. The man was much like my brother, which was aggravating to say the least.
“Apollo,” Romeo snapped.
“What?” Apollo asked innocently. “It was a joke.”
“Refrain from making them,” Romeo said coldly. His brother rolled his eyes, but given he was right, I had the waitress bring him some of the famous cannoli. It was to die for.
“I’ve heard your problem with the Bratva has escalated,” Romeo said as he turned his cufflinks. The man was dressed as if he had been headed to a wedding instead of a meeting. I, too, was dressed in a suit, yet he made me feel underdressed for the occasion.
“I’ve heard you lost part of your territory in Boston,” I threw back. Putting two alphas in a room was not a good idea. Romeo didn’t answer, but his brother’s smile turned feral. Instead of provoking him further, I offered an olive branch. “What matters is how we pay them back. You didn’t come all this way to hear from me what I know about you and vice versa. You came to talk business.”
“We are talking business,” Apollo said. The kid spoke too much when he should stay silent. “You have access to routes in Texas and products that come from Mexico,” Apollo pointed out.
“We want half of that product shipped to us,” Romeo explained. “In exchange, you’ll have half of our products that come from Europe.”
That sounded viable, the cocaine I imported from Mexico was one of the best in the market but there were other drugs, like LSD and Molly which held more value because Romeo retained that market up in the east, and his product was known to be the best, hence the high price.
“I want access to Remy Bousset,” Romeo said as he leaned back on his chair taking his tumbler of scotch with him.
“No,” I said without hesitation. Remy was my contact.
Romeo didn’t seem pleased with my refusal. It seemed the man wasn’t used to hearing that word. I couldn’t blame him; I didn’t like it either.
“I’ll give you one of my contacts in Vegas, I know you have been trying to do business out there.”
Fuck. He rubbed salt against my open wound. I had been trying to do business with the Camorra since before I became Capo of the Outfit. They were a closed-off bunch, even more so than the Cosa Nostra.
I looked at Vitelli, but I had already made up my mind. Remy was one man while Vegas was filled with opportunities to make more money. Yet in this moment, he was acting as my consigliere, and I valued his opinion. My brother offered me a tight nod. He was oddly quiet tonight. Probably anxious about having the Reaper and the Devil in the same room. I felt as comfortable as if I were lounging in my apartment.
“I can only present you to the man, if he decides to do business or not, that’s up to him,” I warned.
“Oh, he will,” Romeo said with entitlement, something only a man with power like he possessed would say.
I liked him. He was the kind of man that did not give a fuck about what others thought of him and was beyond the rumors that circled him as well. What if he killed his father? Maybe the fucker needed to be gone. So what if his hands were bloody to the elbows? Mine were, too. We were all wolves in a world full of sheep, some just loved feasting more than others.
Romeo was that wolf.
With dinner over, talk of business was discussed freely. The Ferraro’s seemed completely open to this alliance and were more willing than I had expected. While he was richer than me by some millions, he was a man of principle, unlike most rich pansy asses I knew.
Romeo was in the middle of explaining to me how he managed to turn his family’s company, Legion Corp, into one of the largest in America when my phone rang. I pretended it wasn’t doing so and shoved it in my pocket. It went to voice mail, but the person insisted and called me back shortly after.
“Life of a Capo,” Romeo said.
“I need to take this,” I said pulling the phone.
Excusing myself I headed toward a more private area of the restaurant. Nero Albiatti—the Reaper—watched me closely while I answered the phone.
“Yes?” There was sobbing on the other side of the line. I pulled the phone away and stared at the number.
“Ca-Cassio.”
“Francesca?” I whispered in surprise.
“So-sorry,” she sobbed.
A cold shiver raced down my back, and I stared at the table where the men were back to having a conversation. My brother stared at me probably realizing something was wrong.
“What happened?” I asked looking away from him.
“I…” she cried. “F-Forget it.” She ended the call.
Pissed off and worried, I stared at the phone and then called her again. “What the fuck is going on?” I snapped once she answered the phone.
I ran my thumb under my lower lip trying to calm down. That’s when Vitelli stood up and began walking toward me.
“Can you at least tell me where you are?” I heard her silence and then she told me no. I cursed inward, looked up at the ceiling and tried not to lose my composure.
“Stay where you are,” I ordered. “I’m coming to get you.”
Listening to Francesca cry left me enraged. I had the need to strangle someone. Something had happened and someone was going to pay for hurting her.
“I have to go,” I told Vitelli as he approached me.
“Right now, in the middle of a meeting?” he asked me skeptically.
“Yes,” I answered as I made my way towards the table. “Gentlemen, I’m sorry, but I must leave. As you said, life of a Capo.” I extended my hand towards Romeo. “My brother will escort you back to your jet,” I explained.
“You’re leaving?” Apollo sounded offended.
Romeo took my hand, despite his brother’s outrage, and shook it. “Until next time, Moretti, we have lots to discuss.”
I picked up my jacket from behind the chair and put it on. Vitelli followed me as I exited the restaurant. “Take them straight to their jet—no detours,” I said.
“Where are you going?”
“Just do as you’re told, Vitelli, don’t fucking question me right now.”
“Yes, Capo,” he said with an attitude that would have earned him a punch if I weren’t in a hurry.
I entered my car and turned the engine of my Porsche 911 roaring it to life. I called Vince as soon as the phone connected to the Bluetooth. “Where is Francesca?” were my first words.
“She left the hospital Boss,” he said, sounding guilty.
I pinched my nose. “And where the hell did she go?”
Silence.
“Vince?” I tried to maintain my calm. “You better know where she is?”
“She was at her father’s, Boss. I have eyes on her right now.”
Thank fuck. If he didn’t, then Vince would have to suffer for it.
My heart was beating as fast as my Porsche. Why she was near her father’s house? I could not tell, but I knew something had happened between them. It must have been bad enough for her to call me. We weren’t exactly on the best of terms.
I drove towards Donato’s neighborhood in a hurry, swerving through the traffic like a maniac. It was night, and despite Vince having his eyes on her, I was afraid that something might happen.
She was a beacon in the dark night, her blonde hair shining bright, lighting her up like a fallen star. I would have recognized Francesca anywhere. She was walking fast—head down. Good thing I had specifically told her to stay put.
I parked my car and quickly got out. “Francesca,” I called out.
She jumped, dropped her phone on the ground, and placed a hand on her chest. I approached her slowly; Francesca swayed, and I quickly moved to steady her.
She looked at me but averted her gaze instantly. “What are you doing here?” She sounded surprised.
“What do you mean?” I was still holding on to her, she was freezing. “You called, Francesca.”
“You shouldn’t have come.” She looked at her hands and then used one to wipe a tear away. Then she winced making it even worse.
I removed my jacket and was about to place it around her shoulders when she flinched. “Shit,” I hissed. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I tried to keep my anger at bay.
She nodded and winced at the same time. This time, I slowly placed my jacket around her shoulders and pulled it close. Francesca was still not looking at me.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she said again.
“It doesn’t matter,” I stated. “I’m here now.”
Gently, I reached out for her. Placing two fingers under her chin, I turned her face toward me. Francesca did not meet my eyes.
That’s when I saw it.
I inhaled deeply; seeing nothing but red. Francesca moved away from my touch like she was ashamed. Her left cheek was bruised and scratched.
“Who. Touched. You?” Were the only words I could conjure.
Francesca looked at me then, her big sapphire eyes filled with more unshed tears. I fisted my hands as my blood ran hot in my veins. Someone had touched Francesca. Someone was going to die.
“I’m not worth your problems.” Her voice was weak. Defeated.
Shit.
That hit me hard. Right to the chest, worse than a bullet wound. I reached for her again and this time Francesca didn’t flinch, which was a fucking miracle. Sometimes I wished her husband was still alive, only so I could torture him for what he did to her.
I grabbed her hand, she stared at it like it was the strangest thing I’d ever done. “Let’s go. I’m taking you home.”
Francesca followed me back to the car and when I closed her door, I took a deep breath before entering as well. She didn’t complain when I said I was taking her to my place. Instead, Francesca remained quiet, staring out the window.
Once we arrived at my apartment, she looked so small and thin. Vulnerable. She was breathing hard and kept on digging her nails into the palms of her hands.
“Come.” I helped her toward the room she had slept in the last time she’d been here, and guided her to the bathroom.
I turned on the light and quickly headed back to my room where I kept the first aid kit. When I returned, Francesca was staring at her hands which were still shaking.
Placing the kit on the counter beside her, I warned her before moving closer to her. “I’m going to lift you up.” I placed my hands on her soft curves.
Francesca sucked in a breath, but it had nothing to do with fear—I hoped. She had removed my jacket, her skin was still cold, but a spark traveled through my body. When I glanced up at her, she was watching me as well.
“You can let go now,” she said gently.
“Yeah.” I looked at my hand and fought to tear it away from her. Then I set out to do what I had planned. “This is going to hurt.”
“I’m used to it,” she scoffed.
“Well, you shouldn’t be.” I picked up the towel and placed it under the faucet.
“After a while you learn to ignore it,” Francesca said simply like it was perfectly normal. She sucked in a deep breath as I placed the towel against her cheek, but then she relaxed.
“I should have killed him.” I said to myself.
“You shouldn’t have let me marry him in the first place,” she said but there was no anger in her voice, just resignation.
Francesca was right, I shouldn’t have let her marry him. I should never have let her go, but it had been my only choice. I couldn’t marry her, doing so would only lead to more sorrow and pain.
I wasn’t myself back then. I was nothing but a drunk who couldn’t even recall his own name. After Arabella died, I lost myself and, in the process, lost Francesca, too. I thought I was saving her from me, from the monster I became. When I finally had the courage to fight my demons and realized that breaking up with her had been the worst mistake of my life, it was already too late—she’d married Paolo.
I wiped away the dried blood, the wound was nothing of great concern, but I applied some antiseptic and then a band-aid. She looked so breakable, like glass, and it scared me because I had the power to break her.
“I’ll get you some painkillers.”
“No,” she grabbed my hand. “No pills.”
“It might not be hurting now, but tomorrow it will.”
“No pills, Cassio,” her big eyes pleaded.
I nodded. I hoped from the bottom of my heart that this meant she had stopped using. I knew it would be hard, but I needed her to stop. I needed her to get better.
Because I couldn’t help myself, I caressed her cheek, careful not to hurt her. Francesca breathed in deeply, closed her eyes and leaned into my touch.
“Who, Francesca? Give me a name.”