Chapter Thirty-Six
Lucas
“Chiara Bianchi should be my wife,” Lorenzo barks as he leans over D’s desk. He had requested this meeting, and D granted him audience in one of the first-floor conference rooms of his office building before the day’s rush began.
“Take a seat,” comes D’s curt and unimpressed reply.
Lorenzo narrows his eyes and looks over to Teo who is nonchalantly leaning against the window jamb, then his eyes snap to me.
I am sitting in a chair on the side of the desk, leaning back, with my ankle casually resting over my knee.
I am outwardly calm and composed. Inwardly, I am a breath away from drawing my gun and ending it all right here, consequences be damned.
Lorenzo finally sits down with a thunderous look and slides a sheet of paper over the desk. “Here is the written agreement. You will see, it was signed by her mother two years ago. It clearly states that Chiara is to be wed to me.”
“Then why didn’t you come forward sooner?” I drawl.
He glares at me. “Because I was busy abroad, then her mother passed. When I contacted her father, he assured me he knew nothing and he began stalling.”
I frown. Her father knew about this and never told her, or anyone?
I file this information away for later. I retrieve our marriage certificate from the inside pocket of my jacket and slide it toward D.
“This is our marriage certificate. It was signed and concluded last month. Chiara married me without knowing about the agreement, making it void.”
D’s eyes snap to my face but his features remain impassive, showing nothing from the bomb I just dropped on him.
Fucker’s a hell of an actor. I nearly smirk at him, but I refrain since the air is volatile from barely suppressed animosity.
D slowly takes the contract and unfolds it to read.
Then his eyes lift to Lorenzo who is sitting opposite him.
“This contract is legal, signed by a judge and countersigned by witnesses. Luc is right, your agreement is void since no one knew about it.”
“Her father knew!” Lorenzo snarls, spittle flying on the desk.
“That’s your word against his,” D replies calmly, the very image of the composed Mafia boss. “And since he passed away very recently as you know, he won’t be able to speak up, I’m afraid.”
“That cheating bastard, he stalled and even told me that she was away. The agreement is valid, a signature is a vow,” Lorenzo insists.
“Careful,” comes D’s low warning, “the man you are talking about is also my wife’s father.”
That placates Lorenzo. “The marriage certificate has to be fake.” He tries from another angle. “No one, not even her own father seemed to know she got married.” He sends me a venomous look.
“What can I say?” I shoot back with a cocky grin. “We eloped and my wife wanted to keep it a surprise. But then her father passed and we had to cut our honeymoon short.”
Lorenzo must feel that he is losing ground, he turns to D, fury clouding his face. “This will mean war. The other families will stand behind me, because who would support a bunch of liars and cheats?”
“The other families won’t support you,” comes Teo’s lethal voice from behind our boss.
“You failed to make the head of the famiglia aware when you signed the agreement. The other families will see that the marriage contract takes precedence.” He pauses for a beat, then drops his voice to that cold register I know means he’s closing in for the kill.
“And there is another reason they won’t support you. ”
“Which one?” Lorenzo seethes.
“There is…talk about your position. How unstable it is and that there might be dissidence from the inside. Since your position is…unstable, no sane family will openly support you without the guarantee of your success,” Teo goes on, the threat unmistakable.
“That’s nothing of your concern, I am the head of the Chicago Outfit, as my brother was before me—”
“Yet people question your legitimacy.” Teo cuts him off.
“I am the legitimate Don!” Lorenzo shouts as he bolts out of his chair.
“Are you now?” D asks calmly. I wonder what dirty secret Teo has unearthed, but I’ll ask him later.
Sensing that he is fighting a losing battle, Lorenzo straightens. “This is not over, I will petition the other families. Let’s see what they think about this.”
“Do that,” I say lightly, “but keep your distance from my wife. I’d rather not turn this into something…unpleasant.”
If looks could kill, I would be lying dead on the floor. He whirls around and stomps out through the door after his two goons, slamming the door shut.
After a beat of silence, Teo goes to the door, peeking out to make sure no one lingers in the hallway, then he shuts and locks it. As he lowers himself into the empty chair, D turns to me with a low growl. “Care to explain?”
I shrug. “What’s to explain? Chiara and I got married, end of story.”
He curses profusely under his breath. “Does she have grounds to contest the validity of the marriage?”
I gnash my teeth so hard he must hear it. “None of your business.”
“I’m married to her sister, and we’re risking war, motherfucker. So let me repeat. Can. She. Contest?”
“She won’t,” I snap, knowing full well I avoided a direct answer to his question.
He curses again. “And you’re saying that you both returned to Boston last month? To get married? Secretly?”
I narrow my eyes, challenging him to call bullshit. “Yeah. Got a problem?”
We glare at each other for several beats, none of us willing to back down. After what feels like hours, he chuckles slowly and leans back in his chair with a smirk. “Guess congratulations are in order?”
“Appreciated,” I reply slowly, grinning back.
Teo grumbles next to me. “I can’t believe she agreed to marry your sorry ass.”
I send him a dirty look, but he only chuckles.
Fuckers, they are messing with me.
“Have you looked that bastard up?” I ask Teo.
He nods and his smile fades. “He took over the Chicago Outfit ten years ago when his brother died in questionable circumstances during a street shooting. Thing is, the man had a son who should have taken over, but he was only fifteen then, so Lorenzo acted as his legal tutor and mentor. But now the kid is twenty-five and he never gave him the seat back. There are rumors of dissidence between the older generations standing behind the uncle and the younger blood supporting the nephew, although the kid seems more interested in partying and women than taking over.”
I nod. This is good for us, we could reach out to the other faction. My mind is already mapping out opportunities.
He steps closer and hands me his phone. I take it and swipe through the pictures. Each one showing the same young man in various states of intoxication, a different girl draped over his arm in every shot. I snort. Typical rich party kid.
“But that’s not all,” D falls in.
“Yeah,” Teo goes on, “Uncle dear got a record of abusing the women he has been with. There is no direct evidence or any lawsuit filed, but there are rumors, and worse, pictures from police reports which have not surprisingly disappeared under piles of bureaucracy. The pictures are”—he clears his throat—“disturbing.”
My blood runs cold. “Fuck,” I mutter. It must be bad if even our enforcer is unsettled. He carves people up for fun, goddamnit. My breath goes shallow and red haze creeps into my peripheral vision as I picture Chiara in the hands of this monster.
The ensuing silence is long and heavy until D breaks it. “Any news about our lingering problem?”
I immediately know what he’s referring to. “Nothing. The men I’ve sent to Florida came back empty-handed. They’ve found jack shit there.”
This subject is getting old, and our frustration is growing with every hour that we’ve not been able to expose Manticore, the human trafficking network that’s been operating under our noses for over two years now.
“Maybe they’ve stopped or moved elsewhere?” I ask.
“Not likely,” Teo chimes in, “they’re dormant, but they’ll slip up eventually.”
I exhale loudly. “I don’t know man, there’s been nothing after the message two weeks ago. And the clue ends in Naples in Florida. Something’s not adding up.”
“You’re right,” Teo chimes in. “They’re silent for now, even in the darknet, not a peep. It’s getting fucking annoying.”
“Keep tracking,” D pushes, “there’s nothing about them in New York either, but it doesn’t mean they’re not there, too. If they come back, we’ll be ready.”
I nod without conviction as I rise to return home. The Mofos must’ve moved elsewhere, but I’ll keep men on the docks and eyes in the streets asking around for them just in case.