27. ANTONIO
Unfortunately, my plans for Scarlet are derailed. My phone rings just as we prepare to leave for a drive. I’m tempted not to answer, but it’s Vito, and duty to the family always comes first.
"This better be good," I answer, eyeing Scarlet, who looks excited.
"Not good, boss. We have a problem."
I grind my teeth and push out, "Where?"
"Trouble in LA" is all he says. All he has to say.
"Fuck! Meet me at the airport." I turn to Scarlet. Before I can say anything, she smiles sweetly at me and says, "You have to go."
It wasn't a question. I nod. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be, will you be back soon?"
"I don't know." We don’t discuss business over the phone if it can be helped, and when Vito says we have a problem, it means he needs me there. "Don't wait up for me."
I walk over to her, grab her by the waist, and pull her in for a deep kiss. Her eyes are glossy when she looks up. "You're making it hard not to wait up for you."
Fuck, this woman is fucking perfect. She must read the reluctance on my face because she makes a shooing motion with her hands. "Go. Go take care of your mafia business, just don't get hurt."
"I don't intend to," I assure her and, after one more kiss, walk out.
Vito fills me in on the way to the airport.
"Alfonso and his wife were taken outside a friend's home in Beverly Hills."
Aw shit! Alfonso is our accountant. The man with all the information about our families. Legal and illegal.
"What the fuck was Alfonso doing in LA?" I seethe.
Vito gives me one of his insufferable, you never listen, boss, looks. "For his sister's wedding, remember?"
Vaguely, I have better things to do than keep track of my men's family affairs. But Alfonso? Our fucking accountant?
"What about his guards?"
"Both of them are dead."
"Middle of the day?"
"Broad fucking daylight," he confirms. "Security footage shows two SUVs cutting them off. The assailants killed his driver and took them both. Five minutes, in and out. Professionals."
That puts a new kind of heat in my blood. A daylight snatch-and-grab? No hesitation, no fear? Whoever did this thinks they can play in my world.
"Who?" I demand.
Vito exhales sharply. "The Venezuelans. Rivera’s crew."
I tap my fingers against the armrest and allow my mind to shift through possibilities. "Why would the Venezuelans take Alfonso? It doesn't make any fucking sense."
"Why do these fuckers do anything?" Vito takes off his seatbelt. The SUV has come to a stop. We're at the airport.
Fucking LA territory, I think furiously. If Edoardo hadn't given it to me, I wouldn't be in this mess.
I get out and grab my phone to text Scarlet while I walk to the plane.
Something came up. Don't wait up for me.
Passerotta
Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Do what you have to do.
What can I say? That woman is fucking perfect.
I prob won't be back until tomorrow night.
Passerotta
I'll miss you. Be careful.
We get into the plane and take our seats.
"Boss?" Vito throws me a questioning glance, pushing a glass of Blue Label over to me.
I take the glass of scotch and knock it back in one smooth sip, letting the burn chase away thoughts of Scarlet.
Right now, I need to be Antonio DeLuna—the man who runs the money and keeps the machine moving—not Toni, the man who was just picturing glossy eyes and hearing the whispered echo of "I'll miss you ."
I roll my neck, setting the glass down with a hard clink, back to business.
Vito leans forward, forearms braced on his knees, his face a mask of controlled fury, while I drum my fingers against the table.
I'm missing something, I know I am. This doesn't make any sense.
I never wanted that territory. I'm not into selling drugs, that's something Edoardo forced on me.
From the beginning, the Venezuelans have been a thorn in my side.
But they've been quiet ever since they tested the waters after the takeover.
So, "Why now? Why Alfonso?"
Vito shakes his head. “That’s the question, isn’t it? They could’ve gone after any of our guys, but they picked the bookkeeper. That tells me they’re not just looking to send a message—they want something.”
I lean back in my seat, exhaling through my nose. “The money.”
“That’s my guess.” Vito swirls the whiskey in his glass, his expression dark. “Alfonso knows too much. Where every dollar goes, how it moves, which offshore accounts it touches. If he talks?—”
“He won’t.” My voice is cold, final. “Alfonso’s loyal. He knows the price of betrayal.”
Vito gives me a look. “Yeah? And what about his wife?”
I don’t answer right away. Because that’s the problem. Wives are always the problem. They make us weak. Alfonso? He’d die before opening his mouth. But his wife? He loves her.
I grind my teeth, tapping my fingers against the armrest, considering what I would do if Matías Rivera, the head of the Venezuelan gang, had Scarlet in his hands.
Rage threatens to overcome me just at the idea of that scumbag laying his hands on her.
Then again, I would have never allowed him to take her.
He would have been forced to kill me first. Still, “She’s the leverage. ”
Vito nods. “They’ll start with her. Hurt her in front of him, maybe send you a piece of her just to make a point.”
A slow, simmering rage curls through my chest. “If they do, I’ll burn their fucking world to the ground.”
Vito doesn’t even blink. “So what’s the play?”
I stare out the jet window at the black sky.
I can feel LA getting closer, that familiar suffocating weight pressing down on me.
I hate that place. “We land, and we get eyes on every single Venezuelan stronghold in the city. I want to know who’s talking, who’s moving, and who the fuck let this happen. ”
Vito smirks, but there’s no humor in it. “Now you’re talking.”
We spent the next hour on the phone, calling our contacts in LA. A map is spread out on the table, and we mark the spots Matías might have taken the Romanos.
LA always feels different from New York.
Same money, same corruption, but the energy is volatile.
There’s no centuries-old tradition, like in the Cosa Nostra, and no unspoken codes like back home.
Just power grabs, dirty money, and bullets flying between gangs who don’t know when to stay in their fucking lane.
My men are waiting for me on the tarmac, engines running, guns loaded. The second I step off the plane, the hunt begins. If the Venezuelans think they can steal from me and walk away breathing, they have no idea who they're dealing with.
I send another quick text to Scarlet, thinking she'll see it in the morning.
Landed in LA. Definitely won’t be back until tomorrow night.
I'm surprised to see the famous three dots blinking right away, and a reply comes back.
Passerotta
I figured. Everything okay?
Handling it. If you need anything, tell one of the guards. If it’s important, call me.
Passerotta:
So if I miss you, I’m supposed to bother the guards?
A strange sensation rushes through me. So if I miss you … I like the idea of her missing me. I type a quick reply, not realizing I'm smiling.
Smartass.
Passerotta
Guilty. But seriously, be careful.
Always.
Passerotta
Liar.
Get some sleep, passerotta.
Passerotta
Only if you do.
I smirk at the screen, shaking my head before tucking the phone away. She’s making it way too fucking hard to stay focused.
Vito smirks as he watches me. "Jesus, boss. You’ve been in LA for five minutes, and you’re already texting your hostage?"
I level him with a look. "You got something to say, Vito?"
He holds up his hands, grinning. "Nah, just never thought I’d see the day. Antonio DeLuna—mafia kingpin, savage as fuck—suddenly checking in like some high school boyfriend."
I exhale through my nose, not amused. "You done?"
"Depends." He leans back in his seat, eyes sharp with amusement. "Did she send you a kissy emoji or just the I miss you text?"
I glare at him. "If you want to keep all your teeth, I’d shut the fuck up now."
Vito chuckles but wisely changes the subject. He knows how far he can push me, and there are lines even he won’t cross.
But the bastard is still smirking.