Chapter 3
Ainsley – fifteen / Renzo – twenty-eight
Six and a half months later
Breathing hard through my nose, I tapped my thumb against my lips and flipped over the piece of paper with deckled edges, obviously torn off a notebook.
Another little message from my stalker. This made seven in the seven months since my father’s death.
Each one had a one-word header, followed by a scrawled line of text on nondescript paper, always with the same starting words, “You’re the reason…
” This one broke tradition with two extra sentences.
Two extra sentences that turned a childish joke into a threat. I despised threats.
MURDERER
You’re the reason people grieve. I know what you did. I’ll make sure your sister knows too.
The page was warped and discolored where it had once been waterlogged, with no other details.
No names. No return address on the envelope.
Only a postmarked San Francisco zip code.
That made the post office easily identifiable with a little patience, meaning this wasn’t sent by a professional.
No made man was that sloppy. It was why I’d chosen to ignore this person’s provocation, until now.
“Your thoughts?”
Vincenzo Armone’s dark gaze fell to the note in my outstretched hand, but he made no effort to take it.
“You never seemed to care about the others.”
“They never mattered before.”
Vinny reclined in his wingback chair in front of my desk, hands on the armrests, his trilby hat low on his head, the picture of relaxation.
Ironic, since the man didn’t know how to relax.
His brain never went on break, always taking in and assessing every situation to determine its importance in the grand scheme.
It made him a good friend and an even better consigliere.
“This because it mentions Persetta?”
I nodded. That was exactly what it was. Eight and a half months had passed since my sister went missing, and every lead I found always went cold. If there was a chance this stalker of mine had any information on her whereabouts, I was going to wring it out of them.
“Take it.” I shook the note.
Vinny scrutinized me for a bit longer before heaving a sigh. He snatched the note, read it, sniffed it, scratched at the ink, and even went as far as licking a corner.
“Are you finished?” I rolled my eyes with an irritated huff, and he tossed the letter back at me. “When did you and my cousin switch personalities?”
He shrugged and scratched at the scruffy groove above his top lip.
Where I’d grown out a well-trimmed circle beard as a fuck-you to my father’s clean-shaven requirement in the last few months, Vinny followed my lead with a boxed beard.
It worked on him, especially with all those hats he always wore.
“As long as you realize this is ridiculous. Those notes are harmless. On cheap paper. Used the postal service, so not someone with means. A woman, I’d wager from the writing.
Someone who’s upset but is either a coward or naive.
We could have our guy check DNA off the envelope, but it’s definitely not worth—”
“Do it.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Get this analyzed. I want to know who it’s from as soon as possible.”
The letters probably came from some young upstart, building up the courage to confront me with some foolish vendetta. Someone hiding behind petty words, too scared of their own shadow and too foolish to understand how stepping onto my radar was a death sentence.
Vinny grunted his compliance. His chair legs scratched the hardwood as he shoved his chair back. Even if this was another dead end, I had nothing to lose in trying.
“You still need to schmooze Judge Moore,” he tossed at me over his shoulder. “And Don Costello. Also, Jack Bowman called about his quarterly donation…wants to renegotiate the rate.”
Then he shut the door on this way out. The phone was already in my hand before the soft thunks of his footfalls were lost to the hallway.
The judge, the police chief, and their bribes could wait.
Don Costello, head of the Chicago Burnelli Famiglia, on the other hand…
he’d been trying to encroach on my territory since I took over, always working on needling me into negotiations.
With the number of gift-wrapped packages he received of his men’s extremities, you’d think he’d give up.
Luca Costello was nothing if not stubborn, and I intended to use that to my advantage. I dialed his number.
“My niece would be a prize for any don worth half his salt.” Costello again redirected the conversation.
I massaged the bridge of my nose in exasperation. “That’s not why I called.”
“You’re a young man, Renzo, not even in his prime yet. I remember when I was your age. Twenty-eight and not a care to give. Which is why you need a wife.”
I swirled my Negroni, the ice clinking against the glass, and downed half of its bitterness in one go.
“Even if I were, I already have one contract too many to my name.” Another one of my problems to deal with, initiated and signed behind my back by my beloved father. The dead bastard still haunted me at every corner.
“Puah. That little thing. Wave it away. My family has much more to offer you than the Giambrones.”
“Honor and principles, Luca. We don’t back down on deals.”
As if I’d align myself with his family instead, especially considering Costello married off his heir and cousin to the family of the French prick, Adrien De Villier, who once broke my sister’s heart.
“I wonder which one it was, honor or principles, that put the bullet in your father.”
I didn’t rise to the bait. “Both.”
“I would hate to see how you treat an outsider.”
“You should know. Haven’t you been receiving my packages?”
“Yes, gruesome. Though my cousin doesn’t think much of them as wedding gifts.”
I scoffed. “I’d sooner cut my own arm off than gift anything to a De Villier spawn. Marrying your cousin into that family was a mistake. Mark my words.”
“Bah. It was good business. You would do the same.”
“That’s the point. I wouldn’t.”
Costello chuckled lightly from the other side of the line, not the least perturbed. “Then it’s for the best I’m not you. Whatever it takes to thrive.”
I finished off the last of my Negroni. “Enough of this merda.” Shit. “Let’s talk business. I’ve heard you want shipping access through my ports.”
Costello clucked his tongue. “You’re well informed.”
I tapped my fingers against my desk, having a last-minute debate with myself over whether or not I was really going to throw myself off this cliff.
“Iannelli?”
I twisted my glass around, watching the light refract across my desk, then clapped my hand over its lip, decision made. “You give me what I want, and I’ll more than just consider it.”
“You have my attention.”
“My sister is missing.”
“I heard.”
“I’m inclined to believe there’s been a lack of motivation among my peers in helping to locate her.”
“Perhaps. Incentives go a long way.”
My jaw clenched, teeth grinding together.
If I could, I’d reach through the phone and knock his head right off.
It had been eight months since she’d been sold off by our father.
I already regretted waiting this long to make such an offer, but now, with more than half a year of tenure as don, I was coming from a position of strength.
Proposing such a thing earlier would have placed me and the entire California outfit on shaky ground.
“You find me something that leads to her safe return home, I’ll not only open up one avenue of business for you here. I’ll even sweeten the deal with an extra seven percent profit margin on that avenue’s business with mia famiglia.”
Costello cleared his throat on the other end. “Generous. Say I want fifteen?”
“It’s gone down to five, you arrogant cazzo. Don’t test me on this.” He wasn’t the only one I was going to make this offer to. May the best man win.
A huff sailed across the line. “Let’s not beat around the bush, then.
I want access to the shipping process from port to warehouse through Long Beach, Los Angeles, and Oakland.
You give me that, I’ll guarantee your sister’s safe return, and…
you get your pick of one venture in Chicago. Your interest?”
While I hadn’t expected reciprocated terms, I didn’t give him time to pull back.
“Legitimate. Sports team merchandising.”
“Smart. Conditions?”
“Persetta Iannelli. Alive. If she’s dead, you can bury any thoughts of an alliance. And don’t let me catch another one of your men on my territory again until she’s home. Otherwise, I’ll send back something larger than limbs next time.”
After a tense silence, Costello answered, “Pleasure doing business with you, Iannelli.”
I switched off the call and tossed the cell phone onto the pile of paperwork beside my laptop, cursing the Chicago famiglia’s Don, his mother, and everyone else. I needed Persetta home. With each day, each week, each month that went by without her being found, my heart turned harder and colder.