Chapter 19
I thought we were over this.
Piccola Peste
You thought wrong.
Why would I ever make it that easy on you?
I scoffed, half amused at her audacity, the other half impressed with her tenacity.
The girl was stubborn to a fault and knew how to hold a grudge better than the most bitter of men.
Somehow, she was growing on me, like fungus on a tree.
I glanced down at the piece of torn notepaper in my hands, mailed in an anonymous postmarked envelope, just like all the rest.
HYPOCRITE
You’re the reason I’m always on guard. You give only because you take away. Your heart is made of black ice that no amount of kindness can thaw.
A ninth letter now to match the nine months since my father and her brother died.
I snickered. Her spirit remained strong despite her experiences. Good for her. Undergoing hardships made life worth living. Living through moments of suffering made it easier to appreciate and enjoy the good, as long as the bad didn’t swallow you whole.
Ms. Ainsley Willow Burch didn’t let life beat her down.
She didn’t let defeat drive her, no matter how reckless it made her.
She fought. She gave herself goals. She pushed forward.
I admired that, enough to want to hone and mold it.
In time, she would be stronger for what she’d been through and a force to be reckoned with.
“Another letter? Are you sure it’s still a good idea to adopt her?
” Vinny eyed the thing with distrust. He clamped his mouth around his cigar to free his hands to discard a card and draw a new one.
Then he tapped the cigar against the ashtray, a line of smoke drifting upward.
“The number of things she could overhear. What she could spy on. I don’t like it. ”
“Noted,” I said, placing my cards face down.
“It’s not too late to turn back. It’s only been a month since the paperwork was filed.”
“All in.” I shoved my poker chips to the middle of the table. “She’ll understand things with time. If anything, adopting the other two as well works to my benefit. They’ll keep her in line.”
“How are the little urchins?” he asked absently, his gaze jumping between Tore, his cards, and me.
“Getting healthy. More 3D now.”
Tore chuckled on the other side of the table and tossed his chips in, one by one.
Then he added one of his favorite collectible lighters to match the last bet.
“A father of three. Who would’ve thought?
I still don’t see the benefit of all this though.
Not really effective as a punishment for your car. ”
“It’s not. It’s an investment for her loyalty. Just because we’re in a difficult line of work doesn’t mean we need to lack heart.”
“Just call it what it is. You’re bored.”
“I fold.” Vinny tossed down his cards.
“You invested everything in finding Persetta, and now that she’s getting married and the French bastard will be your brother-in-law, you’re at a loss about what to do. So…” Tore turned over his cards to reveal a full house. “You’ve taken on an urchin and her little fishies to keep busy.”
Vinny and I exchanged hard glances.
“You’re one to talk about keeping busy,” Vinny deadpanned. All of Tore’s free time was spent partying and womanizing.
Tore shrugged and reached for the pot, ready to scoop the winnings.
“Not so fast.” I set down a straight flush, enjoying the purse of Tore’s lips. I picked up the lighter from the pot. “This is mine now, but split the chips back up between us.”
He cracked his head to the side, irritation lining his features. “You all packed to leave tomorrow? Hard to believe little Persetta is getting married.”
I took a heavy, blasphemous gulp of my grappa, imported directly from Italy, not even tasting the flavor on the way down.
Of all the decent, capable men out there, my sister had to fall in love with the same damn French prick who broke her heart years ago.
I slammed my glass down, a few drops flying onto the green baize of the table.
“Oh, come on, cugi,” Tore groused, shaking a drop off his hand.
If I found out that her fiancé was manipulating her into this wedding, I was going to rip his throat out and shove it up his ass. If he was taking advantage…if he hurt her…if he so much as made her cry, he’d rue the day he ever met her.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Vinny said. “Loosen your grip, boss.”
Beneath my palm, a thin line cracked through the mahogany trim of the card table.
“You sure you don’t want one of us to go with you?” Vinny asked. The implied “to keep me out of trouble” went unsaid.
“I’ve promised her I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“Yeah, you’re off to a good start,” Tore quipped.
“Weren’t we playing poker?” Vinny cut in.
“Look at it this way. You’ll get closure and be able to switch mindsets from brotherly to fatherly duties from now on.”
“What do you know about fatherly duties?” I asked. With his playboy antics, Tore wouldn’t become a father for another decade or two if he could help it.
“I’ve learned a lot from a few friendly MILFs I know.”
My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, too long for a text.
“Gigolo,” Vinny fake-sneezed.
“Just enjoying a good time. No harm. No foul.”
My phone rumbled again. I smirked at their ridiculousness and answered the phone.
“Pronto.” Ready—my standard greeting.
“About time you answered my calls, boy.”
All my good humor fled, killed in an instant by Francesco Giambrone’s brash bluster. I leaned back in my chair and took a puff from my cigar.
“There a reason I need to?”
“You arrogant little shit. My daughter and I deserve more respect than that.”
“Your daughter deserved more respect than an arranged marriage to a man she’s never met, but I don’t see you caring. Why should I?”
“I’ve been patient with you. Too patient. Now I learn you plan to foist three rejected children on my daughter. I won’t have it.”
I downed the last of my grappa. The oak and caramel notes helped wash away the bitterness of this conversation.
“Getting a little ahead of yourself. Your daughter’s not my wife. And she’ll have no say, even if we marry.”
“If? There will be no if.”
“I think you’ll find, Giambrone, that I follow my own plans. Not my father’s, and certainly not yours.”
“I won’t stand for this.”
“You don’t get a choice. But congratulations. Should Michaela and I marry, you’ll inherit three obnoxious grandchildren.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Break the contract, and this’ll mean war.”
“You’re the first to mention a possible breach. You considering?”
“Enough games, Iannelli. I want a date set. I want the details ironed. I want what was promised.”
“I’ve told you before. I’ve no desire to marry yet, and since the contract has no clearly defined deadline, I see no need for urgency. But of course, I’m willing to be lenient if you feel Michaela deserves other prospects. You’re free to break it without any reproach on my end.”
“Stop fooling around. Abandon those waifs. Marry my daughter. And open your fucking ports. Make this alliance happen, or I swear I’ll rain hellfire on you.”
I huffed a chuckle. “Good luck.”
I ended the call, clutching my phone tight in my hand for a measure of restraint. I jerked my head left and right, enjoying the cracking between my joints. I breathed out hard and adjusted my stacks of poker chips into equal-numbered piles—each at equal distance from the other.
“Giambrone knows about my adoption plans.”
“You suspect a traitor?” Tore asked.
“Or he’s spying,” Vinny added, shuffling the cards without a glance up. He knew something, something that left him indifferent.
My phone vibrated once and quick. My guess: a message to emphasize Giambrone’s point. I ignored it. “What?”
Vinny continued shuffling. “There’s been a couple of attempts at interference since the paperwork was filed. Nothing our lawyers couldn’t push back. I suspected Giambrone was involved. His call proves me right.”
“You knew he wouldn’t like this,” Tore commented to me as he scooped the mixed deck in his direction. “You shuffled. I’m dealing.”
Vinny sighed. “You’ll still lose. You’ve got the luck of a deformed horseshoe.”
I tapped one chip against the table, then flicked it at Tore’s forehead. “Just get on with it.”
“That hurt.” Tore rubbed where it smacked him.
I ignored him. “Just make sure this goes through. How long do you need?”
“Even by greasing every palm out there?” Vinny asked. “Another month at least. Some of the paperwork and approvals can’t be rushed.”
“The sooner it goes through, the sooner this farce ends.”
“Giambrone’s not going to accept his losses so easily. You sure about this, boss?”
I shook my head. “He won’t want to risk the possibility that my heir isn’t half Giambrone, not when I’ll have an adopted son to inherit and two daughters to marry off when the time comes.”
“They’re not Italian.” Vinny relaxed an arm over the back of his seat. “He has to know those kids won’t be accepted.”
“They’ll become Italian by filial relations, if I choose to accept them as such, and Giambrone knows that.”
“Both of you should be more worried that our Las Vegas gambling days’ll be over,” Tore said with a straight face, dealing card by card, each round paused by a pull of his cigar.
Vinny huffed and crushed the end of his cigar in the ashtray. “I hate gambling.”
“Hate to break it to you, but that’s exactly what we’re doing right now.”
Swiftly, Vinny took out his gun and pressed the muzzle to my cousin’s head. “Not if I take every chip back from you.”
Tore grinned at him like a maniac. “You can try. Not going to get far with the safety on.”
“Idiot.” With a flare of his nostrils, Vinny shoved Tore’s head back and set his gun down.
“I doubt it’ll be as easy as a broken contract.” Tore rubbed at his forehead. “What if Giambrone decides to push for war?”
“Doubtful.” Vinny glanced down at his cards and arranged them. “The man might not be the most stable bullet in a loaded gun, but he’s smart enough to know he doesn’t have the manpower to take the ports from us.”
“He’s a calculating brute,” I said. “Much like my father, except richer. Probably why they got along so well, and why he believes I’ll so easily submit to him.” I placed my cards down and tossed in my bet. “Any news from the Greeks?”
“None,” Tore stated. “All’s quiet.”
“Too quiet. I don’t like it,” Vinny added as he tossed chips into the pot. “Dimakos can’t take this sitting down and keep face. They’ve only got two days left.”
“They’re up to something,” my cousin agreed, calling my bet. “You’re tempting fate, cugi. At this point, you’re practically asking for two wars on different fronts.”
“I’m not worried.”
The Iannelli outfit had a strong foundation, but after last year’s low profit margins, the men needed a cause to rally behind and cure their restlessness.
A war with the Greeks was exactly what they needed.
Dimakos was never going to agree to my proposal.
It would be like signing his death warrant and handing it off to his family to carry out.
Therefore, it guaranteed bloodshed. However, Giambrone wasn’t supposed to catch on quite so quickly to my adoption plans, but he’d never been brash.
I discarded a card. One glance at my hand, and I knew I was going to have to bluff my way through this round.
Tore raised a glass. “To purgatory and the pits of hell. I’m always in the mood for some good old gladiator-style violence.”
“A noi!” To us, we toasted.
Only two short days left until the deadline, then I was going to get my war. My capos were going to get their needed distraction. And there was an added bonus. This war was going to be the excuse needed to push back the marriage alliance with the Las Vegas don even further.
My phone vibrated against the table, the caller ID reading “Piccola Peste.” I eyed it with an equal mix of irritation and apprehension. I never answered calls during poker night. Then again, she’d never called before.
“What?” I answered.
“Please,” Ainsley cried through the line. Whimpers joined her. I shoved my chair back. “Please help us. You have to help us. I’m begging you.”
Mumbled yelling came through the line, followed by a heavy thunk. Then another. And another. Each one accompanied by the sound of kids weeping and mewling. On the last one, Ainsley yelped into the phone.
“Anzy,” little Boyan sniveled.
“Get in the cupboards.”
“Ms. Burch, what’s going on?”
“I can’t,” Boyan blubbered.
Another thunk and muffled hollering.
“You owe me this,” Ainsley sobbed. “You got me into this mess. Get us out. Please, Renzo. Get us out!”
She screamed, the kids’ cries echoing hers. Something crashed, then crackled as those hammered strikes continued.
“Vinny,” I barked. He straightened in his chair. “Give me your phone.”
He lobbed it across the table, and with a nod of thanks, I dialed Ricco.
“Mr. Armone? What can I do for you?”
“Where the fuck are they?”
“Boss? Where’s who?”
“The kids, Ricco. Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“In the house. They’re in their house, boss. Jesus. I mean, sorry I—”
“You sure?”
“Yes. They haven’t left since they got in at six.”
“Check the block for anything out of place. I’m on my way.” Thankfully, we’d met at Vinny’s San Francisco home tonight, and we weren’t far.
“Is something wrong?”
“Yes.” Unless the kid was playing some kind of cruel joke, something was very, very wrong.