Chapter 4
ETTORE
Iwalk over scattered diamonds and crushed glass. The store is a mess. The display cabinets – which are reinforced – have been caved in completely. Jewelry lies everywhere. All the doors have been ripped off the hinges. It’s like a wild animal was let loose in here.
“Nothing was taken,” Mark says, chewing his gum thoughtfully. “I mean, we’ll have to check. But the manager says he’s certain everything’s here. If they took anything, it’s not noticeable. We’ll know more when we do a full inventory.”
I massage my forehead, breathing out deliberately slow. “Thoughts?”
“A message.”
“Hmm. But what are they saying, and who’s saying it? I’m assuming they took the security tapes.”
“They held the manager at gunpoint and made him erase them, along with the backups for that night.”
“Do you think he’s lying?”
Mark considers this. That’s one of the things I like about him.
That’s why he serves a dual role, really, underboss and my consigliere, though I have a consigliere in name.
A man who knows to defer to Mark. Mark understands that accusing this manager of lying would mean breaking his bones to make him talk.
“I don’t think so,” he says. “He was behaving how honest men have behaved with me before. He wasn’t acting like a liar.”
“So, he’s either telling the truth or a very good liar.”
“What would he have to gain?” Mark asks. “Nothing’s gone. I doubt he’d get paid for helping with this mess. And anyway, whoever did this doesn’t need his help. They kicked the door right off the hinges.”
I nod. It’s true. “Get a few of the boys in here. Clean this place up. Search it for any clear messages.”
I leave the store and walk across the street to my car. My phone vibrates. I take it out, then smile, shocked at how easily she can do that. I quickly kill it before my driver sees. Someone is poking our Family, probing. I can’t let them see me smiling at a time like this.
Mara: Look what your daughter made.
There’s a photo attached, a small pair of lopsided mittens. A week has passed since her first message, the one I didn’t know what to do with. I know Livia must’ve told her to only contact me in case of an emergency. But there’s something about this woman. It’s just—I don’t know. It’s different.
I react with a thumbs up – no words – then put my phone in my jacket pocket.
“See the game on the weekend, Giorgio?”
“Yes, sir. Embarrassing, if you ask me, sir.”
“It was abysmal,” I agree.
My mind returns to the gym, not for the first time.
And it won’t be the last. Mara standing there with her gorgeous hair piled atop her head.
She was wearing sweats and an old, worn top, not some gym-bunny outfit.
That somehow made it sweeter, the fabric clinging to her curves, hugging her chest tightly.
That night, I almost slipped in bed, thinking about what I could’ve done. Squeezed her hips and pulled her against me, thanking her in a husky voice for being there for my girl. Then forgetting about her role, my duties. I’d crush her with a kiss, then grind myself against her, letting her feel…
What? What am I even thinking?
All my goddamned life, I’ve tried not to be the cliché. The mafia boss using his position to take what he wants when he wants it. The loser too deluded to understand people are giving in to him because of who he is.
Anyway, I haven’t come close since. It would muddy the waters, indulging in thoughts like that. Sylvie is happy… Livia tells me. What a warped thought. I’m getting updates on my daughter from my housekeeper. I’ve just been so busy, with legitimate work and illegitimate work. Now this.
Mark walks across the street and taps on the window. “Nothing, boss,” he says, calling me boss because the driver is present.
“Gather the men in the store.”
I step from the car, looking up and down the street. This isn’t a trap. They, whoever they are, would’ve sprung it by now.
In the store, I clap and step onto the middle of the room. My men look up at me, some fully silver, some bald, some turning silver like me, some fresh-faced and looking to me for guidance.
“This was a stunt to make us look weak. As you all know, we can’t let this stand.
My suspicion is they were clever enough to cover their tracks.
They know I’ll string them up personally if we discover who they are.
But that doesn’t mean we can get complacent.
Work this neighborhood. Get some answers if they’re there to be had. ”
When one of my men cracks his knuckles, I gesture at Mark, giving him the floor.
“That doesn’t mean go around thinking you’re tough guys.
We don’t want these people hating us. As a Family, we’re making legit money here.
We don’t want that to change. Push, but be respectful. No violence, not to civilians.”
Salvatore, an older man, says, “But—”
I look at him, and he goes quiet.
He lowers his gaze. “No, yep, understood.”
“Is it?” I growl. “Is it fucking understood?”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely.”
I sigh, then walk over and clap him on the arm. “There could be another goal here. They want us to overreact. They want to make us look like dogs. Like them. We won’t rise to that.”
Not yet, anyway.
In the car, Mark says, “Dante’s a suspect in my mind, the way he was acting last week, disrespecting his two bosses.”
“Possibly,” I say. “But our Families are close. There’s no money to be made in a play like this.”
“It’s not always about money, boss,” he replies.
I shake my head. I’m done with all that. Respect, violence, making a statement. I want business, clean and easy. But that’s not the life I chose. No, screw that. That’s not the life that was chosen for me.
“It is for me,” I snap. “Money for my daughter, so she can go anywhere and be anything.”
“Fair enough. But Dante might not be clever enough for this.”
“Explain.”
“Nobody injured. Nothing taken. Whoever did this, they respect us.”
“Or fear us,” I mutter. “Dante’s an idiot, but he knows what would happen if he stepped to me.”
“Well, yeah,” Mark says, laughing savagely. “No one’s that dumb.”
I get home late, a sour taste in my mouth.
I had to do some bloody business toward the end of the day.
Some lowlife was selling coke on one of our garbage routes, like he thinks we’re remaking The Sopranos or something.
Apparently, he called me out by name. When they went to pick him up, he was with a Colombian woman who claimed he’d kidnapped her from a brothel.
Some investigation proved that to be true.
The first step was getting her to safety.
The second—a bullet to the head for the scumbag, my men watching from the shadows. A speech with blood on my hands and face so that everyone knows what happens when you cross me. I’m sick of it. But it had to be done.
I’ve showered and changed, but I still feel bleak. In no fit state to be near my daughter. She’s too pure, too innocent. She doesn’t deserve this.
Still, I can be near her, outside her door, just to… be there, for a moment.
I stop when I hear her beautiful laughter.
Then another beautiful sound, Mara’s voice.
It’s knowing, cocky, and confident. I suspected there was a sassy woman behind her demeanor in the gym.
She looked flustered to be acting so nervous around me.
I should’ve told her it’s the norm when I speak with civilians.
“Try to sleep, Sylvie, or I’ll get in trouble. The silly nanny who couldn’t convince the princess to rest her tired bones.”
“Bones don’t get tired,” she says. “Muscles do.”
“You’re a very smart girl.”
A smile spreads across my face. I forget about the darkness for a moment.
I back away down the hallway when I hear footsteps. But something stops me from going too far. I stand in an alcove at the end, watching, waiting. I know it’s wrong. But I want to see something good, a slice of real life.
I watch as Mara steps from the room. She looks tired, but happy, a soft smile on her pretty face. Her hip-hugging jeans and a frilly shirt reminding me of a gift. One I want to unwrap.
She takes out her phone and chews on her lip as she stares at the screen. I can see the indecision written across her every feature. Is she thinking about texting a friend or her boyfriend, perhaps?
She finally makes her decision and types out a message quickly. My phone instantly goes off. Dammit. I’ve got it on loud in case Mark calls me.
I turn and quickly walk down the hallway.
“Hello?” she calls.
I ignore her, heart pounding hard for some reason.
When I’m in my bedroom, alone, I check my texts.
Mara: Sylvie asked if dragons get lonely. Isn’t that sweet?
I type out a response.
Ettore: Yes, it’s wonderful. You’re doing an amazing job.
Then I see a flash of what I did earlier, what I had to do. The life I never questioned until it was too late.
I delete my message, then react to her text with a thumbs up.