10. Adriano
Chapter ten
Adriano
The glass-walled suite overlooks the Mississippi, the cool of the evening sending a chill down my spine. Puffing smoke from the cigar between my fingers, I slip my free hand into my pocket, digging for my cellphone.
Whenever hesitation about my operation tries to set in, I remember how wide my mother’s smile was when I returned home from New York, after hearing that she had been diagnosed with stage four lung cancer.
She used to be a bubbly, rotund woman, but when I saw her that day, she was frail, her skin almost translucent.
When I was around, I used to stay up with her, reading to her from her family Bible until the Rossis snatched her away from me, and I swore to take my pound of flesh. Every step I take to achieve that gives me extreme pleasure. Like the step I’m about to take.
It’s ironic how the man with the Bible has become the devil.
Dialing Francesco, I turn my gaze out the window once more, taking in the wide expanse of luxurious land before me. All of this, every single thing the Rossi Mafia owns, will come crumbling to the ground, even if it’s the last thing I do.
“Capo,” Francesco’s voice rings out on the other end.
“Francesco, parla (Francesco, talk to me).”
“Siamo pronti a fare la mossa, Capo (We’re ready to make the move, Boss).”
“Good. Good. Make it happen.”
“Capo…” he says hesitantly. I pause right as I’m about to deliver my next instruction.
“You’re sure about this? You spark this, there’s no cooling it down.”
“You know I don’t do cool, Francesco. I want it in fucking flames.”
“Yes, Boss,” he answers almost immediately, pauses, then clears his throat. “Let’s run it over one last time, then.”
I nod.
“The Rossis move weapons through the river since most of the main routes on land are being monitored. They use feeder docks and off-hours cranes as well, making the transfers mostly on Tuesday nights. The weapons are transferred into cold trucks but we won’t hit the trucks.
We’ll wait for them to offload at the warehouse, that’s when we strike. ”
The plan sounds solid enough, but there’s a potential loophole. “Make sure you don’t leave any fingerprints.”
“We won’t be leaving any. We’ll leave some of the Rossi weapons lying around the Irish cash house, just enough for the Irish to see while investigating the arson.”
“Get to it.”
I click off the call. Puffing out rings of smoke, I crush the cigar in the ashtray beside me. Crippling a large empire such as the Rossis’ seems impossible, but impossible doesn’t exist in the face of perfect strategy.
Francesco will head over to the safe house in the forest, where the Irish hide their raw cash, and set it ablaze, while the rest of my men move the weapons from the Rossis’ stash to our own warehouse.
By the time the Rossis’ stash house is cleared out, my men will have enough weapon evidence to frame the Rossis. Ronan Cormac, the Irish Don, will definitely investigate the sudden sabotage, and because of it, heads will roll.
With this single mission, we gain more firepower, pit the Rossis’ biggest enemy against them, and when Ronan unleashes hell, the Rossis will have little arsenal left to fight back.
My fingers sting with anticipation. And fuck, do I wish I could be right at the center of the chaos. But there are more urgent matters right now.
I’d move on to the last phase of my plan now—the financial sabotage, but I still don’t have the complete information I need. The anonymous consigliere. Time is running out. And the only person who may be able to help is her.
Elena left the mafia when her father was killed, but I’m aware that before then, she was forced to be the face of the business. If there’s any fucking chance I can squeeze that info out of her—that she might know who this consigliere is—then I have to try.
I turn away from the window, overlooking the scenery, when my chest collides with someone’s head. My entire body goes rigid.
Speak of the devil.
“What the fuck do you want?” My voice comes out as a growl. She’s in black leggings—pants so tight they should be illegal—and a fitted jacket, hair pulled back, her cheeks flushed.
Fuck, she looks extremely edible.
That little pout creases her lips. “I’m going for a run.”
“Glad you took the initiative to ask.”
Her pout morphs into a sneer. “Don’t start.”
The way she leans in aggressively draws my attention to the cleavage spilling from the top of her jacket. Those perfect tits make me want to—
“Eyes up here, Mr. Cole.”
I look up to see a mischievous smirk plastered on her lips. My cock twitches. Did she walk in here dressed like that on purpose? Who runs with their cleavage spilling out anyway?
“If you wanted my attention, you could have just asked,” I say, irritated that she chose to wear this when there are other men around.
Her smirk fades. “I’m dressed for a run. If your mind is in the gutter, that’s a you problem.”
“The only thing you’re running in that outfit is a fever.”
“Get dressed and fulfill your bodyguard duties while I run.”
“Of course. The damsel in distress always needs a knight.”
She scoffs, and I see the flicker of annoyance in her eyes… and something else. Pride.
Good! Pride makes people talk.
“Again, I’m no damsel in distress. And a knight has more honor than you do,” she hisses.
“You know,” I continue, leaning against the windowsill. “For someone who claims to be smart, you’re remarkably careless with your own security.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She frowns, crossing her arms over her chest.
“This villa is big enough, Elena. Run inside.”
“I can run anywhere I want,” she bites back.
“Freedom is not a luxury you have, Principessa. Get used to the chains that bind you.”
“There are no ch—”
“You’re a liability,” I interrupt smoothly, shoving a hand into the pocket of my joggers. “The people after you want something...”
Her brows perk up, but she doesn’t say anything. I continue.
“Information only you are privy to.” My voice comes out steady, but my heart is racing hard. All I need is to nudge her in the right direction and watch her slip.
“I wonder what that is...”
She slowly straightens, arms unfolding from beneath her breasts. I can see the wheels spinning in her head before she shakes it and scoffs.
“I don’t know anything.” Her voice is unsure at first, then it turns hostile. “And even if I did, why should I tell you?”
“I’ve saved you twice, Elena,” I say, using a tone that’ll make her feel stupid. “If I’m going to continue keeping you safe, I need to know what you think they are after.”
My eyes briefly fall to her chest as she takes a deep breath.
“Think about it, Elena. You were away for four years, yet these people are after you. Before we left New York, the team and I managed to narrow down the culprits to one of the mafia’s enemies.”
That’s a half lie. But from the way she nods absentmindedly, it seems she’s buying it.
“Enzo has many enemies, but your father had more. For all we know, it could be a long-standing feud.”
“Then that should be Enzo’s business.”
I resist the urge to rub my temples. “Your father didn’t trust many people. But you were his little puppet. You definitely knew who he crossed, what he cherished… his darkest secrets. And that may be why your life is in danger.”
A flicker of annoyance passes through her eyes as she visibly tenses. “Don’t call me that.”
Seems I hit a nerve. Good.
“Call you what? A puppet?”
She steps closer, anger radiating from her as she points a finger right at me. “I can tolerate anything, but not you calling me that.”
She’s still shaking when I bark a dry laugh in her face. “If you walked with your father for years and don’t know simple secrets, even when it could save your life, then a puppet is exactly what you are.”
“Fuck you!” she growls, and before I know it, her palm connects with my face. “Fuck you, Adrian. You don’t know half of what I went through.”
Flexing my jaw, I take a step closer to her and whisper coldly, “Everyone went through shit. You’re just a weak puppet.”
Her palm flies toward my face again, but I catch it this time and growl in her face. “Prove it. Prove you’re not a weakling. Help yourself out of these death threats. Give me something substantial to work with.”
Her breath comes out in pants as she struggles against my grip, but I don’t let her go. Not until I get what I want.
“There were men he trusted when the doors were closed. Maybe just one or two your father was exclusive with. Those men might know what’s going on, or at least help us understand.”
I don’t know what the people after her want or if it’s confirmed to be connected to her father’s associates, but this is the best way to manipulate the conversation to my advantage.
Silence tightens the space between us, and her lips part slightly. Slowly, I lift my other hand and trail the corner of her lips with soft strokes.
“Let me help you, Elena. I hate seeing you hurt,” I whisper thickly.
Her eyes widen, then she swallows, looking like she’s contemplating something.
“I-I don’t know. There was a friend. Saw him just once.”
“Do you know his name?”
She nods meekly and whispers softly, “Silvio Esposito. He was the only man my father trusted besides Enzo.”
Bingo.
“Any idea of his whereabouts?”
She shuts her eyes as if trying to remember before opening them. “A-All I know is that he was a Harvard graduate.”
Releasing a deep breath, I nod softly and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her breath hitches, and mine shallows. I don’t know if I lean in to kiss her to corroborate the whole fake caring act I just pulled…
or not, but before our mouths connect, she steps back, cheeks flushed, and hurries out of the room.
Without hesitation, I bring out my phone and send a text to Francesco. Pull up all you can on Silvio Esposito.