Glancing up from his cell, Giancarlo threw me a look that he thought was intimidating. “What was what?”
“You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
“Since I don’t, go ahead and enlighten me, brother.”
Cagey, sarcastic prick. “Whose house was that?” I challenged.
“None of your business.” He went back to fucking around on his cell phone.
Ademaro sighed from the back seat. “He’s going to find out eventually. May as well tell him.”
Giancarlo spun in his seat. “I don’t pay you for your opinion. I pay you to do the banking.”
In a rare show of emotion, Ademaro let loose with the Mantovani smirk. “You don’t pay me at all, brother. I assign and allocate my own salary.”
“I am the fucking Don of this famiglia.” Giancarlo looked from Ademaro to me. “Both of you better remember that.” His attention going back to his phone, he gave us his version of a fuck off and dismissal.
I glanced in the rearview mirror at Ademaro. “You know whose house that was?”
“Yes.”
“You know what this means?”
Ademaro gave me a slow nod of resignation. “Yes.”
Giancarlo fucking lost it. Pointing with his phone still in his hand, he aimed at me first. “Don’t think for one goddamn minute I don’t see through you. You’re the trigger because you don’t give a fuck about this famiglia or any other damn thing.” His aim hit Ademaro. “Same goes for you. You do the books because you fucking hide from the decisions that need to be made.” He shook his head in disgust. “Neither of you has any fucking loyalty. This famiglia stays alive because I make the hard decisions both of you are too selfish to make.”
“So now you’re fucking selfless?” Right. “That’s what you’re calling tonight? An act of selflessness?” He was out of his goddamn mind. “Is that the bullshit you tell yourself when you think about your first wife? She was an act of selflessness?”
Faster than I thought he was capable of, Giancarlo drew on me.
For the second time in my life, the motherfucker aimed a gun at my head, point-blank. “Speak of Maria again, and I will shoot you.” Low, controlled, he issued the warning like he meant it.
He didn’t.
“Go ahead,” I taunted. “Pull the trigger. Show the Cosa Nostra who’s fucking Don.” He wouldn’t. “Give them a glimpse of the violent motherfucking reputation I built for you.” He never pulled the trigger. Not on me, not on any of our enemies. The sick fuck saved his brutality for his women.
Giancarlo’s voice dropped lower. “Your problem is that you think I won’t.”
“Erico,” Ademaro muttered in warning from the back seat.
“I don’t have to think a damn thing.” Ignoring Ademaro, I threw a disgusted glance at Giancarlo. “I was there. I saw your wife.” What was left of her. “Hard to forget that kind of mess, especially when I was the one who had to clean it up.” Done with his bullshit, I said what I should’ve years ago. “You’re a sorry fucking excuse for a man and a Don.” And I should’ve done something about it long before this. “Ademaro’s the one who should be sitting where you are.”
His false calm slipping, pressing his 9mm into my temple harder, Giancarlo bit out a threat. “Keep going.”
“You want me to keep going?” I slammed on the brakes. “No fucking problem.”
“Erico!” Ademaro snapped as he was thrown against his seat belt.
Glaring at Giancarlo, I addressed my other brother. “Get out of the car, Ademaro.”
“No.”
With the precision that came with familiarity, I drew my Glock and aimed at Ademaro. “Not a request.”
Swearing under his breath, Ademaro reached for the door. “If either of you kills the other, I’m killing the one left standing. On principal,” he added, before getting out of the SUV and slamming the door shut.
I didn’t hesitate. I trained my aim on my oldest brother. “Listen carefully, because I’m only going to say this once.”
Giancarlo seethed. “Fuck you. You’re in no position to—”
I laid out, in acute detail, exactly what I would do to him. “If you touch her, if you so much as think about taking her as your wife, I will break both of your legs, cut off your hands, then I will torture you. You’ll be begging me to end your life before I’m through with you.” Glaring at my piece-of-shit brother, I gave him the last warning he would get from me. “Sancia Santoro is off. Fucking. Limits. You understand me?”
Giancarlo didn’t miss a beat. “I understand that no matter who the fuck you think you are, you are nothing more than a capo. You are not Don Mantovani. You do not make the decisions for this famiglia. I do. My business is my business. So understand this, Enforcer. Next time you threaten me, I will kill you.”
“You can try, motherfucker.”
Ademaro opened the back door and slid into his seat. “Incoming vehicle, two hundred meters ahead.” He closed his door. “Get moving.”
Glaring at Giancarlo, holstering my Glock, I hit the gas.
Ademaro buckled his seat belt. Giancarlo lowered his 9mm, and we all stared straight ahead as a work truck full of laborers passed us going the opposite direction.
“Drive to the airport,” Giancarlo ordered.
Hell no. “Fuck off.”
“Do it.”
“Why?” I demanded.
“You’re going to New York tonight.” Shoving his Beretta inside his suit jacket, Giancarlo traded his gun for his cell.
“I’m not going anywhere tonight.” I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. No fucking way was I leaving right now. “I just got back from New York. Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“No, it can’t. The Arcuris moved in on our territory again. We need a show of force.” Giancarlo made a call. “Consigliere, is the jet ready to go?”
Sancia
A faint vibration jostled me from sleep.
My eyes swollen, I forced them open.
The room dark, the window open, I glanced around.
The vibration sounded again, and I remembered.
The cell phone.
With a heavy heart and too much guilt, I slipped off the bed and reached under the mattress. My fingers curled around the small device, and it vibrated a third time.
Pulling it out, I stared at the screen.
Incoming call. Ghost.
Ghost?
I swiped my finger across the screen like I had seen Papà do countless times. Then I held the phone to my ear as I sat on the cool tiled floor, but I did not speak.
His deep voice rumbled through the line. “Principessa.”
“Yes?” I whispered, my voice hoarse, my throat hurting.
His tone immediately changed from liquid masculinity to sharp dominance. “What’s wrong?”
“I do not wish to speak about it.” I couldn’t. I would start crying, and I did not want this man to hear me cry.
“Talk to me right now, or I’m calling Santoro,” he threatened.
Pulling my legs up, I rested my forehead against my knees. “Papà is asleep.”