Lorenzo’s face falls for a nanosecond, before he rearranges it into his usual blank stare. There is no love lost between them. Marco is another cousin of mine. He’s older. Old enough that he was involved with the war between my father and Salvatore’s.
His loyalty falls with me, but Lorenzo doesn’t trust him. To be honest, I don’t either. But like all potential enemies, I keep him close.
The closer he is, the faster I will see if he’s a snake like Salvatore.
With nothing more to say, Lorenzo leaves my office.
I pick up my phone and dial a number I haven’t called in a long time.
“Hello, Matteo. I wondered how long it would take.”
“Cut the shit.”
“If you don’t want me to talk, why are you calling, Cousin?”
“You know exactly why.”
“Why so serious?” He tsks like the Joker, mirth in his voice. “Maybe you need to get laid. Is that it? Get rid of all this pent-up stress. Did you need me to help you find someone . . .” My teeth clench at his words, knowing full well what he means. “Francesca is a little old now, but I bet she still can use her—”
“Shut the fuck up!” I bellow, and he chuckles on the phone.
“Did I hit a nerve?”
“Don’t you want to be better than your sadistic father? Haven’t you had enough war? Back off now, and I’ll let you live.”
“Not a chance. I want what’s mine . . .” He pauses. “And I’m prepared to do what I need to get it.”
“You realize this is a war declaration,” I say quietly. Smoothly. There is no way back from this. Frankly, I don’t want there to be.
“Guess so.”
I launch the phone in the air, hurling it against the wall. The sound echoes through the air as it smashes through the drywall.
I’ll have to get a new phone, but lucky for me, we go through burners so often we are basically a phone store.
It’s only a few minutes later when Lorenzo walks back in. He looks at me and then at the far wall.
“Problems?” he asks as he points at the phone.
“I called my cousin.”
All emotions other than anger evaporate from his eyes. It reminds me of ice spreading, hardening his features.
“Didn’t go well?”
“What gave that away?” I lift a sarcastic brow.
“Could be the broken glass on the floor.” Lorenzo shrugs, trying to loosen the mood. It works as I lean back in my chair.
“What did you find out?”
“Nothing yet on the Marco front. As for Cristian, I secured more guns for us. We have to meet to go over the numbers and models we want. He wants us to go to his warehouse in New York to look over his inventory. How many are you thinking?”
“Hundreds. We need both the compound and the warehouse stocked and prepared for anything. I don’t just want guns; we also need tear gas and grenades.”
“I’ll let him know when we schedule the meet. Anything else?”
I shake my head. “Come back after you speak to Marco.”
It’s hours later.
I’m staring at a map of locations my men need to collect from this week, and I’m putting together who will go where. I need to call my men in to discuss what’s going on, but I am reluctant to until I have more info.
As if on cue, the door opens again.
Lorenzo is back, and this time, he walks up to my desk. He’s holding an iPad.
“What did you find out?”
“A lot,” he answers.
“Get everyone in here.” I don’t specify who I mean, but Lorenzo knows who I want to hear this. My most important men. My underboss, capo, and consigliere.
Lorenzo fires off a text, and a minute later, Roberto and Luka step into the room.
“The first thing we know is this, Marino’s wife has been depositing money into the bank account of Ana Checklov’s family for over twelve years,” Roberto says. He is, for all intents and purposes, what most would refer to as my consigliere. He is my advisor and one of the smartest men I know. He studied law before stepping into his role in the business. After Lorenzo, he is the closest person to me.
Lorenzo nods and then hands over the iPad, and I see the documents that Jaxson Price, the computer hacker I keep on retainer, has sent over.
“And who is Ana Checklov?”
His hand reaches out and swipes at the screen. Behind the bank transactions are documents on the woman in question.
“An affair?” I ask, and it’s Luka who shakes his head.
“No, according to the records, she was Marino’s daughter’s nanny,” he answers.
“Interesting. Why would the governor be paying the nanny for twelve years?”
“Probably an affair.” Lorenzo laughs, agreeing with my earlier assessment.
“What do we have on her?” I ask.
Lorenzo keeps scrolling through the data.
“Not a whole lot.” His finger swipes the screen of the iPad. “Wait. Lookie here.”
He points at the document on the screen. There, in front, is a death certificate.
“Little Ana Checklov is dead.”
“It appears that way. It looks like she died twelve years ago.”
“And the payments. They’ve been going on for all these years?”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“Now isn’t that interesting. . .”
“Let’s get to the bottom of why they are paying her family. Luka, I want you to speak with anyone who knows them, neighbors, old staff members. Find out what Marino is hiding. I don’t care what it costs. I need to know this now.”
“Okay,” he answers before he leaves to start the task I have thrust upon him. I turn to Roberto.
“I need you to get Marco over here.”
“No problem. Also, I spoke to Cyrus.”
“And? Do I still have money?” I laugh, lightening the mood. “Or has my banker stolen everything?”
“He’s a pain the ass. I prefer to deal with Maxwell,” he gripes, and I can’t really blame him. Cyrus Reed, aka the bank to the underworld, is one of the biggest pricks out there, but he’s damn good at his job.
“I’m sure you’ll get your wish soon enough. It’s only a matter of time until he’s completely retired.”
“Is there anything else we can do for you?” Lorenzo asks.
“Nope.”
Both men move to leave the room as I lean back in my chair. This is going to be a long night.
Lorenzo stops at the door and turns to face me. “I forgot to tell you. You’re meeting with Cristian to discuss the incoming shipment of guns this week.”
I nod. “Come back when you have more information for me.”
“Will do.”
They leave me in my office with the iPad still on my desk.
Pulling it closer to me, I swipe the screen.
What are you hiding, Marino?
I look through the images of the governor. My teeth grind together as I stare at the man who has become a thorn in my side. His dark, soulless eyes stare back at me in each picture. He’s probably in his mid-sixties, the age my father would be if he were still alive, with salt-and-pepper hair and an olive complexion. I imagine women must think him to be a handsome man, regardless of the wrinkles lining his weathered face. Power and money will do that.