“Temporary ceasefire.”
Marco grins wider. “I like you already.”
Breakfast is the most entertaining meal I’ve had since arriving at the estate. Marco regales us with stories from London, including his recent breakup with an actress who apparently threw a lamp at his head when he tried to leave.
“Three months of pure insanity,” he says, buttering his toast. “She wanted me to propose after two weeks. When I said no, she started collecting my things like trophies. I found my watch in her freezer.”
“Why the freezer?” I ask.
“She said she was ‘freezing our relationship until I came to my senses.’” He shakes his head. “Actresses. Never again.”
Even Alaric seems amused, though he’s trying to hide it behind his coffee cup.
“So what brings you back?” I ask.
“Business. And curiosity about Uncle Alaric’s mysterious new wife.” Marco studies my face. “Dante never mentioned how beautiful you were.”
“Dante never mentioned a lot of things.”
“Fair point. He was always secretive about his personal life.”
“Secretive is one word for it.”
Marco raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“There always is.”
After breakfast, Marco offers to show me around the estate. “There are parts of this place even Uncle Alaric forgets about,” he says as we walk through a hallway I’ve never seen before.
“I’ve been exploring, but it’s enormous.”
“Wait until you see the family gallery.”
He leads me to a room lined with decades-old portraits. Men in old-fashioned suits stare down from gilded frames, their expressions stern and unforgiving.
“This is where it all started,” Marco says, stopping before the largest painting. “Vito Moretti, my great grandfather. Founded the Moretti dynasty in 1923.”
The man in the portrait has Alaric’s eyes but a harder face. Someone who’d kill you without blinking.
“What did he do?”
“Started with bootlegging during prohibition. Moved into gambling, then protection rackets. By the time he died, he controlled half the illegal activity on the East Coast.”
Marco moves to the next portrait. “This is his son, Lorenzo. My grandfather. He expanded into narcotics and weapons trafficking. Very traditional organized crime.”
“What does the family do now?”
“Now we do everything. Drug trafficking, arms dealing, money laundering.” His voice is matter-of-fact, like he’s discussing the weather. “But we also run legitimate businesses. Hotels, restaurants, and construction companies. Uncle Alaric wants to go fully legitimate eventually.”
“Why?”
“Times change. The old ways draw too much attention. Better to make money legally and avoid federal prison.”
We spend the rest of the morning walking the grounds, with Marco pointing out details I’d missed. The hidden security cameras. The reinforced gates. The underground bunkers where weapons are stored.
“This place is a fortress,” he explains. “Has to be, considering the number of people who want us dead.”
“Comforting.”
