Ariana glanced down at our joined hands before looking at me. “I miss you, Bones. I know you can’t promise me anything, and that we need to keep this thing between us casual, but nobody gets me like you do, and I miss you when you’re gone.”
She looked so vulnerable I wanted to wrap my arms around her and shield her from the world. Shield her from my world. But that wasn’t what she needed—wasn’t what either of us needed—so instead, I raised our hands to my lips and planted a kiss on her knuckles. “I miss you, too, Ari.”
She beamed me a smile. “Good. Let’s hurry and get this shopping nonsense out of the way so we have time to go back to my place and unwrap each other.”
I chuckled, kissing her knuckles once again before focusing on the road. “You got it babe.”
***
Christmas came and went in a flash of parties and wrapping paper, with Ariana and I sneaking away for alone time every chance we could get, which wasn’t much since I was still searching for Joey Durante. Ariana, Markie, Angel, and I spent Christmas morning huddled around our tree exchanging gifts before heading to Ma’s to do the same. Christmas dinner was spent at Angel’s parents’, surrounded by his huge extended family.
Carlo sat across from me at dinner, and before he left, I briefed him on the limited new information I’d found on Joey. Carlo held up a hand, cutting me off. “Tomorrow,” he barked. “Meet me at the restaurant at noon and we’ll discuss your progress.”
Problem was, I didn’t have much progress to discuss. Still, I found Carlo at his favorite haunt, a classy off-the-strip Italian restaurant with floor-to-ceiling windows, dark wood paneling, low-hanging chandeliers, and red-and-white tablecloths. The hostess led me to the Barolo Room, which seemed to be permanently reserved for the family. It had wine racks on both sides, a table for twelve running down the center, and a floor-to-ceiling window with dark drapes at the end to close it off from the rest of the restaurant. She passed me off to two of Carlo’s goons who asked for my weapons. I disarmed myself, placing everything into a box, which was promptly covered and set aside. Then they frisked me before letting me approach the underboss.
Carlo sat at the end of the table where he could see the rest of the restaurant while staying hidden in the shadow of the drapes. He sipped from a glass of red wine, occasionally picking at a plate of calamari in front of him. I approached slowly, waiting to be acknowledged. Some capos were power-tripping assholes who liked to make their people sweat it out for hours. But Carlo’s actions and words were always well thought-out. He didn’t need to flex for anyone.
He greeted me and motioned for me to sit. “Bones, sit.” His tone was pleasant enough, but I’d seen him compliment with one breath and kill with the next.
Wondering why I’d been summoned, but knowing Carlo would tell me whenever he was good and ready, I sat and familiarized myself with my surroundings. Outside the privacy provided by the room, the restaurant was full. People talked, glasses clinked, plates were served, all reminding me we were in a very public location. If Carlo had plans to off me here, he’d have to do something to keep the crumbs, the civilians, from noticing. Renzo had used a fire drill, but Carlo was much classier than that. I wondered how he’d do it. Poison? That was possible.
“Would you like something to drink?” Carlo asked, as if on cue.
“No thank you.”
He cracked a smile, making me wonder what he could read on my face. Carlo ran many poker games over the years, always making a mint because he could read people like nobody I’d ever met. “How’s my nephew?”
“Good. A little stir-crazy. Ready to get back to work full-time, but good.”
“And Markie’s still recovering well?”
“Yes.”
Certain Carlo already knew all of this, I couldn’t help but wonder what the small-talk was for.
“Relax, Bones,” he said, lowering his glass of wine. “I didn’t bring you here to kill you. I’ve never been big on theatrics. If I was going to take you out, you’d never see it coming.”
It was a promise, both comforting and alarming.
“You should know me better than to think I’d do it here.” He sipped his wine, never taking his eyes off me. I wondered what he saw, what he was looking for. Did I measure up? Was I everything he’d hoped I’d become that fateful day when he stopped out in front of my school and offered me a job? Did he see me as a son in the same way I saw him as a father?
Why hadn’t he told me about Pops?
Carlo studied me for a few moments more before asking, “Are you content with your position in the family, Bones?”
Taken aback, my mind raced, trying to figure out what he meant. As far as capos went, Carlo was probably the best one to work for. Sure, he was a hard son-of-a-bitch, but he was fair. He’d probably saved my family from starving when he offered me my job, and now I got paid well to have my best friend’s back. Why wouldn’t I be content? I didn’t even mind the other shit I had to do. Shakedowns, beatings, murders, yeah, that shit made me feel like a monster, but a little part of me also enjoyed it.
I was good at it.
And I knew that someone would always be the king of the Vegas underworld. Better to have a fair, reasonable man like Dominico Mariani on the throne than some asshole with no code.
“I remember the day I met you, sir. You showed up out of nowhere and you saved my family. We wouldn’t have made it through these years without you. Without the family.”
My mind drifted back to the day Angel found out about the arrangement I’d made with his uncle. We’d gotten close. I liked Angel. He was a good kid—smart and funny. Most weekends I stayed at his house, playing video games, working with his trainer, or running through his father’s family safety drills. No one questioned my almost constant presence. Then one afternoon we were in the swimming pool recovering from an especially grueling workout when Angel started asking me about my family’s finances. He’d noticed we were doing better and couldn’t understand why.
“Did your mom get a raise?” he asked in that open, direct way he’s always spoken to me.
“Not exactly.” I didn’t know what to say… how much to disclose. Would he be pissed? I didn’t want to lose my best friend, and my family couldn’t afford to lose my paycheck.
