The most dangerous men in the world are fat and round, Carlo had told Jovi once, his eyes dark with shame, when Jovi had effortlessly outperformed him in the gym.
Then they are not as dangerous as they think, Jovi had replied with his typical equanimity.The men who fear them are the dangerous ones. The ones who do their bidding and could therefore do someone else’s, too.
Sometimes, like now, he thought his cousin remembered that conversation. There was something about the way Carlo refused to look at him sometimes that assured him it was something Carlo kept close. No doubt dreaming of the day that he would rule this family and give Jovi orders. Or better yet, get rid of Jovi altogether.
Jovi did not bother to inform his cousin that his loyalty was not transferable. He did not need to remind his cousin that his skills far outstripped Carlo’s sick little games.
A day of reckoning would come, that was certain. These lessons could wait until then.
“Boris Ardelean is a collection of former Russian nationalities,” Carlo told him in that sullen way of his, never quite able to look Jovi in the eye. “A mutt. A Czech national who should shut the fuck up, learn his place, and sell his guns. Instead…”
He shrugged. There were some who would see a shrug like that and lose control of their bowels. A shrug like that, from a man like him, had death written all over it.
Jovi was unaffected.
Carlo continued. “Instead, he thinks he can play games. He thinks he can dictate terms. He thinks he can go around the family to make his own name for himself. But…Lu rispettu è misuratu, cu lu porta l’avi purtato.”
“Respect is measured.” Jovi agreed with the proverb his cousin was quoting. It was how they all lived. Or in Carlo’s case, pretended he lived. “Whoever respects others will be respected in turn.”
His cousin nodded. “Don Antonio likes his own name.” The meaning was clear. This arms dealer needed a lesson. “Killing him would be too easy. How would he learn? How would he fully understand the depth of his disrespect?”
These were not questions that required an answer.
He stayed where he was, sitting still in his chair and watching as Carlo paced a little, as unable to stand still as he’d been when they’d both been small boys. Five and six and allowed to run wild while all the old women in black smiled at them and called them angels.
Only the fallen kind of angels, Jovi thought now. Fallen deep and hard, lost somewhere far beneath the surface of any lake of fire.
If he was an angel, it was the angel of death.
“This Boris has a daughter,” Carlo was telling him. “He’s been putting out feelers, seeing if he can marry her off in the old style to create an alliance. My father thinks Boris’s only alliance should be with us.”
Jovi inclined his head. “I understand.”
For a moment, Carlo still stood there, staring down at Jovi, with that same wary look on his face that he often wore in his cousin’s presence. To cover his uneasiness and fear, Jovi was certain.
“Other men might ask if she’s pretty,” Carlo pointed out. “If they might have a little fun, a little pleasure with their work. But not you.”
“I do not believe in pleasure,” Jovi replied. He didn’t even bother to shrug. “In my work or anywhere else. It has no purpose.”
Sex, killing—it was all the same to him. Women or men, it made no difference. Sometimes there was set dressing, the better to send a message. Sometimes mementos were required, whether before or after the death depended entirely on the reasons for the death.
He felt nothing about any of these things. He did his job.
Ice was ice wherever it was cold enough.
He could see that Carlo was holding back a sneer. That his cousin dearly wished he could speak frankly to him, though Carlo would never dare. Jovi even knew what he would say, as he’d said as much to others who had foolishly relayed it, imagining Jovi was the sort of man who would make alliances.
He’s a freak, Carlo liked to tell the rest of the family.Him and his freak father. If it was up to me, I never would have let him live.
“I’m not the one who fears death, cousin,” Jovi told him now. “I don’t have to dress it up and make it a game.”
If he was anyone else, he thought Carlo would have lunged at him. He could see the loathing in his cousin’s gaze. But then, of course, Carlo did nothing.
Because, at heart, he was a coward.
He showed this to Jovi every time they came face-to-face. Every single time.
And well did Carlo know it. Because he said nothing further. He only swallowed back whatever he wanted to say—no doubt thinking better of it and hating himself for it—and then turned around again to storm back into the house.
