Edoardo and Carlos buried the whole affair the old way—threats, intimidation, whispers in dark corridors,kept the cops out, and mollified the other families with bribes and gifts. Edoardo is our new Don of the five families, a position he never earned. He’s too young, too inexperienced, and from what little I’ve seen, a complete asshole. I’ll never be like him. I won’t ignore the men and women who work for me, no matter how low they are on the list—no matter how high I rise.
I haven’t met Toni in person, but everything I’ve learned points to a cold, calculating man. I’m sure he’s nursing revenge against Carlos after Edoardo forbade him from taking it. For now, Carlos is tied up in an extortion trial, and I’m watching—biding my time to see whether I need to step in.
Right now, I'm still absorbing the fact that the Venezuelans were gutsy enough to send an obvious declaration of war against us. Even more curious is that this specific crew is based in LA, while we're here in NYC. "Fucking hell."
"Last night there was a meeting," Stephano continues, filling me in about something I have no business knowing. But I do. I wired their conference room a year ago.
"Toni reported the incident with the accountant, and we're now looking actively into the Venezuelans. Specifically, what information they got out of Alfonzo."
And why. Stephano is shrewdly leaving that part out, just like he's leaving out that Edoardo and Carlos tried to have Toni eliminated from the playing field. Permanently.
After all, Toni's family is responsible for money laundering, so the accountant falls under his supervision. In the end, it was Edoardo who looked weak, because he refused to declare war on the Venezuelans. Not only that, he played it like he and Matías Rivera were best buddies all of a sudden, raising suspicion from many of the present capos, and making himself look weak as fuck.
Stephano walks back to his chair and pulls up another feed, oblivious to the storm in my head. Or maybe not. Stephano isn’t oblivious to anything. He just knows better than to ask when a man’s silence is made of razors.
I glance sideways at him. He’s different from the others. Not cut from the same loud, brutal cloth. If anything, he’s closer to me than anyone’s ever been. We think the same way, chess moves in code, long games hidden in zeros and ones.
And maybe… maybe he could have a place in the world I’m building.
I don’t know yet.
But if he stays useful—if he stays loyal—he could be more than an ally. He could be a friend.
My mind snaps back to the screen.
I reopen the encrypted data file we managed to scrape before the firewall locked us out. A partial directory. A few blurred photos. A name:Yesenia Montilla.
Stephano leans forward. "Matías Rivera’s cousin’s sister-in-law. Venezuelan banking elite. Multiple flagged transfers into real estate here in Manhattan."
I nod slowly.
"Their network’s bigger than we thought," I murmur.
He smirks. "Wanna bet it leads straight back to Edoardo’s latestbusiness partners?"
I smile coldly. "I don’t bet on what I already know."
"I might need you to go to Puerto La Cruz, try to get information the old-fashioned way if we can't get through their firewalls," Stephano informs me.
Fuck.
Going to Venezuela is the last thing I want to do right now. Omertà Infernale has been growing enough that I might soon be able to walk out of the shadows and be my own man. Refusing Stephano is not an option, though, not while I officiallyworkfor him. Unless I'm ready to cut ties and expose myself for who I really am, there is no way for me not to go. At some point, I will do it, and maybe that time is now. Maybe that's the reason I ran into hertoday,of all times.
"You don't look happy," Stephano observes.
"Humidity and my hair don't get along well," I deadpan.
He smirks, "It'll be a last resort. We’ll try again to crack them in a couple of days. They're on high alert right now. But Raf, you're the only man I trust to send. You have the brainandthe brawn."
I nod. I understand, even if I don't like it. Besides, it might be useful for me to find out what Edoardo is cooking up with the Venezuelans. One day, Iwillhave a seat at the family table, and this is the kind of information that might help me get there sooner rather than later.
"Well, that was a bust," Stephano empties his espresso, and I take my cue to leave.
"See you in a couple of days," I say on the way out.
"I'll call you." Stephano agrees, thinking I'll go back to my own little desk to work on cracking the code to the Swiss bank accounts I've been working on. He has no clue that Omertà Infernale did that a long time ago, and that I have no intentions of sharing that info with him. But as long as he thinks I'm earning my paycheck, I'm free to do my own shit.
My body still buzzes with leftover adrenaline from the thwarted cyberwar and from seeing Sophia. It's not the kind that fades easily. I need motion. Speed.
