Marco came marching up to him and stood at his side. “Bruno, it’s Christmas day. Family... Stockings...chestnuts...Rudolph...those things ring a bell?”
Bruno was musing and uncommunicative. In his own time, the big man finished a swig of champagne and then turned his head to face his cousin.
Marco was dressed in a tuxedo, a dark tie to match his dark eyes around his neck. Like a military officer, not a hair on his head out of place.
Bruno cleared his throat. “Well, this ismybuilding. I’ve gotta make plans for the New Year. And it’s the only day of the year I can be alone here. Not a crime, is it?”
“Oh….and that’s the only reason?”
Bruno fixed him with a look. “Perhaps it’s me that should be asking what you’re doing here,” he quipped.
“Your wife’s worried about you, Bruno. It’s Christmas!”
A long, pregnant pause stretched out between them.
“Tell you what. Why don’t you and Annie spend Christmas with the wife and me?” Marco suggested. “She’s cooking up a storm at home, and we’d love to have you.”
They locked eyes for a moment, an intense moment.
Bruno huffed, and his attitude changing instantly. A smirk crept across his lips, then plonking the champagne bottle down on his enormous desk, he started for the door.
Marco jogged to catch up. “So that’s a yes then?” He called, sounding surprised.
Bruno kept walking.
Falling into step with him, he kept his eyes on his cousin, looking concerned. “Bruno?”
Just before he reached the doorway, Bruno stopped and looked at him thoughtfully. “Annie and I would love to spend the holidays with you. But we got something to handle first.”
Marco’s big black brows met in the middle. “What?”
Planting a page into his pager, Bruno called a meeting in one hour’s time with his men. Unfair at Christmas time? Sure, but Bruno wasn’t a fair man. Rules were rules. His guys would be there. The only medicine that would sober up his emotions quickly was work. He had a job to do, a responsibility to those who were living. His personal problems were something he couldn’t afford to indulge in. He could rise, or he could crumble. He had to become himself again. Be a De Luca again. He wouldn’t let this mind-fucking storm win, no way. You could bet the fucking farm on that.
Bruno opened the door, with ice in his veins and a revival igniting in his eyes.
“Why Bruno? It’s Christmas day! What’s the big emergency?” Marco laughed.
“Because I said so, that’s why.”
Then, without looking back, he left.
A black Mercedes limousine appeared around a corner and squealed to a stop at the front gate of the mob’s iron gated warehouse, which was manned by two sturdy Italian men.
There were three men inside the vehicle, one was the driver. Rolling to a stop, the driver killed the engine and got out to open the passenger doors.
When his door opened, Bruno stepped out of the vehicle. He looked around then ambled towards the front door.
Marco followed close behind him.
Meanwhile, the common room inside was packed and noisy. Everyone was merry and drinking, toasting to the holidays. Only the doorman stood quiet and alone, waiting expectantly for the boss. When the boss approached the doors, he narrowed his eyes through the peep hole in the door then whistled to the others.
At once, the room quieted ominously, so it could be heard with startling clarity when the outside door slammed open with a huge BANG that made everybody look up.
The big man, De Luca glanced at his men as he marched into the dimly lit room, His muscular body nothing but perfection in his expensive Italian suit tailored just for him. Making a beeline for the meeting table, the solid click, click of his leather shoes and heavy weight resonating underfoot.
A path cleared for him as he crossed the room.
When Marco entered the warehouse, he cleared his throat. “Everybody take your seats. This is a formal meeting, fellas. Not a bar crawl.” He gestured for everyone to sit down at the hulking oak table.
