Chapter Seven
Nick
After I get out of Bianchi’s room, I make a pit stop in the bathroom down the hall. I probably shouldn’t meet up with Vinnie Frangello with the remnants of Carlo’s spunk all over my hands. Although I kind of like that idea. I bet Bianchi would, too. He can be a truly filthy little fucker when he’s in the mood. Maybe he’d balk at shaking hands with sex-fingers, though, I admit to myself in the mirror. He’s filthy in bed, infuriating out of it, but he’s also way classier then I’ll ever be.
I splash my face with water and wonder if I look presentable enough despite the stubble-burn rash on my neck. I can’tbelieveI fell asleep. I never do that. I’m never relaxed enough around anyone to do that. It’s the kind of stupid move that gets you shanked in your sleep.
“You need to stop fucking this guy,” I mutter at my reflection. The problem is, my mirror counterpart doesn’t seem too hot on the idea of never sleeping with Carlo Bianchi again.
I don’t know what it is about him that I find so irresistible. Sure, the sex is great, but half the time I don’t even know what he sees in me. He talks a lot—usually. When I haven’t got my hand over his mouth, he tells me dirty, sexy things to make me fuck him harder. But then when we’re done, he still mouths off, makes me laugh with the stupid shit he says, the bitchy shade he throws around.
There aren’t many men in my business who can make me laugh. And I needed it tonight, after that meeting.
* * *
“The great Luciano D’Amatoneedsmyhelp?”
Louis Clemenza was in a fighting mood. Ever since he got let off racketeering charges, I can see he’s been stewing on who might’ve pointed the finger in the first place. It doesn’t help that he literally owes Luca his life. Clemenza doesn’t like owing anything to anyone, and he’s not used to lacking the control heusedto have in New York. He was King Shit, running the city, taking out whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted.
Now he’s just shit.
As for Luca, he’s never been one to dwell on petty things, and he didn’t take the bait. “That’s right, Don Clemenza. I’m asking for your help—for everyone’s. Every Family in New York, I need them with me. Because if we don’t pull together now against this organization, the Irish Freedom Fighters, we will lose the City altogether.” He looked around the room and I did too, but I tried to look less obvious about it. Getting these men together in a room, especially after what happened in Chicago, had been a matter of moving heaven and earth, but Luca had been determined, and that man is able to simplywillthings into existence sometimes. Clemenza hasn’t forgotten Chicago, though, and neither have Sal Rossi or Joe Alessi. The new Giuliano Don, who’s been known as Big Gee ever since he got made and still is now, wasn’t any happier about the meeting.
The gathering wasn’t a popular move in the Morelli camp, either. Vitali was dead against it from the start, coming up with argument after argument until Luca laid down the law. Personally, I thought Vitali had more than one good point. But I could see that caution was outweighed in this case by necessity—and so did Vitali in the end, although he bruised more than one ego in the other Families with his insistence on his own various security measures. He’s been bug-cleaning the rooms of all senior Morelli members almost every hour.
But there they all were, the Family Dons, and Don Morelli lording over them all. The New York Commission has grown in leaps and bounds, and Luca’s been a goodCapo Dei Capi. Even Clemenza had to admit that.
Big Gee, another younger Don, leaned forward, one elbow on the table. “We’re sorry to hear of your troubles, of course. But your enemies are not necessarily our enemies, Don Morelli. If you’re having difficulties containing—”
“My enemies are the same ones who killed your predecessor, Don Giuliano,” Luca said, and it was enough to silence Big Gee. It got themalllistening, and in the end, Luca won them over—but for how long? And how effectively, I wondered, would we really work together?
After the other Families filed out, the Morellis left over started bitching among themselves about the size and efficacy of their crews. Right there, I lost four of the best men from my own crews, because Luca had no time to deal with their bullshit and he knows my crews are the best we have. But they’re the best because I built them that way—Imade those men who they are today.
“I’m sorry, Nick,” he said privately to me afterwards, once he dismissed them like he was sending squabbling brats to their rooms for a time-out. “I don’t like doing it to you, but you do your job too well.”
“It’s no problem, Don Morelli,” I’d told him, and I’d meant it. “It’s worth it to see the look on Vollero’s face, watching him admit his guys don’t cut it like mine.”
“Oh, he’s well aware of it,” the Boss had said. And then he’d grinned, slapped me on the back, and we weren’t Don Morelli and his most powerful Capo anymore—we were just Luca and Nick, good friends, brothers in arms, a two-man team working for the good of the Family and of the City.
But then Luca had murmured something that unsettled me: “You know we’re fucked if the other Families won’t play, right? These Irish nationalists, they’re not just well-trained. They’re true believers. Much more dangerous.
“We’ll come out on top,” I said. “We always do.”
“I hope so.”
In all my time of knowing him, and as close as we were, it was the first time I’d seen Luca D’Amato show vulnerability about something that wasn’t his husband.
It’s been on my mind, that concern on his face, all the way through an amazing fuck with Bianchi, which was the only thing thatcouldhave distracted me tonight. We are in danger, all of us. There’s a hurricane coming our way and there’s no telling if New York will be left standing after it blows through.
* * *
I freezeas I hear footsteps in the hallway outside. Whoever it is, I hope they’re not aiming for this bathroom. But they walk on by, and I let out my breath. I can’t have anyone seeing me up here. Since Carlo’s the only guest on this level, it’ll be pretty obvious why I’m up here. I mightlooklike an idiot, but I don’t think anyone would believe that I got lost enough to make it to the third floor.
I open the bathroom door quietly, just a crack, and look down the hall. There’s some guy in a tuxedo stomping down the hallway and the tight rage in those shoulders looks familiar. I’m pretty sure it’s Gatti. But why the hell he’s up here, I don’t—
He reaches Carlo’s door, and doesn’t bother knocking, just walks right in.
Aw,fuck.
