The hard pressure on the back of my head retreats.
“Here’s the thing, Fontana,” Luca says, and his casual, almost-friendly tone makes the hairs on my arms prickle. “Even a condemned man deserves a lawyer. We’ll wait until yours gets here.”
His meaning sinks into my brain before I can get any relief about not being dead yet. “What?” I twist my head, try to see over my shoulder. “What the fuck does that mean?”
There’s no reply. His footsteps are retreating, growing fainter.
Fear rushes over me, a cold flood from the center of my chest out through my whole body. I rock on the chair, but I can’t get my hands free.
“Luca!” I roar, but there’s no response.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Carlo
“Iwouldn’t shoot me if I were you,” I say to Miranda’s reflection in the glass. “It’d be difficult, even for you, to explain why my brains were splattered all over your window.”
“And it would ruin the view,” Miranda agrees. “No. You’re going to kill yourself in the bathroom, Bianchi. Let’s go there now, shall we?”
I turn around. “I don’t think so, Winter.”
“Move or I’ll shoot you here. I can come up with some cover story if I need it badly enough.”
I tip my head to one side and allow myself a small smile. “Can you, though?” Obviously, I don’t know Miranda Winter as well as I thought I did, but I really don’t think she’s a cold-blooded killer. Exhibit A: she hasn’t shot me yet. And she really, really should have, if she was truly going to do it. “Guns are for people with poor vocabularies, Miranda. How about you put it down and we talk this out?”
“Do you really take me for such a fool? Only one of us will make it out of here alive. And it’s going to be me.”
“We can both leave here alive tonight,” I say. “We can talk it through. Tell me how you got the Sardinians to go lower.”
Scorn makes her eyes narrow. “I used leverage. The kind of leverage we shouldalwaysbe using in our work, but don’t, because your father likes to pretend we’re working on the side of the angels. He’s living in a fool’s paradise.”
Things are becoming clearer. And I really don’t want to die. I’ve taken a chance, letting her come in here like I did, allowing her to pull a gun on me—but I had to be sure. In the end, I didn’t really want to believe it of Miranda Winter. Ilikedher, dammit. And I thought she liked me. Well, as much as she likes anyone, and as much as anyone can likeme. But I have to play the hand I’ve been dealt. “So you threatened the Sardinians into lowering the price?”
“Of course. What’s the point in working for a Family like the Morellis if you can’t use the name now and then to get results?”
I’m simultaneously impressed by her frankness and appalled by her foolhardiness. “It’s not just my father who doesn’t want us playing dirty. Luca D’Amato is going to hit the fucking roof when he hears about this. You know that, right? The oil imports were supposed to be squeaky clean.”
She gives a little shrug. “Luca D’Amato was never supposed to know.”
It takes my breath away for a moment, the idea of anyone going up against a Boss like Don Morelli. He might have a soft side for his husband, but he doesn’t fuck around when it comes to business. “Jesus,” I whisper. “Are you insane or stupid?”
“Neither. I just got tired of playing by such pointless rules, Carlo. You do, too, sometimes, don’t you? Word is you’ve been sleeping with someone you shouldn’t. Or at least, that’s what your father thought that day he was screaming at you in the boardroom.”
I shake my head, focus on what I need to focus on. “Sleeping with a Morelli is not the same as threatening an international business partner—especially not when you’re doing it as a representative of this firm.”
Her smile turns mocking. “Aw, are you finding a new pride in your name, Mr. Bianchi? You insisted for so long that you hate the work here. Hate your father. Hate having to live up to his expectations. But actually, you enforce the silly little rules of this firm just as much as he does.”
I give a chuckle. “Well, not anymore, Miranda. Those days are done.”
She tips her head back a little, breathes in and out once, twice, while she thinks that over. “Hm. You’ve managed to surprise me, Carlo. I thought you were a true daddy’s boy. You always play by the rules.”
“You don’t?”
“I don’t.”
“Who are you working for? The Irish?”
She hesitates for a moment, but then it comes spilling out. “I work for Louis Clemenza. Maybeyourfather is obsessed with Italians staying in control. But the Clemenzas understand that alliances can reach further afield. My father was a business associate of theirs, and I benefited from that relationship. Louis Clemenza put me through private school. Paid for Yale. Paid for Harvard Law. And then he put me to work.”
