Chapter Eight
LUCA
After I came close to painting a warehouse with Fontana’s brain matter, Finch told me many times that I needed to let it go, get over it, move on. He didn’t seem to understand howdeeplythe whole thing affected me, how wounded I was by Fontana’s betrayal. For Finch, it seemed like things done for love were forgivable no matter what.
“He loves Carlo. You can’t fight love, baby,” he told me on more than one occasion.
But Finch had never really understood what it means to be a Morelli. It wasn’t just a betrayal ofmewhen Fontana went behind my back, refused to follow my orders. He betrayed the whole Family, his brothers, all of us bound to him by blood oaths and sacred traditions.
It was as shocking and terrible to me as it would be to Finch if his priest friend suddenly threw down the rosary he always carried and set it on fire, pissed in the holy water, called out aHail Satan.
But then, Finch was an iconoclast at heart. Maybe it wouldn’t shock him at all.
I wasn’t the only one who could not—wouldnot—forgive Fontana for his duplicity. There was no way to miss the evil looks Al Vollero sent Fontana’s way every time the senior Family members met. One night his heckling of Fontana got so bad that I kept Vitali behind to question him about dissent in the ranks.
He hedged until I told him to give it to me straight and then, with reluctance, he gave in. “Okay, Boss. Just don’t shoot the messenger. Vollero’s not happy, but it’s not only about the fact that Fontana’s still breathing. It’s about—”
“His granddaughter.”
Vitali nodded. “He don’t like Sophia’s involvement in our business. He likes her training under Fontana even less.”
“She’s training with you, too.”
“Yep. But I’m not the one who has the reputation as a rat.” My face must have betrayed my thoughts, because Vitali held up his hands. “You told me to give it to you straight, Boss. I got no problem with Fontana, but he’s a rat in Vollero’s eyes. Vollero’s givingmea free pass on Sophia, but only because he feels more justified in hating Fontana. So Fontana’s getting all of it, deserved or not.”
“Mostly deserved,” I muttered, and then wished I hadn’t. It wasn’t wise to let anyone know what I was thinking, even the man responsible for Family security. “Pull Vollero into line,” I said after a moment.
“Will do, Boss.”
It wasn’t Vitali’s job. Fontana, thanks in large part to his boyfriend’s logically-reasoned and difficult-to-ignore argument, was supposed to be my Enforcer, but I could hardly get him to tacklethisissue. So Vitali it would have to be. I wanted to avoid any of my senior members locking horns where I could. Al Vollero was getting lazy in his old age, but he had standing in the Family, and the men working for him were effective at their jobs.
As for Fontana, he could still be useful to me in his own way.
“Any news from Boston?” I asked Vitali. I heard from Tara Donovan myself from time to time, but Vitali was in closer contact with her man O’Hara. “We know how the IFF got hold of Shanahan yet?”
Vitali shook his head. “Nothing new.”
The murder of Shanahan, a Donovan man who had been imprisoned after the attack on Hillview House in Boston, was a dangling thread in my mind. I didn’t like the idea that the IFF had grown roots so deep in this country that they had contacts in the prison system who would do their bidding. But it had been months since Tara’s man had been assassinated. If we didn’t know how the IFF had pulled it off by now, it was unlikely we ever would.
Still, I kept hoping. “Alright,” I said. “Anything for my ears only?” Some of the security issues I preferred to keep between Vitali and me; there was no point widening a circle of knowledge if it was unnecessary. Vitali hesitated again. “No shooting of messengers,” I reminded him. But I already knew what he was going to say.
“Well, Boss, it’s about expanding Mr. D’s security detail options—”
“No. And don’t sigh at me. I said no, and I’m still saying no. We keep the current arrangements.” Since that night at Kismet, I’d refused to let any greenhorns near Finch again.
“There are other—”
“No.” My voice rang out a little louder and a little harsher than I really meant it to, but at least it shut Vitali up. He snapped his lips together and gave a tight nod.
“Understood, Boss. I’ll say goodnight, then.”
I waited until Vitali had left the warehouse before I called out, “Come on, baby bird.”
I heard his footsteps heading towards me, and reminded myself that I was Don Morelli, and I feared no one. But when Finch’s face appeared with fierce, glittering eyes and a thin, straight mouth, my heart did skip a beat.
It wasn’t that Finch everscaredme. But marital harmony was important to me, and occasionally tricky to find, given our mutual stubbornness.
“Don’t start with me,” I tried preemptively, but he was shaking his head, his brows drawn.
