“Sandro, with respect,” Vito DiPietro begins, “something must be done about your father’s killer.”
He hasn’t even waited for the coffee to be served. “You will address me as Don Castellani, all of you. I wear the ring and I am my father’s heir. And somethingisbeing done about my father’s killer.”
“I mean your brother.”
“Myhalf-brother.” I don’t like any of them to forget it. I am Mafia royalty, born to a king and a queen of our world.
Julian’s mother was an English actress, for fuck’s sake.
DiPietro shifts in his seat, not satisfied, and I don’t miss the glance he sends Gene Lombardo from under his heavy brows. Obviously the senior administration has decided the Consigliere’s words hold the most weight with me, because Lombardo is the next to speak.
“Sandro,” he says with warmth. “We simply don’t understand why you are taking so long. Why not kill Julian and have done with it?”
I have known Lombardo a very long time. I even respect him, as far as it goes. But that is no excuse. “You will address me as Don Castellani, or Boss, or sir.” I say it very slowly, leaning back in my chair, spreading my legs until I’m comfortable, and then I smile at him. “I’m sure I won’t need to remind you again.”
“My apologies, Don Castellani,” Lombardo murmurs. “Of course.”
“What does or does not happen to Julian ismydecision. Mine alone, as head of this Family and as my father’s son.Iwill mete out justice, not you.” Time to change the subject. “Tell me how business is going.”
They stay on track for ten minutes, each of them reporting in, and then Silvano Rizzo, the Capo who fancies himself more important than he is, begins to talk. “Two of my soldiers got jumped by PacSyn last night,” he grumbles. “Are those assholes trying to start something?”
Cazzo. The last thing I need is a war. “I’ll speak to Chuckles myself and find out what the problem is.” Charlie “Chuckles” Moran is the PacSyn leader, as far as theyhavea leader. He was also probably the one who sent Wittemeyer and his men to kill me.
“Those poor assholes are gonna be in traction for months,” Rizzo goes on. “I mean the PacSyn boys, of course.” There’s a laugh around the room. “My crew wants to pay a few more of them a visit, if you know what I mean.”
“Tell them to cool it for now,” I tell Rizzo. “We’re all on edge, but making enemies where there were none before is not helpful. We have enough problems with the Bernardis.”
He nods, and I turn to Montanari. “Any trouble with the line?”
“No, Boss. Everyone’s toeing it.” He hesitates, and I don’t miss the little ripple of expectation through the men. They’ve been waiting for whatever Montanari is going to say next. “Except a few from Jacopo’s crew,” he goes on.
I put my head back and close my eyes. “Not this again.”
Every meeting, even those before my father’s death, someone always has a problem with Jacopo or his crew. The fact is, Jacopo’s crew punches well above their weight. They bring in double what most crews do, with half the men. If they don’t always kiss Montanari’s ass exactly the way he likes it, I don’t care.
“Don Castellani,” Lombardo says, spreading his hands and giving me pleading eyes. “We don’t say these things for pleasure. We know you have no love for the man, so we don’t understand—”
“Johnny Jacopo is more use to me right now than any of you have been for months.” My voice is rising. I let it. I’ll let my anger show, stoke that fear of the unpredictable.
“But—” Montanari begins.
“Enough.” I slam my fist down on the desk, and enjoy watching them flinch. “The next man to mention Jacopo will be complaining about him to my father.” I pull out the gun I’ve been keeping in the top drawer of the desk, and place it within reach.
I know what they’ll say about me afterward. They’ll mutter and moan,Oh, that Sandro and his temper…No restraint…No respect…
I want them thinking that way. I want them worried about what my next move might be.
I let the silence stretch on, and then I say, “Have the Espositos shown any interest in our business dealings lately?”
“The Espositos?” Lombardo sounds surprised. “They keep to themselves. You know that. They play their own games.”
“And that woman keeps their balls locked up tight between matches,” Montanari guffaws, prompting laughter from the rest of them.
There is one thing Teddy was right about—these men, and others, are seriously underestimating Anna-Vittoria Esposito’s power in this city. They’re blinded by machismo.
I don’t laugh along with them. Not this time. Sometimes I do, I play along for the satisfaction of keeping them docile. But I would never be so stupid as to truly assume weakness in a woman. I’m starting to wonder if the Castellani senior administration was one of the reasons the Espositos turned down an offer of alliance with our Family. I know my father wanted one.
“Is there anything else I won’t be happy to find out about later?” Silence. “Then you can see yourselves out. Lombardo—a moment, if you will.”
