"I'm working on it."
"Working on it." Pietro turns away, then spins back. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Maybe it's not the same. Because last time, you only got four of our men killed. This time, you might get us all killed."
The door slams open. Nico strides in, looking between us with interest.
"Nobody invited me to the fight?" He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "What are we arguing about? Territory? That missing shipment? Or did Lorenzo finally?—"
"Shut up," Pietro snaps without looking at him.
Nico's eyebrows rise, but he closes his mouth. The silence that follows is suffocating. Pietro's breathing is harsh, his hands clenched into fists. I can see him struggling for control, the violence he wants to unleash barely contained.
"Actually," Nico says, pushing off the doorframe, "I already verified what the Torrino girl said."
Pietro's head snaps toward him. "You knew?"
"Found out this morning." Nico pulls out his phone, scrolling through something. "My contacts at the docks confirmed it. Daniil Morozov is definitely planning to marry Francesco's niece. They're setting up an import-export company together."
I watch Pietro process this, his jaw working like he's chewing glass.
"And?" Pietro's voice is deceptively calm.
"Word is they want to align against us. Classic pincer move. Russians from the north, Torrinos from the south." Nico pockets his phone. "Francesco's been meeting with the Bratva leadership for weeks. Marriage seals the alliance."
Pietro laughs. "Everything in this world happens on repeat." He walks to the bar cart, pouring himself three fingers of whiskey. "Every fucking month, someone wants to plan against others. Kill the competition. Rise to the top." He downs half the glass in one swallow. "Same shit, different players."
"This is different," I say.
"Is it?" Pietro turns, leaning against the bar. "The Irish tried it last year. The Corellis before that. Now the Russians and Torrinos. Everyone wants to be king of Chicago."
Nico moves further into the room, his analytical mind already working. "Here's the interesting part—Francesco hasn't gone public about his niece missing."
That gets Pietro's attention. His eyes narrow.
"My sources inside Torrino territory say he's keeping it quiet," Nico continues. "Probably searching for her without letting the Russians know she fled. Can't have his bargaining chip running off before the wedding."
"Smart," Pietro admits grudgingly. "Daniil would see it as weakness. Might even call off the whole deal."
"Exactly." Nico looks at me. "So whatever the girl's angle is, she's got Francesco by the balls. He can't report her missing without losing face with the Russians."
"She just wants her uncle down," I say, meeting Pietro's gaze. "That's all. She's not playing some long game. She's a twenty-year-old girl who doesn't want to marry a psychopath."
Pietro sets down his glass with deliberate precision. He crosses the room slowly, until he's standing directly in front of me. Close enough that I can smell the whiskey on his breath.
"Any other secrets you want to share with me, brother?" His voice is soft, dangerous. "Any other Torrinos you've got stashed away? Maybe you're running a halfway house for enemy families now?"
"Pietro—"
"Because if we're keeping things from each other, I'd like to know now." He leans in closer. "Before I find out from someone else that my own brother is making moves behind my back."
The accusation hangs between us like a blade. I can feel Nico watching, calculating, probably already three steps ahead in whatever game he thinks we're playing.
"There's nothing else," I say.
Pietro studies my face, looking for the lie. After what feels like hours but is probably seconds, he steps back.
"Good." He returns to his chair, dropping into it with controlled violence. "Because we've got enough problems without adding family betrayal to the list."
The word 'betrayal' hits exactly where he intended. I hate myself for keeping a secret something that involves all of us.
