The gun was empty.
Angelo’s dark silhouette hovers on the edge of the pool, his face the cold mask ofIl Diavolo.
“Do you know what happens when your word means nothing?” He smooths his hair back and straightens his tie. “Empires fall.”
24
ANGELO
“You have it?”
“Yeah.” Romeo nods, his face barely visible beneath his hood. “Sending it your way now.”
The incoming attachment arrives a second later, and I pull up the communication log between Carlo and Matteo.
“And Maurizio?” I ask my brother.
“Counting down the seconds until your arrival,” Romeo grunts. “He thinks you’ll be the sane one.”
“Pass along my regards and send me a picture.”
I need somewhere to direct my rage, and right now, he’s as good a target as any.
“I’ll get it to you later tonight,” Romeo says.
I notice a flash of city lights behind him as he moves, and it captures my attention. Romeo doesn’t leave the island often—or at least, he never used to. Not since my father brought him home and told him to stay put.
After his lightning strike and subsequent cardiac arrest, Romeo came back a different person. He was emotionally volatile, had little impulse control, and was prone to violent outbursts. He had a laundry list of other problems, too—including chronic pain, migraines, insomnia, and memory issues. He went through years of intense treatments as our father exhausted every medical intervention at his disposal. Some things leveled out, but others never would.
When the doctors told my father they’d done everything they could, he brought Romeo back to the sanctuary of the island. He carved out a life for himself there and settled into a routine. Romeo 2.0 was reclusive, surly, and socially awkward. When his brain rewired, he also developed an obsessive focus and heightened pattern recognition. He spent a lot of time in a dark room, learning how to hack anything and everything. When he wasn’t doing that, our father gave him an outlet for his rage. He set up shop in the woodshed, and he’s been liquidating our liabilities ever since. Strangely enough, all that murder and torture seemed to help. It did more for him than the treatments ever could.
Over the years, he’s learned to live with the chaos in his mind. He’s never wanted much else, and it’s not like him to venture out of his comfort zone without a good reason. So I have to wonder why he’s doing it now.
“Where are you?” I ask him.
“Nowhere important.” Another grunt. “You need anything else?”
Laughter echoes from behind him, and it sets me on edge. He’s not going to tell me what he’s up to, but it’s my job to know—for all our sakes.
“That’s all for now,” I tell him.
In typical Romeo fashion, he nods and disconnects the call without a goodbye. I stare at the phone for a beat, then text Nicky. A minute later, he’s in my office.
“Yeah, boss?”
“I need eyes on Romeo back in Seattle. Can you send it down the pipeline?”
“On it.” He jerks his chin. “Anything particular we’re looking for?”
“I want to know where he’s going when he leaves the island. You got anyone else that can track what he’s doing on his computer?”
“Not as good as him.” Nicky shrugs. “But I’ll see what I can find.”
I nod, letting him linger for a moment before I ask my next question.
“My wife?”
“She’s in your suite,” he says.
