“Of course you do.”
I stand up and knock back the rest of my whisky. As I head into the kitchen to get some more, I hear my phone buzzing back on the couch.
Annoyed, I head back and grab it. I don’t recognize the number, but it’s a local area code. I decide to answer it, though I don’t usually take calls from strangers.
“Hello?” I say into the phone.
“Gio.” I cock my head to one side. I vaguely recognize the voice.
“Who’s this?” I ask.
“Where do you live?”
I narrow my eyes. “Who is this?” I ask again in a hardened voice.
“Where are you staying? Do you think it would be hard to cut off your fingers?”
My blood runs cold. The more he talks, the more I’m sure I know the voice.
“Listen, asshole,” I say softly. “I wouldn’t threaten me if I were you.”
“We know all about it. What time’s it going down, do you think? We’re always watching you, Gio.”
“Alessandro,” I say. “That’s you, isn’t it?”
The voice pauses. “Soon, Gio. We’re coming for you soon.”
“Listen to me, you Rossi fuck--”
But he hangs up before I can finish.
I stare at my phone, not sure what the fuck to make of that conversation. My heart’s pounding against my ribcage, and my anger starts taking over.
I can’t be sure, but I thought the person was Alessandro, one of the Rossi cousins. I met him a couple times and he was just another one of their low-level scumbags, not someone I would ever worry about.
But that call is disconcerting. The mention of my fingerprints makes me think that he knows about my door, and my heart clenches at the thought. She’s mine. No one else has a reason to go near her.
They didn’t protect her from her father.
They can’t have her back. I won’t allow it.
I pace the living room, analyzing every second of the phone call. I need to be smart. I need to stay one step ahead.
I stop in my tracks, realizing they must know about the hit. Which means there’s a rat. A rat with a big fucking mouth, ready to start a war. I have no clue how that’s possible, since nobody that knows about it has any reason to tell the Rossis. The fact remains that the call happened, and it did not bode well.
I toss my phone aside and walk into the kitchen. I fill up my whisky again and as I head back into the living room, an uncomfortable thought strikes me.
Was my father so far gone that he would sell me out to the Rossis?
I stand completely still as my mind races through the possibilities. I know that the Rossis would love to have me, even before all this shit with Grace and killing Toni and their Don happened. I’ve killed Rossis before, and I’d probably do it again.
But no, no, that couldn’t be it. My father wouldn’t do that. He’s an old man in a business that’s not kind to old men and he’s desperate to be relevant again, but he’s not a fucking traitor. He’s family. We’re family. And that’s an impossibility. Besides, he wants to be a part of the Romano familia so badly. Making a deal and selling me to the Rossis would destroy his chances at joining the Romanos. Even he would have to see that.
I’m just being paranoid. I walk over to the couch and sit back down again. This time, I flip on the TV and stare blankly at the football game, not really paying attention. Duke sits by my feet as I sip my drink, my mind roaming over the possibilities.
I can’t shake my suspicion. I want to, but I can’t help it. I keep imagining my father making a deal and selling me out, no matter how implausible.
“Fuck,” I say and stand up. I finish my drink and feel the alcohol loosen my nerves. “I’m being stupid,” I say to myself and walk into the kitchen. I put my glass in the sink then head into my control room to check on Grace.
