I knock my glass against Gunnar’s in a toast. My gaze flicks to Giada as I slam the drink and hand the glass back to Catena. “I’ll need another.”
Catena chuckles and Giada rolls her eyes and sashays over to the kitchen.
“Dinner is ready,” Palmiro calls. “Please, everyone, come sit.”
Santino takes his place at the head of the table with a noticeable wince. I’m seated to his left, Giada beside me and Milo across from me. They’ve put Gunnar next to Catena at the other end.
Palmiro recites the Benedicite prayer, crosses herself, and then motions to the table full of food. “Please help yourselves.”
Milo catches my eye as he shovels a large helping of lasagna onto his plate. “Getting excited about the big day, Sandro? Or should I say future brother-in-law.” He smirks.
The heat from all the eyes suddenly on me is palpable. I let the corners of my mouth turn up in what I hope is a smile. “I’m not sure excited is the word I’d use. Not a big fan of extravagant affairs.”
“Oh.” Giada places her hand on my thigh and squeezes. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you. Tampa Style magazine is going to do a behind-the-scenes spread on the wedding. They’ll have their photographers follow us as we get ready. We’re going to be on the front cover.”
“Jesus,” Milo snorts, shooting me a look that resembles pity.
“That’s nice,cara.” Santino grunts and winces as he reaches up to accept the bowl of Capri salad Milo passes to him.
That gives me an opening. “You okay, Santino?” I let my gaze run over the bruise on his cheek. “Looks like you’re in some pain.”
He leans back and eyes me. “We’ll talk after dinner. In my office.” I catch the flicker of anger in his eyes before he tempers it. “No business at the table.”
Dinner goes relatively smoothly. No one got stabbed, except for Milo in my mind. He really enjoys pushing my buttons. And Giada eventually got bored with trying to get under my skin. At least the food was good.
It’s just Santino and me in his office now. The scent of leather polish and sweet cigar smoke clings to the air. In front of thewindow sits a heavy Baroque mahogany desk. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves take up the far-left wall. An unlit fireplace sits in the middle. I imagine he has to turn the air-conditioning on high to use it.
We’re seated there, in burgundy leather armchairs across from each other, and he’s got an unlit cigar, rolling it between his fingers, bags under his eyes, and a weary bend to his shoulders.
I have one ankle crossed over my knee, hands clasped together and silently watch him. Waiting.
Finally, he sighs and nods to himself, making eye contact. “Do you know anything about a Bratva whorehouse burning down with thirteen men inside?”
So that’s what this is about. The Bratva must’ve blamed him. That was fast. “Yes.”
His eyes widen in disbelief and his face darkens with emotional storm clouds. “Jesus Christ, Sandro. That was you? What the fuck were you thinking?”
My eyes narrow. The emotions flitting over his face are interesting. Anger yes, but also fear. “I was thinking that it’d be a good message for the Russian pricks that we won’t tolerate trafficking in our city.” I cock my head. “Problem?”
“This is my city, too, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m not dead yet. And I don’t appreciate you taking it upon yourself to start a fucking war with the Bratva without consulting me. You know that’s what you did, right? They will retaliate.”
I see the fear overcome his anger. “Is that what they told you?”
“Yes.” He swallows. “I got the message from Oleg himself this morning.”
I’m getting the picture now. “By message, you mean a few cracked ribs?”
He sighs. “Yeah, that kind of message.”
I need to know if his son is in on this. If so, he’s a dead man, too. “Does Emilio know?” I let the question hang in the air.
“About you burning down the Bratva’s property and killing their men? No.” He doesn’t take the bait. But then he seems to decide something. “The syndicate is right. Emilio doesn’t have what it takes to lead. I don’t bring him in on big decisions.” He rubs his forehead and seems to forget I’m in the room for a moment. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do. If I don’t let Emilio take the reins of my businesses when I’m gone, I’m leaving nothing. Everything I have built will be absorbed by your family when you marry Giada. I will have no legacy to leave to my grandchildren. It will become your legacy. I will be erased.” He glances up. “No offense.”
This surprises me, but I keep my expression neutral. “Tell me, Santino. Why did you meet with Oleg alone? Why not call me first and ask for me to go with you?” I already know why. They have a secret alliance. But I want to hear how he’s going to explain it.
He uses anger to deflect. “How the fuck was I supposed to know what I was walking into? That you’d burned down one of their properties with their men inside?”
“Technically, the men were dead before we burned down the house.” I fight a smile at his indignant, wide-eyed stare. “You’re right. I apologize. Next time, I’ll let you know before we strike.” No, I won’t.
