“That makes no fucking sense,” he says softly, shaking his head.
“This isn’t some soft turf war. The Vurals smell weakness.”
“But we’re better capitalized. We have more foot soldiers. They’re not even based in the city. What the fuck are they thinking?”
“I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. Vural’s coming whether we like it or not. I need you to inform the council. I plan on doubling our security detail and spreading the word to our men. I don’t want any more bodies.”
“Fine. That’s fine. Sensible.”
“It’s bad timing. I’m technically not the Don. I need the council’s backing if I’m going to start making these decisions, but there’ll be a time when I can’t wait for their response.”
“This won’t make them move any faster, you know that. They’re a bunch of stubborn old fucks.” He waves his fork in the air, glaring around him like the council’s somehow listening. “Maybe Vural’s smarter than we realized.”
“Either way, I need capital, guns, and manpower. Make the council understand.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“And Matteo, in three weeks I plan on moving the Black Book.”
His eyebrows shoot up. He leans forward, voice going soft. “What do you mean, move it?”
We don’t talk about the Black Book. Not normally, at least. It’s always there in the background, its existence the beating heart of Corsetti power in this city, but it’s rarely mentioned. To talk about the Black Book is to weaken its strength. The Black Book thrives on secrets. Its legend grows in the shadows.
“Somewhere more secure. I’ll inform the council once it’s done.”
He seems uncomfortable. “They won’t like that. I mean, I know its location is entrusted to your father?—”
“But my father’s dead, which means it’s entrusted to me now, whether I’m the Don or not. With Vural making moves, I want to put the Black Book somewhere it can’t be touched.”
“Like it’s actually vulnerable right now?”
“You better hope not, but in three weeks, I’ll be sure.
He lets out an uncomfortable laugh. “The council’s going to be pissed.”
“Good. And another thing.” I level a hard stare. “I’m getting married to Kira Santoro.”
Matteo actually chokes on his hash browns. He coughs and has to swallow coffee before he finally stares at me in pure shock. “Santoro? Are you serious? You don’t mean that Santoro?”
“That’s right. Kira is Bryan Santoro’s daughter.”
“Fucking hell.” Matteo shakes his head. “Absolutely not. There’s no way.”
“It’s already decided.”
“The council’s going to go insane. Bryan Santoro’s fucking daughter?! What are you thinking?”
“Bryan was good to me.”
“That doesn’t change a damn thing. He was a fucking traitor.”
“But his daughter’s not. She’s a good Italian girl who had a tough life growing up. She doesn’t even know what her father was.”
“Come on, Stellan. You’re going for legitimacy. Why the fuck would you marry the daughter of a traitor?”
I grind my jaw and look away. The cooks are busy in the back as the waitresses move around the front of the house. I don’t want to think about Bryan. His betrayal nearly broke my father, and it took me years to get over what he did. That man practically raised me. He taught me everything I know. He took care of me in a way my actual father never did.
And then he broke my fucking heart.
