She bites down on her lower lip, and I groan, convinced I’m going to blow my load any second now. “Not happening, Casanova.” She pierces me with a resolute look I’m determined to eradicate from her range of facial expressions. “And you haven’t answered my question.”
I adjust myself in my pants as the car glides forward and the privacy screen clicks into place. “You’re no fun.”
“We have a job to do, Massimo, and I want to do it.”
“I want to doittoo.” I waggle my brows suggestively and smirk at her. The look she gives me tells me she is seriously considering shooting me.
“Tell me, and perhaps I’ll take pity on you.” She smiles sweetly at me. “Some time this century.”
I flash her a grin, enjoying this immensely, but to continue would be immature and possibly unsafe, so I give in. I school my features into a more serious expression. “No, I haven’t heard from them. You’ll be the first to know when I do.”
ChapterNineteen
Massimo
Idrop Catarina off at the house with the excuse I’m going to see Mama. I’m picking up reluctance from my wife whenever I suggest visiting my mother at home. I suspect it’s because Catarina is already closed off to the idea of a mother-in-law thanks to her previous one. Not that I can blame her from the things she has confided in me, but I keep reassuring her my mother will be nothing like Francesca Conti. So far, she doesn’t appear to be buying it, and I haven’t pushed. Although I will have to soon as Mama is putting pressure on me to meet my wife.
Joining Fiero at the meet with Juan Pablo, I run over the plans for the expansion of our operation in Colombia. Our pharmaceutical plant in Cali is a front for our fledgling drug-manufacturing operation that will eventually see us become the main supplier to themafiosoin the US, if our time-honored plans come to fruition in the manner we hope.
Juan Pablo is paramilitary, and he has the contacts we need—within government and the military and with local gangs and farmers—to successfully run the business in absentia. The next two to three years will be critical for our long-term goals, positioning us strategically as the only men to take control of The Commission once Don Mazzone steps down when his tenure ends.
The meeting has just concluded when I receive a call from Diarmuid O’Hara, the man in charge of the Irish mafia. “We need to talk tonight,” he says. “Where can we meet?”
This sounds promising. “I’ll send you coordinates to a place in Queens.”
“Fine. One hour.”
“Will Santiago be with you?” His reply will give me a strong indication as to the reason for requesting the meeting.
“He will not,” he confirms in his lyrical Irish tone.
My intel says Diarmuid lived the first thirteen years of his life in County Cork, Ireland before relocating to the US with his family when his uncle and predecessor was gunned down. Diarmuid’s father ran the show for a few years before he had a massive heart attack and died unexpectedly, thrusting his eldest son into the role. He is only twenty-nine, but what he lacks in experience he makes up for with intelligence and sharp instincts. I have always liked him, and I hope he is coming to tell me he agrees to our terms and it’s time to take the Mexicans down. I have little tolerance for Santiago Lopez or the way he leered over my wife at our last meeting.
We finalize arrangements, and then I call Catarina to update her while sending the location coordinates to Ezio.
* * *
I prop my butt on a stool at the bar of the sleazy Queens joint and order a beer as I wait for my wife and Diarmuid to show.
“This is a hellhole,” Catarina says, arriving a few minutes later with Ricardo in tow. We fought over my desire to appoint her a second bodyguard from within my men. She was having none of it, claiming it’s unnecessary. Personally, I think she doesn’t want a spy in her midst, and not for the first time, I wonder what she is concealing.
“You’re not wrong,” I agree, snapping my fingers at the bartender. I order my wife a scotch as she slides onto the stool beside me, slowly drinking her surroundings in.
“What is this place?”
“It used to belong to the Mazzones, but my papa snapped it up cheap years ago. Back in the day, it was a sleazy sex club, but Gabriele put a stop to that when he took control. Now it’s just a place for made men to hang out, drink a few beers, and shoot some pool.”
The bartender places a tumbler on the counter and sets another beer for me. I slide the whisky to my wife, and she offers me a small smile, which feels like a win.
“I heard Ben cleaned shop when he came along. I can see why he’d want to offload this place,” she says, swirling the amber-colored liquid in her glass.
“It’s not Macallan, but it’s the best scotch they have to offer,” I supply as she raises the glass to her lips.
“It’ll do.” She sips her drink, looking relaxed despite the dingy surroundings and the skeezy eyeballs glued to her back. I spin around on my stool and level a glare at every man daring to eye fuck her until, one by one, they return to minding their own business.
Her lips kick up as she watches in amusement. “Are you always this possessive?”
“Never before you,” I truthfully admit.
