Marino scowls. “This reeks of amateur hour. Who the fuck did this and why?”
The next couple of hours are spent holed up in HQ making plans. Ben is livid, threatening to annihilate every fucking made man until he finds out who tried to murder his son and his nephews. It’s been decided all the kids under eighteen will be homeschooled for now, and unless it’s essential, the women are being asked to stay at home with beefed-up security details. None of us can do what we need to do if we’re worrying about our loved ones.
“Rowan is initiating,” Ben says just as I pull out my cell to call Gia and check in with her.
“I thought he was undecided,” Cristian says.
“He was, but today proved he is safer in than out.”
In the olden days, no kid of amafiosohad a choice. Especially not a kid of a don. But Ben gave his children choices and made it clear that any kids growing up within the Mazzonefamigliashould be given a choice. He left it up to the individual families to decide. Eighty percent of all kids born into our communities join the fold, and they are there by choice, not through fear or force. It means less numbers joining the ranks, but they are more committed.
Rowan is Ben’s legitimate heir, but he didn’t want to initiate at thirteen, and he’s been very much on the fence ever since. He has spoken to Caleb and me at length about it, but neither of us wanted to influence him. We grew up expecting this to be our destiny because it’s what our father wanted, but we wanted it too. I like being a made man, and my conscience is clear.
“It’s sad he’s being forced to make the decision before he was fully ready, but it’s a smart move. I often think it’s more dangerous to have one foot in and one foot out,” I say, and itreminds me of what Luca said at the end of our meeting today. “We need to talk to Giulio, and we need to go see the family.”
Caleb nods.
I look up the table at Massimo. “Can we take a break? I want to call Gia too.”
“Let’s recess for twenty minutes,” he agrees.
“I’ll call Giulio. You call Gia,” my twin says, and we walk out of the room and into one of the side rooms to make our calls.
I frown when I call Gia on her personal cell and her burner cell and both go to voicemail. I try again, attempting to convince myself she’s in the shower or listening to music while she’s packing, and she hasn’t checked her phones. I call again, over and over, but they keep going straight to voicemail. Apprehension lingering in the wings swamps my system, and I’m in instant panic mode.
Something is wrong.
I feel it in my gut.
I hit the button for the surveillance team and try to summon patience while I wait for someone to answer. “Pick up the fucking phone!” I snap, and Caleb lifts his head, his brow puckering as he stares at me. I’m pacing the floor and trying to get a grip on my emotions, but I’m struggling.
“Boss. Hey,” someone says, finally picking up my call.
“Where is she?” I bark. “Where is Gia?”
“Uh, she’s at home, boss. In her apartment.”
“Then why isn’t she answering her cell phones? Check again.”
I hear the tap-tapping of keys as he calls up the system. Caleb is talking in hushed tones over the phone with Giulio while keeping a concerned eye on me.
“She’s at the Brooklyn apartment, sir. I sent the screenshot to your cell.”
“Check her cell phones. Where do they place her?”
He taps away again. “Same, sir. They put her at the same location.”
“Okay.” Maybe I am overreacting and she’s showering. “Keep me posted if she records or if anything changes with her location.” I hang up and call one of the men I have stationed outside her apartment. He answers immediately. At least someone is on the ball.
“Don Accardi.”
“Knock on the door and ask Ms. Bianchi to answer her phone.”
Stunned silence greets me for a couple seconds. “Um, she’s not at home, sir.”
“What do you mean she’s not at home? I dropped her off around the block hours ago.”
“She hasn’t been here. No one has in the six hours we’ve been outside her door.”
