Maximo
“This has gone far enough—too far. We need to find out who is declaring war against us and take out those bastards!” Giovanni Casella points to his son, Enzo. “Look what they did to him? I’m going to find them and gut them.”
Enzo slouches in his chair around the large table in our private room atSpadesrestaurant. His bandaged arm’s in a sling, but he’s wearing that perpetual lazy grin.
I lean forward, gaze sweeping over him. “Whatdidhappen to you?”
Before Enzo can respond, his father roars, “They shot him!” For a man in his fifties, he’s fit and well-dressed, with a thick head of salt and pepper hair. Enzo’s just a younger version of the man.
“Seems like they’re getting bold.” Quintus Rizzo swirls the expensive cognac in his glass. “First jumping our couriers, then missing shipments, now taking a shot at one of our heirs. They’re escalating. I agree with Gio, we need to hunt them down before they strike again.”
Beside me, Lazaro speaks up. “It’s the Irish. Those damn Monahans moved into town and they’re after what’s ours.”
Pietro Valente grunts noncommittally. “Do you have any proof? We can’t just go after the Monahan brothers on a whim. We don’t need another war with the Irish.”
“We never should have made peace with those blood-thirty savages,” Lazaro grumbles.
The dons ignore him.
“Maybe we offer them the same peace terms that we made with the O’Rourke clan?” Giovanni suggests. “From what I’ve heard, the Monahans are all unwed. We bind our families together through marriage, then they won’t be shooting at us any more. I can offer my niece, Francesca.”
Lazaro sneers. “I’d rather paint the streets red with their blood.”
My hot-headed underboss is one vindictive son of a bitch. He’s more likely to get us into a war than offer peace, which is not in our best interests. I think he’s still sore about the fact that I went behind his back and agreed to help Cian O’Rourke last year when he was having problems with his Gaelic Devils. The Monahans were also involved, and on our side. But alliances shift every day around here. We have no beef with the Irish.
“It’s not the Monahans,” I argue. “But I agree that we need to figure out who is behind these attacks. One of our trucks went missing last night, vanished into thin air, when it was supposed to be flying under the radar. Which leads me to believe we have a rat among us. Our enemy is getting inside information.”
The table goes quiet as the powerful dons of each family shift uncomfortably in their seats, stealing glances at each other. Whose family harbors a rat? Is that person in this room right now? Or is it someone close to one of us?
“How the fuck do you know it’s not the Irish?” Lazaro pointedly stares at me, and I eye him. He obviously has a bone to pick with them, even though we’ve had peace with the main Irish gang for several years now. I wasn’t here when the Italiansfought with the O’Rourkes, but it was bad enough to demand a peace treaty bound by marriage. Still, I wonder what the Irish ever did to Lazaro for him to hold onto his grudge for so long.
What I don’t understand is why he’s trying to get us in a war with the Monahans. The O’Rourkes and the Monahans are two separate entities. What’s to be gained from shedding their blood? I should probably find out.
My phone rings with the alert tone I set for Elena. Glancing at it, I open the notification that tells me she’s left the penthouse. I thumb over to the tracking app and bring up her location. She’s moving fast through the city. Though since she’s not with my driver, that means she’s unguarded. Alone.
Cazzo.
“Excuse me, I have some urgent business to attend to right now.” Standing, I send a text to my driver to bring the car, then make my way to the exit. Brow furrowed, I try to predict where Elena’s headed. I zoom out to study the map. My chest tightens. If I’m not mistaken, she’s going to the airport.
Then it dawns on me. She’s running away.
Last night must have scared her more than I realized. I’m a damn fool. I pushed her too far and now she’s trying to escape.
With a muttered curse, I drop into the backseat of my town car. “She’s running. Follow her.”
Switching the tracking map from my phone to my car’s system, Vincent gives a curt nod then sets our course. She can run, but she’s not going to get very far. No matter where she goes, I will track her down. Through hellfire and brimstone, to the ends of the earth, I don’t care. I’ll find her. Always.
“Step on it, Vin.”
“Yes, sir.” My driver does as I command, and the tires burn rubber as he merges with the heavy traffic.
This aspect of New York City I still haven’t gotten used to. There are cars and people everywhere, day and night. So muchsound, and light, and crowds all the time. I’ve been tempted more than once to buy a helicopter and only agree to meet in buildings that have a helipad on the roof.
As we lurch through stop and go traffic, I keep my gaze glued to the screen and Elena’s dot. My stomach twists. Am I really so terrible that she won’t even give us a chance? That she prefers to run at the first opportunity rather than let me prove to her how great we could be together? It pains me.
All I want is for her to see me for the man I am. To give me a chance to love her, to give her everything she wants, to cherish and adore her every single fucking day.
But all she sees is the mafia don. The brutal man in a twisted world of blood and duty. What she doesn’t understand is that she’s the only bright spot in all of this. She’s the reason I’m here, that I agreed to this position. I needed to be good enough for her, to prove I am worthy for her hand in marriage. Only a don stands as an equal to Elena, my princess and future queen.
