Matteo was willing to listen.
I was not.
Especially when they were muscling in on our territory.And especially not when Valentina showed up in downtown Houston like she owned the damn streets.
“Matteo is furious,” Dario adds.
And I don’t blame him.
This mess is squarely on me.Not just as underboss, but as the man who kidnapped the Russo girl, allowed the Russo convoy to be hit, and allowed the breach of the cathedral.
That he hasn’t taken me out yet says something about family ties.
I take a slow sip of whiskey, letting the burn settle low in my chest.
“What’s the latest from the Russos?”
He shrugs one shoulder.“They say they will take our reassurances under advisement.”
The same polite fiction we offered them after Raffaele died.
But then Nico adds something else.
“And they insist the man who showed up at the cathedral wasn’t theirs.”
The room stills again.
Dario leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he studies Nico.
“Bullshit.”
“Maybe,” Nico says calmly.“Maybe not.”
I take a slow drink of whiskey.
The warmth settles in my chest as I consider the morning again—the flash of steel in his hand, the stubborn fury when I blocked him from gaining access to my bride.
“He claimed he was Russo,” I say.
Dario nods.
Nico is more measured.“Anyone can claim anything.”
Dario glances between the two of us, impatience creeping into his expression.“So what are we saying here?”
The question hangs in the air between us.
Two incidents.
One morning.
A convoy crash on a Houston interchange.
A man attempting to take my future wife from me.
Which leaves only one possibility.
There’s something we’re missing.
