Left to finish this job or to live if I fail.
Dinner is uneventful as the families chat amongst themselves, talking about vacations and children. All four are pictures of domesticity once the women join the conversations. The syndicate world is supposed to be the men’s domain. Women are supposed to be untouchable. If you don’t see that the women at those family tables are the deadliest here, you don’t grasp what it means to be a wife and mother.
I’ll keep a wide berth from Catalina De Santos Diaz. She won’t think twice about skinning me alive and feeding me my skin if she knows I’ve had even one thought about harming her son. Alejandro’s her only child, so her attention’s undivided.
This might appear like a charity event with the richest of the rich here, but it’s also a room filled with the most infamous men in NYC. It makes the mothers extra protective of their young and the women extra territorial of their husbands. It’s a den filled with she-wolves and lionesses waiting to gut you with a smile.
“Worried about Catalina?”
“I’d be a fool not to. His aunts aren’t any less ferocious. You know who Elodie is. You know she’s the deadliest person here.”
Enrique Diaz, thejefe de jefes, married a woman the underworld believed disappeared. Oh, no. The woman’s a psychological thriller author now. She was an accountant for years. But those aren’t her only sets of skills. She makes me look like I’m still riding with training wheels on.
“You really think she’s worse than her husband, the most notorious narco in the world?”
“You haven’t seen her work—or the remains.”
“I wouldn’t underestimate his other aunts. Margherita and Luciana have their own earned reputations.”
“Believe me, I know.”
I shift my gaze from the Diaz family before any of them sense I’m watching them. I look at the women from the other families.
“How much do you know about the families?” I whisper this because we’re risking a ton having this conversation where someone could overhear.
“You know I keep my work mostly overseas these days. I prefer Switzerland to America. I’ll take fresh snow over New York’s stench.”
I force myself not to roll my eyes. Patrick’s cultivated his playboy image, and he has the money to maintain it.
“The three O’Rourkes sisters who married three brothers are a force no one wants to reckon with. They’ve been a mob boss’s daughter and sister. They’re mob wives and mothers now. One’s the current boss’s mother, and the other two are his aunts. They once put a hit out on a guy, and he’s been a vegetable since. They did it just to remind their brother—the then-boss—that he might’ve been the head of the family, but they were the hands that turned it. The women who married into the O’Rourke family are no shrinking violets either. Some people might befoolish enough to believe they’re trophy wives because they’re all stunning. But they can all wield a knife and a gun with precision.”
I scan our surroundings, knowing what I risk gossiping. But if shit goes sideways tonight, which it easily could, I need Patrick to know it’s the women who’ll shoot and stab first and fastest. With diamond rings the Space Station could see, he could easily underestimate these women. I’m not looking to die tonight or drag his ass out by the collar.
“And the other two families? Just as bad?”
“As bad or worse. The women who married into the Kutsenkos-Andreyev family are no milder. The three older bratva wives—” I nudge my chin toward the most stunning woman most people have ever seen—Galina Kutsenko—and the bratva leaders’ mother. “—survived growing up in Moscow with husbands who were in the KGB and old school Moscow bratva. Galina and Svetlana are sisters, and Alina’s Galina’s best friend. The younger wives all have complicated family histories with syndicates that have forced them to defend themselves.”
“From what I’ve heard, the Mancinelli women—well, shit—they’re no better.”
Did Patrick just shiver mentioning them? I swallow my chuckle.
“The older generation of women are daughters, sisters, and wives of Mafia dons and lifelong Mafiosos. Maria Mancinelli is the most untouchable woman in NYC. She’s the don’s niece, theconsigliere’sdaughter, the underboss’s and thecapo dei capis’sister, and the wife, sister, and cousin of seniorcapos. She’s also a new mother. Sylvia’s the don’s wife and the daughter of a Palermo dons. Serafina, Carmine’s wife, is the daughter of the VenetianMala del Brentadon. Her mother is Sylvia’s sister. She’s Mafia three times over. Salvatore and Sylvia are her aunt and uncle through blood and marriage.”
“Fucking complicated.”
“Seriously. You should see the family tree I tried to make once. When you try to connect sisters who married brothers who’re linked to other syndicates or are best friends with their husband’s rival’s wife—fucking hell. Just don’t bother.”
I want to rub my forehead just thinking about it. God help the mercenaries of the world if the newest generation intermarries among the syndicates. Crime and punishment, and war and peace will have new meanings.
“You—”
I duck my head before I continue because Alejandro’s headed in our direction. I believe my disguise is good enough to keep him fooled, but the third time might not be the charm. Patrick rests his bent forefinger under my chin and presses a soft kiss to my lips. Nothing inappropriate for the event, but it’s enough to shield my face. I turn my head away, and Patrick brushes a kiss on my temple.
“Sweetheart, would you like to dance?”
The servers are clearing away the dessert plates, and couples are moving to the dance floor. Patrick’s offer will steer us in the opposite direction from Alejandro but put us closer to the Diazes. My date is a smooth dancer, but he’s nothing like Alejandro was at the club. Patrick’s competent and waltzes well, but he lacks the natural grace Alejandro has with every movement.
As we shift with the dancers, Patrick squeezes my waist. “Heads up. One of Enrique’storosis headed his way. He just came in through the east doors. He’s making a beeline toel jefe.”
