“To kill you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Alejandro
Hearing any man—especially one Vita clearly has a past with—threaten her makes me want to bay at the moon. My best guess is that he was a serious boyfriend for a long time. The way he looks at her is part longing and part resentment. He’s not over her. She’s the one who got away. From her tone and how we’ve fucked, she doesn’t feel the same way about him.
If only I could make his death slow, but I won’t have that luxury.
Whoever tied my ropes wasn’t meant for the navy. I’ve been slow with each step to ensure my shoulders don’t move. I’ve already untied one knot, and the rope’s loosened significantly. I don’t know if Vita’s been buying us time by dragging out the conversation or she knows these two won’t be more forthcoming. Either way, I’m making progress. I wish I could look over to see if she is too.
“Zorzi, did you put the hit on me? Or did you find out Vittoria moved on with me, got pissed, then stuck your nose in this?”
“He couldn’t afford the hit.” Vita’s comment is nothing less than snide.
I still can’t reason through who wants to kill me enough that they’re taking on my entire family. There’s no way they wouldn’t avenge me. When my great-uncle murdered his own brother—Mamá’s papá—mytíoswent on a rampage through Bogotá. There’re places that are still in rubble thirty-odd years later. They destroyed everything in their path—buildings, careers, lives, government offices. They punished anyone who’d ever looked uponTíoHumberto with a moment’s approval.
They ensured no one doubtedlos Diazrule Colombia.
What we giveth, we taketh.
WhenTíoHumberto helped pay for a rival to murderTíoEstebanright in frontTres J’s, TíaLuciana made mytíos’brutality look like child’s play. She caught the men, beheaded them, and threw their heads into busy streets in the most dangerous part of Bogotá to be knocked around like soccer balls. Then she had the men’s bodies strung upside down from the busiest bridge in the city. She hacked off ahuevofrom the man who orchestrated the hit and sent it gift wrapped to the man’s wife. She included a note that said if she couldn’t have her man, then the woman wouldn’t have hers either. She ensuredeveryoneunderstood that the Diaz women don’t play when it comes to family.
Needless to say, this incident won’t go over well with them.TíaLuciana’s the most easygoing in the family even ifMamáandPapáare more outgoing. If mytía’sreaction to her husband’s death was anything to go by, I can’t even conceive of what my death would do to my mother. And I say this as a man with no limits.Papáwon’t stop her either. He’ll guard her back.
I consider what Vita just said about this Zorzi fuck not affording the hit.
“You haveMala del Brentamen, but I suspect you’re working independently. Who did I piss off enough to convince you to go against your don and agree with an unsanctioned hit?”
“Who said it’s unsanctioned?”
I laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
Zorzi sounds like an irritated toddler who had his favorite toy taken away. Before I can answer, Vita speaks up.
“You’re holding the nephew of the most powerful man in the Western Hemisphere.”
“Bullshit. Enrique Diaz has an overinflated opinion of himself, and his family spouts that shit, hoping to intimidate people into obedience. He’s nothing but avu cump?—”
“Don’t you dare finish that, youpezzo di merda!”
Vita sounds like she’s about to come unglued. Whatever Zorzi was about to say was enough for Vita to go on the attack. I finally fully look over at her, and she’s beyond livid. She glances at me.
“He was about to use an extremely derogatory term for immigrants.”
“Immigrant? I was born here.”
I don’t know how that phrase could be that bad, but it struck a nerve with her. Maybe she’s just as over the top protective as I am. It’s an odd realization since she’s not part of my immediate family. Nothing in the world comes above family, and from that, loyalty, honor, and duty are ingrained into our core. I expect that kind of defensiveness from someone I share DNA with. I’m unused to it from an outsider. Maybe it’s a sign she’s accepted what I already know—we’re soulmates.
I feel the rope loosen enough to pull it over the heel of my hand. I strain to sense anyone else who might lurk far behind me but could assist Zorzi and Cosima. Unless the person has a high-powered rifle, I doubt they could hit me faster than I can get my knife out and kill both Zorzi and Cosima.
I’ve carried the knife that’s in my left pocket since I was twelve. The rivalries in NYC are so heated that boys carry knivesmuch younger than in other syndicates. My generation might not have gone on missions until we were sixteen, but we got into bloody fights while in middle school. The closest we’ve come to an outright street war was high school when a melee broke out at a party the Four Families all accidentally showed up to. We had different friend groups, so we never socialized together.
That night, no one got the memo.
Maria Mancinelli’s Spanish wasn’t as good as it is now. She misheard Javier and thought he called her a flat chested bitch when he was warning Joaquin, who was a senior, to stay away from Maria’s friend, who had a crush on him. Maria lost her shit and called out to Carmine, who had Gabriele next to him—of course, because they share a set ofhuevos.
