Done, I raised the glass to my lips and tossed back the drink in one go. The whiskey burned down my throat but not enough to wash away the taste of Arturo’s words.
“How do you want to play this?” I finally met my brother’s gaze.
“Dario!” he yelled. The big man appeared a second later. “Get me details on who’s been near the Marseille’s shipment. Manifest, crew, anyone who’s so much as fucking sneezedon a damn crate.” He paused, his expression thoughtful then continued, “we’re meeting Arturo at the Riva del Garda pier tonight, get our best team together and tell no one else. We’ll land on the outskirts of Porto Nerosa and drive the rest of the way.”
“You planning to give him the port?” I asked after Dario left.
Lorenzo studied me for a silent moment. “Do you love her, Remo?”
“The fuck?” I snorted. “I don’t do love shit, brother.”
“Your response to Arturo’s threat says otherwise.” He had me by the balls and he knew it. Sighing, he stood. “Don’t fear it, Remo because sometimes love is all the ammunition we need to survive this fucked up world we live in.” I had no answer for him. “Sit. I’ll share my thoughts.”
Twenty minutes later, not entirely satisfied with his plan, I headed out. Given the stakes though, we both decided it was the best one, for now.
Outside, the cool air did nothing for the heat rolling through me. Arturo’s voice still echoed in my head. The port. The shipment. Ishika. Threats wrapped in civility.
Father had trusted Arturo’s father once. Shared routes, shipments, arms and men. But times changed when Mother took over, her kind of power was incomparable even to the toughest of dons. She either made grown men weep or fucked cubs into subservience.
Now, those grown wolves were circling, assuming her sons were lambs they could chew and spit out at will. Reality, they had no idea what we were.
forty-eight
. . .
Remo– 36 years old
I told Lorenzo to give me an hour because I couldn’t shake the thought of her in danger. Arturo wasn’t the kind of man who issued warnings for sport. Unlike me who went after someone cocksure, if Arturo wanted to send a message, he’d carve into the people who mattered most. And right now, Ishika mattered more than she should.
The city faded behind me, traded for winding roads permeated with the smell of wet stone and citrus. Her little villa sat on a quiet street where the air was pure, untouched by the kind of filth that built empires like mine.
When I drew closer, I slowed down and stopped across the street. She was already on the upstairs terrace, sunlight glinting flecks of red on her dark hair, a robe hanging loose around sleep shorts and a tank top, her smile wide. Immediately my lips tightened into a scowl when my gaze shifted to Gian. With his back to me, leaning against the rail, and so deep in conversation with her, they both didn’t notice my approach.
I stepped down, opened the backdoor to let Duke out, nodded to the two men stationed outside her front doorand entered. Upstairs, I glanced around the elegant all-white bedroom and gestured to Duke to sit. He settled down on the carpet at the foot of the bed. I paused on the threshold to the terrace, catching bits of conversation. At least she was talking about work.
“Is this what I pay you do?” I snapped, loud enough to make them both jump.
Gian shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry, boss.”
“Get the fuck out,” I snarled then turned my attention on Ishika and that fucking impish smile of hers. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
“Clothes.” She shrugged.
“For fucks sake.” I cupped my nape, not sure who I was more annoyed with. Myself for staking a claim I didn’t want to, or her, for that innocence I fucking craved.
“Is Remo Rossi jealous?” she taunted then burst out laughing at my hardened glare.
“Pack a bag.” My voice left no room for argument. “We’re leaving.”
Her brows lifted. “Excuse me?”
Until this moment, I’d had no plan of action for her, just running on the fumes of Arturo’s threat. “You’re coming with me. Now.”
She stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “Did something happen?”
“A man we don’t play nicely with, knows about you.”
That wiped the color from her face, but she recovered faster than most people would when they realized a man like Arturo had their name on his tongue. “So what?” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not running.”
