“How many people were alive when we left The Den the other night?”
He blinked, glancing between me and my brother like we’d just asked him a fucking math question. “Except for Tony, all of them.”
I looked at Lorenzo. “I deserve a little more credit, brother,” I grunted, my barely controlled restraint nipping at my tendons.
He looked unconvinced for a moment, his cold gaze drifting from me to Gian and back again, calculating. He cursed under his breath. “Where’s Dario?”
As if summoned just by his boss’s temper, the big man walked in. “Renz?”
Lorenzo pointed to the phone screen still lit with the carnage. “Call Scott. I want everything. Who was there, who walked out, who’s missing, who’s talking. Heads are going to roll, and I want to be the one holding the blade.”
“Sure thing.” Dario walked out taking Gian with him, closing the door with a soft click.
Lorenzo crossed the room to the bar and poured himself a brandy neat, downed it in one swallow before pouring a refill, adding a second glass. He walked back toward me, holding out the drink.
I took it and knocked it back in a single toss, the burn sliding down my throat and settling low in my chest. “I don’t know what the fucks going on, Renz but you know I’d never lie to you.” I might be as fucked-up as they come. Unstable. Too quick with my hands. My brother’s trust, however, was not something I’d gamble with.
His expression shifted then, the tension easing just enough to remind me we were still on the same side. “Always.” He exhaled slowly, staring at nothing for a moment before looking back at me. “I have a feeling someone’s trying to send a message. And they want it to look like you.”
“What else is new?” I muttered; aware my enemies increased daily.
“Elio?”
The name hung in the air between us, a fuse already lit and enflamed and I let it burn for a second before I answered, turning the possibilities over in my head with more patience than I was known for. I shook my head slowly and relayed what I’d learned about Elio’s plan to use Michael to bleed us dry, to siphon funds in increments so small we might not notice until the damage was done.
“Death by bankruptcy,” I said, amused. “They’re brutal fuckers, no doubt about that, but I don’t think the cartel would want to draw this kind of attention. A massacre like that puts heat on everyone. They prefer rot. Slow and quiet.”
Lorenzo listened without interrupting, his gold ring tapping once against the side of his glass before he set it down, untouched. His mind worked differently from mine, less instinct, more pattern, and I could see him sketching lines between motives and outcomes the way I traced throats with a blade.
“Let’s try to stay on top of this,” he said finally, his tone measured, already shifting into strategy.
“Easier said than done, brother.” I dragged my hand down my face, the skin still tight from dried blood I hadn’t bothered to wash off and rolled my neck until it cracked.
The tension had nowhere to go and I hated that more than open conflict. Give me a target and I’d end it. Give me smoke and I had to wait.
I moved toward the door, needing air. “Enjoy Arturo’s party,” I added over my shoulder, referring to a don who expected miracles from his enemies.
Over the last year he’d tried in vain to get us to sell him the main port in Italy, offering us numbers that insulted us both, pretending it was business when it was really ego and now, he’d invited my brother to his fortieth birthday celebration.
“You should come.”
I paused, hand resting on the handle, and glanced back at him “I have better things to do than party with a monkey.”
Arturo’s voice alone could sour a room. He mistook patience for weakness and restraint for fear, and every time we sat across from each other, he tried to needle me, to provoke a reaction he could use later. I’d never given him the satisfaction. It bothered him more than if I’d broken his nose.
“Besides, I doubt he invited me.”
“Keep your enemies closer,Fratello.” It was more brotherly advice than an order.
I held his gaze for a moment, weighing it. He wasn’t wrong. Men like Arturo thrived in rooms full of witnesses, in laughter and champagne and false alliances. If someone was orchestrating something larger, a party of that magnitude was fertile ground, too many egos in one place.
“Maybe I should attend just to fuck with him.” I grinned, the idea settling in my chest with a familiar edge. If I walked into that room, Arturo wouldn’t know whether to smile or reach for his gun. Either way, I’d enjoy it.
Lorenzo’s chuckle followed me out the door.
six
. . .
