“Proof?” This fucker wanted proof? “Haven’t you seen his wife? Banged up and frightened?”
“Never.” The don held up a finger. “And before you say anything else, might I add that your source might not be the most credible.”
I took a step forward. “Did you just suggest my wife lies?”
“Gabby’s always seemed a good girl, but I’ve heard rumors that would twist even your gut, ragazzo.”
Great! Even this old fuck knew more about my wife than I did.
Shaking my head, I stayed focused. “You call yourself a leader but you don’t protect your own people.”
“And you do?” Don Morelli lifted a brow. “My condolences about your father, by the way.”
That was the last straw.
One moment, I was a few feet away from him.
The next, I had his sweatshirt in my fists.
“He needs to know that my wife is off limits,” I menaced.
It was that simple.
Don Morelli was unfazed. He took a sip of his bleeding bottle, despite being bent over and in the grasp of a madman.
“You kill him, and you’ll start a war.”
“I’m not killing him.”Yet.
No threat of war was stopping his death. My wife was worth it. I would already be waiting in the shadows to kill the fecker if this charade wasn’t necessary. But it was the only way to make my little bird sing. So for now, we played the game and pretended that Deluca would escape unscathed with no more than a warning.
The wheels of a car squealed as the vehicle took the corner too fast. A tan sedan shot down the street. Brakes whined.
I saw the gunman right as he pointed the long rifle at us.
Time slowed to a handful of heartbeats. I twisted and grabbed the don. The gun popped. Morelli fell to the porch. Before I could join him, pain lanced my upper arm.
As the wooden planks rose up to meet me, the engine screamed in acceleration.
“Che cazzo!” Don Morelli thundered.
I gripped my upper arm, rolling over to see red lights disappearing down the road. “Fuck.”
The don swiped a hand through his hair. “Your friend?”
“How do you know it wasn’t yours?” I pushed up to sit, examining the leaking cut on my right bicep.
At least the gunman missed.
Don Morelli chuckled ruefully. “I know my enemies, ragazzo.”
I tugged off my jacket and pressed it on the wound.
“And,” the don sighed, rising and grabbing the unopened beer. “You’re not one of them. I’ll deal with Deluca.”
He held out the bottle.
It was better than nothing. I accepted the olive branch.
