He grimaces. “Cesari.”
“Fucking Christ.” I grit my teeth and glance back to the women before meeting Dante’s eyes again. “Do you think De Angelo’s meeting today means he’s been speaking with Cesari? He’s a prick, but he’s never wasted that much of our time for a bullshit meeting before.”
Dante seems to consider my words. “The Cesari heir is new, and they do work some of the same import and export business that we do, but their primary source of income has always been money laundering. I don’t think De Angelo’s meeting was about them. He’s just a pretentious asshole who hasn’t gotten laid in a while and decided to make it our problem. If I had tohazard a guess, I’d say Cesari trying to take out your wife is a way of him showing off. Proving that he’s strong enough to face the Lucianis. You said he was in the area when you took her shopping, right?”
“Yes, but we never ran into him,” I reply. “Other than being told he was in the area, we had no interaction.”
Dante shoves a hand up through his dark strands of hair. “The heir wasn’t from the original family line, but a nephew. The shift is recent. If the old crew under his uncle are questioning his right to be the head of the family, he might be attempting to gain their admiration or loyalty.” Because nothing says loyal more than killing a man’s wife. I scowl, and Dante’s lips mimic the action, the corners of his mouth forming little lines in his skin.
I contemplate what I know of the Cesari Crime Family. “Vito Cesari died of a heart attack, didn’t he? Or is that just what the family is telling people?” It wouldn’t surprise me if someone had offed the old bastard. After all, Vito Cesari had been an angry and spiteful piece of shit, just as cruel to his friends as he was to his enemies. “It’s possible Emilio Cesari is attempting to start a war to distract the members of the family from Vito’s death.”
“Why the hell would he do a fool thing like that?” Dante demands. “The only valid reasons to start a war and kill a rival’s wife is business or—”
I cut him off. “Dishonor,” I say. His eyes widen as he catches my meaning. “If Vito didn’t die of a heart attack but was murdered, Emilio might think it was someone from our family—or that could be what he wants his people to believe.”
“Because he might have been the one to do it,” Dantesurmises, and I nod.
One thing we both know—in old Families such as ours, dishonor is a death sentence. There’s nothing more dishonorable than having a weak Family head, or having the most trusted member of a Family be the former head’s killer. Even among thieves and killers, there are rules. Admitting to such a weakness simply invites the sharks to feast. No self-respecting Italian man would ever admit to patricide—or, in Emilio’s situation, avunculicide.
“It doesn’t matter,” Dante says, waving a hand through the air. “If Cesari is after your wife, then what matters is that they are declaring war.”
“War would be an inconvenience,” I mutter, but then again, itwouldgive me an opportunity to kill the arrogant man who thought he could kill my fucking wife.
“I agree, but the Family insignia on that man’s chest has to mean that someone wants to start one,” Dante says, lowering his tone as his eyes shoot over my shoulder again.
In response, I lower mine as well. “As far as I’m aware, Vito was the only one who required that kind of proof of loyalty. As much as I hate to consider it”—and fuck, I really want to just go to Emilio Cesari, blow his brains out, and be done with this, but all avenues need to be looked at—“he could have been part of the old guard and not working under the new Cesari head’s orders.”
Dante eyes me, his brows lowering to throw shadows over his eyes. “You’re acting mighty calm for a man who almost lost his wife today—I expected you to demand Cesari’s head immediately.”
“You seem to forget,mio fratello,” I say, deeper now, “that the word you just used sums it all up—I amacting.” What I would truly like to do is bring that bastard back to life and beat him to death myself. Watch the light of life in his eyes die a slow and painful death as I use my fists, my knives, and even my favorite brass knuckles on his face, his torso, and limbs. Any man who thinks they can put their hands on what belongs to me should be reminded just why that is a bad fucking idea.
Daisy. My wife. Fuckingmine.
Anyone who dares to touch her will answer to me.
“I want to find out the truth,” I say through clenched, bared teeth. “I want the one responsible for today to bleed for their crimes. We won’t achieve that by making assumptions.”
Dante’s eyes meet mine, and after a brief moment, he nods his agreement. “Otello and Alonzo are taking care of the body,” he says, straightening up. “I should take her friend home. I’ll have a talk with her about keeping her lips sealed.”
“I’d appreciate it,” I tell him.
Dante’s attention shifts once more, and the soft murmurings of the women reach my ears, though they seem to have dropped their voices to the barest whispers. “If I were you, I’d talk to your wife about her role in the family now. I know you’re still getting used to each other, but it would be better if she knew about the potential danger she’s in.”
I bare my teeth but don’t deny the truth of his words. Instead, I turn and face the woman, leaning against the counter at his side. Daisy’s brown hair slides off one shoulder as she waves her hand animatedly in front of her. Her slender throat is bare and cleaned of blood, but the scoop neck of the shirt she changedinto showcases the tops of her breasts. It makes me want to strip it off of her and see what she looks like without any clothes at all.
Dante’s earlier words—from the conversation in the car before we got to them—comes back to me. I didn’t think much about it when we signed the papers declaring us legally wed, but I saw her age. She’s barely old enough to be on her own. Now, here she is, wife to a man like me, and honestly, I don’t know that I could let her go, even if Don Luciani said I could. I’ve started thinking of her as mine now. I like having her in my space, watching her move as she talks animatedly, seeing the parade of expressions that cross her features.
“She’s so goddamn young, D,” I find myself saying. “Younger than me. I almost regret forcing her into marriage.” I feel like a damn pervert, and yet, at the same time, I can’t help but be attracted to her. Living with her for this last week has been both a boon and a punishment, to have and not touch something so beautiful.
Dante scoffs. “She’s twenty-three, G,” he says. “She’s hardly jailbait. Besides, an eight-year age difference between partners isn’t unheard of, and I’d bet my entire bank account she’s got an iron will to rival yours. She’s an adult. You both are—just do yourself a favor and take her to bed. Cure your blue balls and make her come a few times, and everything will be right with the world.”
I stiffen but know he’s right. Dante sighs, the sound a rush of air at my side. “Deal with that—or better yet, take her out. You need to anyway. Show her off and stake your claim, make it clear to anyone watching—Cesari or otherwise—that she’syours and you’re willing to protect her. It can’t hurt.”
“Are you suggesting that I date my wife?” I ask him.
Dante chuckles again. “Why not?”
“I don’t date.”
