"I'm not going to kill you." I smile, slow and cold, and he flinches, his eyes going wide with fear. "That would be too easy. Too quick. No, Vincent, I'm going to make sure you understand what happens when you question the don's authority."
I move before he can react, my fist driving into his solar plexus hard enough to double him over. He gasps, trying to suck in air, and I grab him by the back of his neck and slam his face down onto the table. The impact makes a sound like a gunshot, and I feel his nose break beneath the force of it. Blood sprays across the table and the cards that had been laid out for a game, across my hands.
Vincent tries to push himself up and fight back, but I don't let him. I grab his right hand—the hand he uses to hold a gun, to make deals, to shake hands with the people he's supposed to be leading—and I slam it down on the table, pinning it in place.
"You want to question authority?" My voice is perfectly calm and controlled, nothing like what I feel inside—that surge of adrenaline that makes me feel almost dizzy with how satisfying it is, the sensation of being in control again. "You want to express concerns? Let me give you something to be concerned about."
I pick up a heavy glass ashtray from the table and bring it down on his hand with all the force I can muster.
The sound of bones breaking echoes through the club like firecrackers. Vincent screams, a sound of pure agony that makes his two crew members start forward. Tony and his men draw their guns immediately, making it clear that anyone who interferes is going to end up in the same condition.
I hit Vincent's hand again, and again. Each impact breaks more bones and turns his fingers into a mangled mess of blood and shattered cartilage. By the time I'm done, his hand looks like something that's been put through a meat grinder.
He's sobbing, his face pressed against the table, his body shaking with pain and shock. I drop the ashtray and grab Vincent by his hair, forcing him to look at me.
"You're done as a capo," I say quietly. "You're done making decisions, done leading men, done having any authority in this organization. From now on, you're a soldier. You take orders. You do what you're told. And if you ever question Dante's authority again, I'm going to come back and finish what I started. Do you understand?"
He nods frantically, blood and tears streaming down his face, his ruined hand cradled against his chest.
"Good." I release him and step back, looking at his two crew members. "Get him to a hospital. Tell them he had an accident. And make sure everyone in this organization knows what happens when you forget your place."
I walk out of the club, Tony and his men following.
—
I reportto Romeo at six that evening, meeting him in his office at the Ciresa house. Dante is there too, sitting in one of the leather chairs near the window with a glass of scotch in his hand.
"It's done," I say without preamble. "The Rossi family won't be operating in our territory anymore. The protection money has been collected. And Vincent Calabrese understands that questioning your authority has consequences."
Romeo nods, his expression grave. "How bad?"
"The Rossi soldier I dealt with is in the hospital with a fractured skull and broken ribs. He'll live, but he won't forget. Vincent Calabrese has a shattered hand. He's been demoted to a soldier. And everyone who witnessed what happened understands that the Ciresa family is not weak."
Dante takes a slow sip of his scotch, his eyes studying me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. "You enjoyed it," he says finally. "The violence. I can see it in your eyes."
The observation is so accurate and cutting that I don't know how to respond. Because he's right. I did enjoy it. I enjoyed the power and the control, the way it made me feel like I was in charge of something when everything else in my life is falling apart.
"It was necessary," I say finally.
"Necessary and enjoyable aren't mutually exclusive." Dante stands, moving closer, and I have to fight the urge to step back. "You're angry, Luca. Furious. And you're channeling that anger into your work. That's good—it makes you effective and dangerous—exactly the kind of man I need in this organization. But anger is a tool. You need to control it, not let it control you. Because if you lose that control, if you let the rage take over completely, you'll become a liability instead of an asset. Do you understand?"
I nod sharply. "Yes, sir."
"Good." He returns to his chair, dismissing me with a gesture. "Romeo, brief him on the Marchesi situation."
Romeo's expression darkens. "We're postponing the operation. The internal instability needs to be resolved before we can move against the Marchesi family. We can't afford to be fighting on two fronts."
My jaw tightens. If I hadn't gotten involved with Giulia, if I hadn't let my feelings override my judgment, none of this would be happening. The Marchesi operation would be moving forward. The organization would be stable. And I wouldn't be standing here with blood on my hands and the terrible knowledge that I've damaged the family I've sworn to protect.
"How long?" I ask.
"Until after the wedding and things settle down. Until everyone understands that the Ciresa family is still the most powerful organization in New York. We'll revisit the Marchesi situation in a few months, once we've reestablished our position."
My hands clench as I think about what that time will entail for me—a few months of living with Giulia, pretending to be a happy couple, watching her stomach grow with my child while I try to figure out how to survive each day without losing my mind completely.
"Understood," I say.
"You're dismissed," Dante says. "Get some rest. You look like hell."
