Or was it calculated?
I need to know. I want to get under his skin. Into his brain. Eat him from the inside out.
My phone buzzes angrily against the desk. Messages have been coming in all night and all morning, news about the attempted assassination, which everyone seems to think was meant for someone higher up the food chain. D’Amato, probably, or Big Gee. They were both nearby. But I know who the target was.
I know because I took the knife for him.
This message, though, can’t be ignored: a direct summons from the Underboss. Sebastiano isn’t even requesting a response with his terse instructions.
Ristorante Aglio. 12:30.
But as I head into the bathroom to strip off the blood-soaked bandage so I can change it myself, Caligula’s words still echo in my head.
I was worried about you, you asshole.
CHAPTER 26
DAMIANO
The restaurant Sebhas called me to is Family-owned—not in the way online reviews like to highlight, but in the way that every server, every chef, even every customer is carefully vetted. Outsiders who walk in and try to get a table will find that the place is fully booked, even when completely empty. The owner who greets me on entry has respect in his eyes. He knows who I am. And everyone here owes the Giuliano Family something—money, information, silence.
Just like Caligula Clemenza owesmeeverything now, whether he wants to admit it or not.
Sebastiano sits alone at a back corner table, already halfway through a glass of red, the bottle waiting on the table. When I approach, he shoots to his feet.
“Jesus Christ, Orsini.” He grips me hard, and I have to try not to wince when he squeezes right over the area with the knife wound. “After last night at the opera—and then no replies to my texts?—”
“I’m fine.” I slide into the booth, and he pours me a glass of wine. I take a few gulps. I never learned how to drink it. Alwaystastes the same to me, and it’s not something I want to savor, just swallow. Get the effects faster. That’s the point of alcohol, no matter how wine snobs might talk it up. Booze is to help blunt reality.
“You and the Clemenza boy…” Seb begins slowly.
He’s not a boy, I want to say, but I hold my tongue. And before he can find a way to finish his thought, my usual meal appears before me without having to order it—lasagna, steaming and simple. But my stomach churns looking at it, because Seb’s relief at seeing me is already shifting into something else.
“Look, I’m sorry about the Red Hook job,” I say, trying to deflect further conversation about Caligula. “I know I went too hard on them.”
Seb waves his hand, almost irritated. “They got the message. That’s not why I called you in. It’s about last night. Everyone seems to think that street rat was after D’Amato or his husband—but he was clearly headed for the Clemenza. So why the fuck were you there with the boy in the first place?”
“He’s not a boy,” I growl, and take another few swallows of wine. I don’t want to get into another argument with Seb, but he’s sure making it difficult. “I was there because Big Geetoldme to be there. He wanted me to take the Clemenza to a public place to show him off, show the Families I’m still playing ball.”Still on the leash, I don’t add.
Seb’s voice sharpens. “Big Geetold you to take him to the opera?” I just nod, my mouth full of meat sauce. When he speaks next, he almost sounds distracted. “You spoke to him?”
I nod again, reaching for the wine to pour myself another in my now-empty glass.
Seb runs a hand over his face. He looks troubled. “Listen. I saw you last night.”
He saw mefondling the Clemenza? I have to set the bottle down before I spill red wine everywhere.
“When I heard you’d bought him, I…” He looks away with a grimace. “Well, I thought some pretty nasty shit about you—and hell, I know you want to do right by your dad. But a man who wants someone dead doesn’t take a knife for them.” He looks me right in the face, eyes sincere. “You really did protect him last night. I watched you do it. And I want to believe you, Orsini. I’mchoosingto believe you, that you acted out of honor when you bought him at the Obelisk. But if I find out that you’re hurting that kid?—”
“You won’t,” I say. Because he won’t find out.
“I still wish you’d come to me or Big Gee before buying him…but you were right to keep him from the Russians.”
I have to drink down a whole glass again while I take that in. Sebastiano Conti is way too good a man for this life he’s in. He likes to see the best in others. And now he’s convinced himself that the lie I told him was true, that I only bought the Clemenza for the good of the Family, out of loyalty instead of…
“Yeah, well,” I say at last, setting down my empty glass again. “I owe you an apology, too. I spilled to Big Gee because he rolled up to my place wanting an explanation, and so I assumed you’d told him. Kinda threw you under the bus without meaning to. I guess he heard about it from somewhere else.”
A look of understanding passes through Seb’s eyes, and he actually chuckles. “Well, that explains a few of the side-eyes Big Gee’s been giving me the last few days. I’ll have a talk with him,smooth it over.” He extends a hand. “As for you and me—I hope we’re good.”
