“You don’t have any objections, Tony?”
My hands tighten around the edge of the desk. A bitter smirk forms on my lips as I answer, “Would it matter if I objected? You’re kicking me out of my own fucking country.”
Carlo leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, his polished bald head catching the light as he stares me down.
Don Fernando takes a slow drag from his cigar, the ember glowing bright before he exhales a cloud of smoke through his nose.
“On the contrary,” he says. “I’m giving you the empire you’ve always wanted. I’m placing the crown you deserve on your head. You’ve been a loyal and capable minister, Tony, but I can’t ignore the truth: you have the soul of a king. You will never find happiness here in Italy.”
Giuseppe’s eyes widen, and my pulse kicks up a beat.
Does he mean what I think he does?
His next words make it clear that he does.
“From now on, Chicago’s yours. Full control. Expand however you want. Up until now, we’ve treated that branch as a minor stream of income, but we all know Chicago’s potential. It’s yours to unleash. Any profit you make is yours to keep, entirely. You’re even free to decide whether or not to use us as your supplier. This is my gift to you, Tony.”
I let out the breath I’ve been holding.This is everything I’ve ever wanted. Hell, it’s more than I ever thought Fernando would give me, even in my wildest dreams.
Giuseppe looks like he’s about to speak, but one look at the deepening scowl on Fernando’s face shuts him up. Good.
Carlo, on the other hand, remains slouched in his chair, his face blank, unreadable. His gaze drifts lazily across the room.
No objections? Not a small act of resistance?
Don Fernando rises to his feet, his voice final as he addresses the room.
“There’s nothing more to discuss. Everyone except Tony is dismissed.”
Carlo stands first, leaving without a word. Giuseppe turns to follow Brando, but I stop him by calling his name.
He halts near the doorway, looking at me with a questioning gaze. I walk over, pull the photo from my pocket, and hand it to him.
“Your men snatched this girl from her village three days ago.”
Giuseppe looks at the picture. Recognition flashes across his face, then a grin spreads far too wide. The sick bastard.
“Yeah, the whiny one, crying for daddy. Don’t worry, she’ll have plenty of ‘daddies’ to break her soon enough.”
“Tell your men to bring her to the casino tonight. And take her off your sale list,” I say.
Giuseppe’s brows draw together, his round, bloated face flushing red with anger. “You’re in no position to give me orders.”
“Yes, he is,” Don Fernando’s steady voice rings out. “He’s a Bruni. When a Bruni tells you to do something, you do it, no questions asked.”
Giuseppe huffs, his hand resting on his swollen gut as his fingers tap rhythmically in frustration.
“But this ismybusiness, Don Fernando.”
“A business that runs without my protection. I told you before, I won’t back you. Now stop wasting my time and get out.”
Giuseppe knows better than to challenge my uncle and walks out quietly.
Don Fernando lowers himself onto the couch, grinding his cigar into the ashtray before giving me a quick command.
“Pour us a Scotch.”
Under any other circumstances, being treated like a bartender would’ve rubbed me the wrong way. But tonight, the drink feels necessary, a private celebration between just the two of us.
