Nodding, I rack my brain for something I can give this man. What have I learned about the Bellantis that could be considered a weakness? Nothing, unless love for their family counts. That’s not information I’m going to share. But admitting that I’ve uncovered nothing of value will only decreasemyvalue. It’s terrifying to think what that might mean for me.
“Nothing solid, yet, that I’ve been able to pinpoint.” Willing my voice to sound more confident, I lift my chin. “The Bellantis run an extremely well-controlled outfit, as you know. If they ever had any weaknesses, they were probably addressed long ago.”
That’s a lie. Sometimes I think they’re one pull of the string away from being anything but controlled. Marco doesn’t seem to follow any kind of rules, at least not the ones set forth by Dante…and Armani seems like he wants to run the whole show instead of his older brother.
But I also suspect Armani is the first to go AWOL when there’s heat on the family—and you can’t be a steady, diplomatic leader when you have a hair trigger. Not that I have anything to give Sergio that proves there’s internal discord, specifically. Besides, all families bicker. It’s unlikely the Bellanti empire is at risk of toppling anytime soon.
“Their security?” Juliana suggests helpfully. “Systems, manpower, connections…”
“Um, nothing specific. All the main entrances are guarded with security cameras, coded alarms, and a physical guard that completes a total perimeter check every four hours. The same for the winery. They have motion sensors and floodlights and cameras around the entire complex. I haven’t met the entire security staff, but they’ve got at least a dozen men per shift.”
Another lie. It’s six. But the Brunos don’t need to know that. And I sure as hell am not going to mention anything about the Deep Cellar. In fact, I hope I never have a reason to mention it—or even think about it again—for the rest of my life. If I could, I’d just blot it right out of my mind permanently. Those images will haunt me forever.
However…there is one thing I could share. Kaspar. Armani said the man recently defected, that he knows enough about the Bellantis to be a liability. My pulse thumps loudly in my ears, cold sweat rolling down my back. Should I say something?
A flash of Armani’s face plays in my mind. I’m trapped between two powerful men, but the difference is that I lie beside one in bed every night. Armani will read me like an open book if I’m not careful. On the other hand, Sergio will smell my lies a mile away.
Well. I can’t lie if I don’t speak.
Gulping more wine, I flash an apologetic smile, praying it covers my guilt.
“Candi went with Armani to the Bellanti warehouses just this morning,” Juliana pipes up. Damn her. “Maybe she saw something we can use.”
“It was just workers shipping crates of wine,” I deflect. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I saw the waybills and everything. It was mostly specialty wines going to Europe and the UAE.”
“That’s not wine,” Sergio scoffs, as if I’m a complete fool.
“What do you mean? I saw the bottles,” I insist.
Sergio and Juliana look at each other and laugh. It’s a joke I’m not in on. She leans over and pats my hand like I’m an idiot, but doesn’t explain. Clearly, they know something that I don’t. What did I miss? Armani had shown me the shipment paperwork, but we weren’t at the warehouse for long. I guess I didn’t even go inside the second warehouse, did I?
“What kinds of shipping containers are they using?” Sergio asks.
My forehead scrunches. “Crates? Large, wooden crates. And those long metal box containers that go onto the ship once they’re loaded up.”
There had been several of those metal containers on the far end, but I can’t recall if they were stamped with anything identifying them as Bellanti. Probably not, but I can’t say for sure.
Juliana glances at her uncle and then clears her throat. “Candi, hon. They aren’t shipping wine. Notjustwine, anyway.”
I blink. “They’re not?”
She shakes her head, that excited aura around her making a fresh appearance. “Think about it. They’re one of the oldest families in the area. How did they grow their fortune? Not from the wine. They have what, ten acres of vines? That’s nothing.”
“It’s closer to twenty now,” I correct.
“Whatever,” Jules huffs. “They grew their name and their wealth the old-fashioned way.”
Though I’ve only been a part of the Bellanti household a short while, it’s been easy to purposely ignore that they are, indeed, a mob family. Mob families do criminal things. Bad things. And hadn’t Armani said that bad things lived inside his father? Did I not see the goddamn Bellanti torture chamber with my own eyes? Something like that stains everything it touches.
“What’s the old-fashioned way?” I ask.
Sergio scoffs, clearly losing patience. “Are you really so dense? You’ve learned absolutely nothing about the Bellantis, have you? What, are you completely dick whipped?”
His insult stuns me into shocked silence, and I feel hot shame flooding my cheeks. As crude as he’s being, Sergio is right. I’ve let my feelings—and yes, my lust—for Armani cloud my judgment, compromise my mission. Fuck.
“Money laundering, for one,” Jules says coolly. “Those shipping containers? They’re probably carrying women who are so drugged up, they’ll wake up on another continent with no idea who they are or where they came from. Then they’ll be auctioned off to the sex trade. And the wine crates are just a cover for concealed drugs and weapons making their way overseas.”
No. I don’t believe it. Ican’tbelieve it. Armani might be a lot of things, but he’d never get involved in sex trafficking. And drugs? Surely I would have noticed something by now.
