“Boo hoo, bro. You can take a nice long nap after we hang up,” he says, trying to make light of things, but I can hear the tension in his voice. “What news did they bring us from the other families?”
Wincing, I admit, “Not the good kind.”
The meeting I’d called on the yacht was meant to be a debriefing between myself and some of our most trusted mafia allies in Italy, including the islands of Sardinia and Sicily. It was nothing for them to jump on their private planes and fly two or three hours to my location for a rendezvous. Plus, the provision of good alcohol, fine food, and flashy women never fail to secure RSVPs and loosen tongues.
Unfortunately, our friends dropped a bomb. A big one. Not that I’m shocked. But this is the last thing Dante needs to hear right now.
“Spit it out,” my brother says impatiently.
“Here’s the deal,” I say, glancing over my shoulder to confirm that nobody is within earshot. “The Brunos are seeking an alliance with the Russian mob.”
“Fucking Christ.”
“Indeed. Sergio thinks it’ll give him leverage.”
“Of course it gives him leverage!” Dante explodes. “The Bratva aren’t evenorganizedcrime. They’re bands of free agents with no rules, no hierarchy, no code of honor. They’re fucking sociopaths! Not to mention, literally untouchable. There’s so much bribery going on with law enforcement in that country, nobody ever gets caught. The Bratva think they’re gods. We can’t get mixed up in that.”
I let out a sigh. “I know all of this, Dante.”
And I can see the appeal of such a partnership, too. I’ve never heard of an Italian family joining forces with the Russians, but the manpower and absolute disregard for human decency make the Bratva powerful allies for deranged men.
He’s quiet for a beat, and I give him room to process everything.
“So, what, our friends are getting cold feet now?” he finally says. “They must know that if the Russians get involved, all bets are off. We’re talking World War Three.”
“They know that. Which is why I’veassuredthem that we’re going to prevent this nasty little collaboration at all costs,” I say. “And we will.”
“How the hell do you plan to do that?”
“Just trust me,” I say.
“You have no fucking idea,” Dante says.
“I have no fucking idea,” I admit.
Leaning over the railing, I take a deep breath of sea air and try to come up with something.
“Who do we know that might have an in with the Russians?” I ask.
“That’s your area of expertise, brother.”
“I’m drawing a blank. Can you touch base with Clayton about it and have him call me?”
“Will do,” Dante says.
“Appreciate it. I’d better let you go and work on that.”
“Wait. One more thing,” he says. “Do you think it’s possible Candi knew about this Bratva thing already, and withheld the info from you? Because if so, you need to make itabundantlyclear that this kind of secrecy poses a danger not just to us, but to her as well. You get me? She should be punished.”
A flare of aggression ignites in my chest. But just because I’m instinctively protective of Candi doesn’t mean I’m unwilling to consider Dante’s words. He’s right about one thing—if she purposely fucked us out of vital intel, she does deserve to be punished. This is a matter of life and death. Potentially lots of death.
I work my jaw to the side, considering.
“No,” I say after a moment. “The Brunos never would have let her in on something like that. It would have made her a walking liability. She was just a runner for them. Her only job was to spy on us.”
“Hm. Guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”
There’s a beat of silence. My brain is still spinning and I’m sure Dante’s is, too.
