“That’s the gist of it,” I say. “Though I’m not trying to tell you what to do with your thumbs.”
Dante looks at me skeptically. The shadows under his eyes speak to how little he’s been sleeping since he and Frankie brought the baby home from the hospital. He’s barely come into the Bellanti offices since Lili was born, working remotely so he can stay close to his family. I’m not complaining—I’m glad to see Dante leaning into his new parenting role. I just need him to stay there.
“I don’t like it,” Dante finally says. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “We’re all sitting ducks. Those fuckers are itching to pounce. To be honest, if I had known you were going to use Candi to trick the Brunos into crashing your reception, I would have put a stop to it. You basically welcomed them right back into the boxing ring.”
“They never left it. All I did was test them,” I say. “They failed.”
He frowns. “You didn’t need to test them. We already know they had no intention of honoring the peace treaty. They set our warehouse on fire, they put a hit out on you in Vegas, and Clayton’s heard more than enough from Italy to corroborate the rumors that they’re plotting to run us out of Napa. But for some reason, you still went behind my back and sent your wife to them with spoon-fed intel—”
“Intel that Sergio Bruno was more than happy to gobble up!” I point out. “Proving that they still trust Candi, that her role as a spy hasn’t been compromised. That’s something we can use against them, and catastrophically at that. She’s a chess piece still in play. I’m going to take advantage of it. But I can’t do that if they think she’s turned, which is why I have to take her out of the country right now. If we stay here, we risk tipping our hand. Are we in agreement?”
His eyes flash. “We are.”
I lock eyes with him. “Good to know we’re on the same page.”
What’s unspoken between us is that my mind is already made up about taking Candi to the island. He knows it. I know it. But it’s not a good look for me to be sidestepping his authority at every turn. It’s something I have no right to do as his subordinate. Something I could easily be punished—or even killed—for. Hence this little dance between us, where I pretend to ask his permission before I do something and he pretends to give it.
Not that Dante would ever lay a finger on me even if I did disobey him. That’s not how our family operates, not since our father died and took his bloodthirsty legacy with him. The truth is, I’ve been defying my older brother for years, in ways big and small. My behavior is permitted for one reason and one reason alone: in all my time as our head of security, intelligence, and both defensive and offensive operations, I’ve kept our family safe. I’ve done the dirty work. I’vewon.
Even still, my headstrong nature—stubborn, but never impulsive—and my self-direction have been near-constant sources of conflict between me and Dante. I’m well aware of that. But this is no time to walk on eggshells. I’m going to execute this plan, with his blessing or without it.
“Before I go, I need to know that I can trust all of you to handle things in my absence,” I tell them. “And precisely according to my instructions. You might be sitting pretty now, but things could change at any moment. Which is why I’ll need you all locked and loaded.”
“It might not be my place to say so, but I think you should nix the island,” Clayton says, knocking his glass against the table.
Dante and Marco look over at our brother-in-law with mild surprise. Clayton’s an impeccable soldier. He’s never challenged me before.
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion on the matter,” I deadpan.
Clayton shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. But I’ve fought alongside you all long enough now that I hope you’ll at least consider my input.”
“Very well. Speak,” I say, impatience creeping into my tone.
“I just don’t see the sense in leaving when we have the chance to finish this now and be done with it. Besides which, there’s no guarantee you’ll be safe where you’re going. There could be other leaks among our ranks.”
The back of my neck prickles. Clayton is an absolute bloodhound when it comes to finding information. There is no man that he can’t track down, no name or piece of intel that can hide from him. He is an incredible investigator. Initially, it was difficult to get over my reservations about welcoming a former Bruno operative into the innermost circle of my family, but over time I’ve grown to trust him implicitly.
“What leaks among our ranks? What do you know?” I prod, my blood pressure spiking.
“Nothing at present,” Clayton admits. “I’m just taking worst-case scenarios into account. But if I’m right, you won’t want to be trapped on some remote island when the shit hits the fan. I think we should be planning an attack, not setting up more of these cat and mouse games while you’re overseas. We need to cut their knees out from under them so bad, they won’t be able to stand up again afterward. Once the Brunos find out you’ve left the US, they might decide it’s the best time to strike.”
“They won’t. Because they know I’d instantly respond in kind, and with all the power of the Bellanti allies at my back. Sergio Bruno might be reckless, but he’s not that stupid. He won’t make a move until he thinks he can wipe out all of us in one fell swoop. Me included. Me especially.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Clayton says uneasily.
“I am right. We need to bide our time, not act on our impulses,” I tell him. “The best way to win this war is to get Sergio to play into our hands, to do exactly what we want him to. Don’t you get it? Without Candi in our pocket, the Brunos’ offensive maneuvers will be too unpredictable. The retaliation will just continue, unchecked. With her, we can predict their moves. We’re doing this my way.”
Clayton frowns, and then says, “All right. Then consider taking your wife to Italy instead. We have plenty of contacts and allies there. It’s safer. And you’ll be aware of what’s happening—”
“Who says I’m not aware?” I interrupt. “Everything’s under control. I’m not worried.”
The Brunos have their claws in plenty of old Italian mafia families, true enough, but Clayton has spent a significant amount of time and effort monitoring their conversations and activities—not to mention greasing palms when necessary and maintaining “beneficial” mob relationships of his own—so the Brunos and their friends are able to keep very few secrets from us. We’re well-connected and well-resourced in our own right. Plus, I also have my own Italian sources, though I keep them to myself.
Clayton looks at me dubiously. “Very well. The island it is, then. I’ve said my piece.”
“Excellent. Any further objections?” I ask Dante and Marco.
They shake their heads.
