“Knock it off!” he commands. “There will be no further punches thrown. Not on my watch. Jesus. Now sit the fuck down, both of you.”
As the oldest, Dante has broken up plenty a fight between Marco and me over the years, so he knows what he’s doing. Still, my blood is boiling. Marco likes to conveniently forget that his wife came from the enemy’s side, but the simple truth of the matter is that the reason I interrogated her was because I needed information to ensure the safety of our family. I had to do it. No question.
But I didn’t lay a finger on her. I employed…other methods. Was I nice about it? Hell no. A little mental warfare didn’t hurt her any, though. And at the end of the day, I got what I wanted.
Would I let the same thing happen tomywife?
Fuck no.
“My daughter is getting christened later today and you two are trying to kill each other,” Dante lectures. “Marco’s going to look fucking wonderful in the photos with that fat lip!”
All I can do is spread my hands as Marco gingerly touches his split lip. Dante remains standing before us, shaking his head like we’re two ill-behaved children who have disappointed him. Which I guess we kind of are.
“Armani, who did you want to send in?” Dante asks, getting us back on track.
“Clayton. He’ll know who to talk to. He has connections everywhere and he’s our best resource for getting information from multiple families. He may have even reestablished contact with his Bratva guy already, or maybe linked up with someone else.”
I don’t mention my suspicions about Clayton having worked for the Bratva in the past. It’s just a hunch, but I can’t have my brothers questioning his loyalty to us right now. Logically, though, it’s the only thing that explains how he was able to get that last Russian contact at all. It’s not something I’d hold against him, either. The Irishman worked for mob families for years, not pledging to anybody, just following the money. At least, not until he met Frankie’s sister Charlie. Now that he works with us, his past experiences are a boon. He’s well-connected. People like him. Better than that—theytrusthim.
Marco nods at me grudgingly. “Clayton’s got a light touch, and he’s good with people. Plus, he’s the one who brought the tattooed man to our door.” His eyes drop to his lap then, and his voice gets quiet as he adds, “And he sussed out Donno.”
Dante winces. “I don’t like it. He’s good for the job, but I’m the one who’s going to have to answer to my wife if her sister’s husband gets killed.”
Here we go again with the wives. I can’t fathom how my brothers allow their women to have so much control and influence over them.
“That’s between you and your wife. Clayton’s a big boy. He’ll decide if he wants in or not.”
Dante sighs. “Fine. For now, you two do not speak again until I’ve talked to Clayton.”
He turns to go, but before he reaches the door, I call after him, “By the way, it’s three.”
“Three what?” he asks, checking his watch with a frown and then looking over his shoulder.
“Lili Grace number three,” I say. “For our Tempranillo-Graciano. It’s the winner. No contest.”
Lifting a brow, he glances at Marco. “What do you say?”
“Tre,” he agrees. “It’s the most memorable. They’re all a good balance of sweet and spicy, that mix of cinnamon and plum and sage and cocoa powder, right, but the last one reminds me of…”
He picks up the bottle and sniffs it, then sets it back down.
“Raspberry licorice,” he says. “And it’s medium-bodied, so it’s versatile with food pairings, but also good enough to drink by itself. Think about it. Sweetness, structure, balance. And yeah, it’ll get ya drunk. People will go crazy for it. Trust me.”
For a moment, Dante and I just stare at our little brother with our mouths hanging open.
“What?” Marco says. “I’m a Bellanti. You think I don’t know wine? It’s in the blood.”
“Lili Grace number three it is,” Dante says, recovering. “And you better watch out, kid, or you just might find yourself with a job in the marketing department.”
He picks up the winning bottle and walks out. Marco and I watch him go. Once the door slams at the end of the hall, I glance over at Marco.
“I think fatherhood is making him soft,” I murmur.
“Agreed.”
Marco meets my gaze, his mouth quirked up at the edges. It’s as close to a smile as I’m going to get from him.
I’ll take it.
