Later that day Pietro called me and asked for a meeting. I knew what this was about. Given Jacopo’s tendency to brag about everything, he’d likely told everyone about his bond to Ines.
We met at the bar of one of our riverboat casinos for a drink. After dropping off my drink in front of me, the bartender kept his distance, sensing my dark mood.
Pietro was a little over two years older than me and currently working in Chicago before he’d take over as Underboss of Minneapolis from his father in a few years. I was nursing my whiskey when he sank down on the stool beside me, motioning for the barkeeper to give him the same I had.
I glanced toward him.
His shirt was wrinkled and his dark hair all over the place. The second the tumbler sat in front of him, he grabbed it and downed it in one gulp. Then his somber eyes met mine. “Don’t let Jacopo get his hands on Ines, Dante.”
I turned the glass around on the bar. Pietro had asked for Ines’ hand twice. As future Underboss of Minneapolis, he was a good choice. He was only six years older than her, not twelve like Jacopo, and most importantly, he wasn’t a sadist. “Why do you want Ines?” I asked him tiredly.
He frowned. “Because I respect her. Despite her age, she knows how to carry herself. She’s proud and elegant and beautiful.”
“And a good match.”
It was an indisputable fact. Every man in our circles who wanted Ines would be stupid not to consider the positive effect a marriage would have on his future.
“Of course, that too. My family wants a union with your family. But since I danced with Ines a few months ago, I knew I wanted her as my wife.” Pietro grabbed my arm, forcing me to meet his gaze. The honest concern in his eyes surprised me. It wasn’t love. He didn’t know Ines well enough for that, but he obviously cared about her. “Dante, you and I know what kind of man Jacopo is.”
Everyone knew what kind of man Jacopo was. He got off on torture. I, too, occasionally appreciated the power rush it gave, especially if I dealt with traitors or enemies, but Jacopo enjoyed it on a sexual level, which didn’t bode well in a marriage.
I inclined my head, trying to suppress the rage flooding my body.
“How can you be this calm? How can you not be raging?”
I almost smiled. My fury was bottled up deep inside where it would remain until I chose to unleash it. It had taken years to perfect my emotionless mask, now it was as impenetrable as steel. “My father is the Boss. You know it’s his decision, not mine.”
Pietro’s eyes were fierce. “But you disapprove of it.”
Of course I did. How could I not? “Ines is my sister,” I said merely. I wouldn’t say more in public, even if I liked Pietro.
“Can you stand by and watch her being given to a monster?”
“Jacopo is cocky and arrogant. It might get him killed eventually.”
Pietro ordered another drink for himself while I still twisted my first in my hands. I’d never enjoyed getting drunk. The loss of control and inhibitions abhorred me deeply.
“Eventually could be too late for Ines.”
I emptied my whiskey. “They won’t marry until next summer…”
“Next summer? She’s only seventeen then. Won’t they wait until she’s of age?”
The barkeeper held up the bottle but I shook my head. I didn’t want to get a buzz. “One year is a long time, Pietro.” I met his gaze.
He searched my eyes, trying to make sense of my words. I wouldn’t get more explicit than that.
“You can trust me. I can help.”
I gave him a cold smile, not saying anything. I wouldn’t spill my guts to him, or share more than I already had. Pietro was one of the few men I trusted to some extent but definitely not enough to tell him more than was absolutely necessary. “I don’t need your help.”
* * *
Rocco and Jacopo waited beside the car when Enzo and I arrived. Jacopo smiled broadly, his head even higher and his chest puffed up. I gave him and his brother a sharp nod. If I uttered a word now, it wouldn’t be anywhere close to the sophisticated cold I was famous for. Enzo shook their hands but from the way his mouth thinned when he touched Jacopo it was obvious what he thought of him. Few people liked Jacopo. I didn’t trust any of them.
Without a word, I slipped into the backseat. Enzo took the steering wheel as usual.
“You’re in the back, Squirt,” Jacopo said to Rocco whose ears turned red. In the past, his entire face had turned the same color but he’d learned to school his features over the years.
Rocco sank down beside me, silent but glaring daggers at the back of his brother’s head. Their animosity went beyond sibling rivalry. It was pure, undiluted hatred.
“Why do you still call him by that name?” Enzo asked in his low rumble as he started the car.
“Didn’t I tell you the story?”
“You told it to everyone repeatedly,” Rocco said quietly.
I gritted my teeth. “Indeed.”
Jacopo threw his brother and me a cruel smile through the rearview mirror. “It is too good a story to forget.”
I hadn’t been present when the name was born. But the story still made the rounds, mostly due to Jacopo bringing it up as soon as it died down. Rocco had been fourteen when Jacopo and his similarly depraved friends had taken him to a whorehouse for the first time. Apparently, Jacopo ordered two dancers to give Rocco very intense lap dances, which made him come in his pants. Naturally, that wasn’t the end of Rocco’s humiliation. Jacopo and his friends then forced Rocco to undress, to wipe his cum on a cracker and eat it. They probably would have found more ways to torture him if Giovanni Aresco, our Underboss here in Chicago, hadn’t intervened.
“We have a task to focus on and don’t have time to dwell in the past,” I clipped, ensuring silence in the remaining ride to our target.
Enzo parked a block away from the fabric building and went scouting the area with Rocco. My father disapproved of me taking part in attacks but I insisted. Still, I was rarely allowed to be at the forefront.
The moment Jacopo and I were alone, leaning against the car, he let out a sigh and smiled in a way that suggested he didn’t know why humans used the gesture but he’d adopted it. “Your father made me wait for a long time. Even my brother is already married, and I had to wait years for your sister. But she’ll make it worthwhile for me, I’m sure.” The smile turned darker, leering.
Rage boiled over, past my ironclad defenses. I rammed my elbow into his throat. My knife was right under my jacket. A jab was all it would take to save Ines from a cruel fate—a fate no woman deserved.
Challenge and fear flickered in Jacopo’s eyes. “You want to kill me because of a cunt?”
I tightened my hold. One slash and his blood would coat my hands. It would feel good, better than any kill before him. “Careful,” I said quietly. “This cunt is my sister, and you’d do well to remember that I will be your Capo in a few years. Show respect.”
“And I’ll be your Consigliere. It’s always been that way. Our fathers are friends. You can’t kill me.”
It was true. As long as my father lived, I couldn’t kill Jacopo, and even then it would be difficult to explain to my men. Scuderi was a name that carried power, that belonged to the Outfit. They were loyal. A good reason was necessary to dispose of one of them, and protecting my sister from marital rape and torture wouldn’t be considered one. The mere idea that Ines would have to suffer under Jacopo’s sadism made my blood boil.
I released him. All my life I’d worked to become Capo, to follow in my father’s footsteps. I was meant to rule over the Outfit, and I would. Nothing would stop my rise in power, least of all Jacopo Scuderi. I stepped back with a cold smile. “I won’t kill you, you are right.”
His smile turned more triumphant, certain in his inherited immunity. Steps rang out when Rocco and Enzo turned the corner, done scouting the area.
“All clear?” I asked.
They nodded, and I gave the sign to attack. As expected, we found six Bratva soldiers inside the fabric building, guarding their last drug delivery. We split up into pairs of two as we tried to eliminate our opponents as quickly and effectively as possible. Jacopo and I ended up in a smaller storage hall with three of the higher ranking Bratva soldiers, while Rocco and Enzo were busy dealing with the rest in the main storage.
When I’d struck down the first opponent, I advanced into the room and ducked behind a crate close to my next opponent. Jacopo stayed closer to the door, off to the left and dealt with enemy number three.
I could tell that my opponent was getting impatient and nervous. His aim was off and he kept raising his head to look toward the door for a way to escape. Would he really risk a dash for freedom? It was futile.
I aimed calmly, my arm steady as I waited for his next mistake. He finally raised his head again and I sent a bullet through the Bratva bastard’s head, sending his brain flying everywhere. He tumbled sideways to the ground, dropping his gun, a Russian model.
Jacopo was still in a shooting match with his opponent. My eyes were drawn to the Bratva gun. I tugged one of my leather gloves out of my jacket and slipped it on before I picked up the discarded gun. Then I raised my own Barretta and shot the last Bratva man with it. Jacopo whirled around with a triumphant grin, which died when he saw me pointing the Russian gun at him. “A marriage to you won’t be my sister’s fate.”
He jerked up his gun at the same time as I pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through his left eye, throwing his head back. His body fell backward. For a moment silence reigned around me, an eerie nothingness that resonated in my ears.
Betrayal.
I’d killed an Outfit soldier. A man who was loyal to the cause, to my father, to the Outfit.
A sharp intake of breath made my eyes dart toward the door, where Rocco Scuderi stood. One look at his expression and I knew he’d witnessed my murder of his brother. For several moments neither of us moved. I was still pointing the Russian gun at the place where Jacopo’s head had been.
Rocco’s face morphed from shock to… relief.
Rocco looked relieved, no, ecstatic to see his older brother dead. There had been no love between the two but this unguarded show of joy came as a surprise. I pointed my gun straight at Rocco’s skull but he hardly seemed to care. With wide eyes, he walked closer to his dead brother, a disturbing smile on his face. He spit on the corpse then kicked it hard several times.
I lowered my gun slowly, narrowing my eyes at the display of emotionality.
“See! See! You got what you deserve!” he raged, his head red and perspiring. “You got it!”
Breathing harshly, he turned around to me. My gun was leveled at his chest by now, as I was trying to decide if I could risk killing him as well. Rocco Scuderi wasn’t a good man, but he was as loyal as his brother, maybe even more so, and he didn’t share his brother’s sadism, at least he hadn’t openly displayed it until now.
Rocco’s gaze dropped to the gun in my hand, the Russian model that had ended his brother’s life, realizing it could end his as well. “I won’t tell anyone,” he said.
I moved closer to him, stepping over the dead Russian in the process. I didn’t take my eyes off Rocco. “You won’t?” I asked coldly. “Honor dictates that you tell your father the truth about who killed his heir, your vow binds you to reveal any betrayal of the Outfit to your Capo, my father.”
Rocco grimaced, his eyes shining with hatred. “For as long as I can remember, I wanted him dead. I would have killed him myself…” He shook his head. “I’m grateful that you did it. I’ll forever be grateful, Dante. I’ll take the secret to the grave with me, I swear it.”
“Why?” I stopped a few steps from him, the gun still trained on his heart.
“Because you gave me everything I ever wanted. Jacopo is dead, and I’ll be Consigliere.”
I tilted my head. “True. You’ll take over for your father eventually.”
Rocco frowned. “If he allows it. Jacopo was his favorite child.”
Jacopo’s brain decorated the bare concrete floor. “I can’t trust anyone with a secret of that proportion, you certainly understand.”
Rocco’s gaze became frantic. I could practically see his thoughts racing in his head. He took a step closer and I raised my gun higher. “Dante, I’m going to give my father poison, something that’s difficult to detect unless you’re looking for it specifically. Something that’ll make his end look like a heart attack. He’s had one before and it’s only natural for him to suffer another one after his heir, his favorite child is cruelly killed by a Bratva bastard. You’ll convince your father that I was devastated and that my father’s death was a natural cause and I’ll convince everyone the enemy killed my brother. That way I’m not the only one guarding a secret.”
Rocco had the potential to be a useful Consigliere, more so than Jacopo could ever have been. His father was only marginally better than Jacopo and too strongly entwined with my father. If I wanted a gradual power shift, I’d have to change the key players now. Killing Rocco would raise suspicions and leave me with Scuderi Senior to deal with for a decade or longer. I needed to diminish my father’s power now, in subtle but effective ways. “Wait a week or two. Let him die after the funeral.”
Rocco nodded, relief blatant on his face. “Thank you, Dante. You won’t regret it. I’ll be a loyal Consigliere, if you want me.”
“You’ll be Consigliere when I claim power, that’s my promise to you.” I paused. “But if you ever mention this event again, I’ll finish what I didn’t today. You’ll take this secret to your grave either way.”
“Nobody will find out from me.” Rocco regarded me with admiration and respect. I couldn’t detect deceit in his demeanor. I lowered the gun and put it back down beside the Russian.
“You need to move him to the side a bit so the angle is right,” Rocco said.
He was right. I dragged the Russian to the left then shoved my glove back into my pocket. Rocco gave a satisfied nod.
Enzo stormed inside, looking disheveled. His eyes landed on Jacopo. “Fuck. The fuckers got him?”
I nodded. “He was struck by a Russian bullet. We will have to avenge him. The Bratva needs to pay with blood,” I said firmly.
Rocco smiled grimly. “They will for killing my brother.”
A shared lie. I didn’t trust Rocco, but I trusted in his hatred for his brother and his eagerness to become Consigliere. Both would ensure his silence… for the time being.
One betrayal was always followed by another. It would take years for me to realize it.
* * *