20. Chapter Twenty

"You can't do this to me!" she shouts as I make my way out the dining-room door.

I stop and glance at her over my shoulder.

"You'll soon learn I can do what I want, when I want, to whomever I want."

Her face falls, some of the determination disappearing. The fight in her is appealing, but she gives up too easily. Too many times she's lost that fire too quickly. I want her to keep fighting. It's the most entertainment I've had in a while. Outside of fucking, that is.

"Why are you doing this, Enzo?" It isn't the first time she's gotten emotional over this or the first time she's asked. She can ask a hundred times and she'll get the same answer each and every one of them.

"We've been over this. And I won't repeat myself."

I walk out of the room, ignoring her pleas. I hear her cries all the way up the stairs, and even after I lock myself in my office, I hear them echoing in my head.

I don't feel bad. But I feel something.

It isn't guilt.

But it's something all right.

Why are her pleas affecting me? Why do I not thoroughly enjoy her being upset over this? Yes, I like the fight, but her being sad? Not into it.

All concern over her emotions is shut down when my cell phone rings.

Maximo Gaetano.

This can't be good. I take a breath before answering the call.

"Long time no talk," I say.

"That's exactly the problem, Vincenzo."

"How so?"

There are four families who handle the southwest part of the US, all of us co-existing thanks to some treaty my great-grandfather put into place with whoever was in charge of the other families at the time. There have been tiffs now and again, but nothing we haven't been able to settle agreeably.

Everything has been quiet for a long time, even though my Uncle Tommaso has been clear about his hatred of the Kearney's—the only Irish included in our pact. Thankfully, they don't take it personally. The rest of us are Italian. But the Irish? Fuck ‘em.

However, the treaty stands, and the Irish brothers don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon, so it's respected by all. We know our boundaries; we do our own thing. The head of the families and their right-hand men, usually their sons, meet three times a year to talk business and go over whatever needs to be gone over. Issues. Territory. Changes.

The problem is, my father hasn't attended a single meeting this past year, and the last one, the other families asked a lot of questions. Questions we couldn't answer. Rather, questions we wouldn't answer. It looks bad, but my hands are tied.

"Your father has been absent. We don't like it."

We as in they've all been meeting behind our backs. Wonderful.

"What does my father's absence have to do with anything? Everything still stands. No one has crossed any lines."

"Well, we can't be sure about that. See, because you aren't the one in charge. Neither are either of your brothers, both of whom I've spoken to over the last few days as well. We need to speak with Amadeo."

"He's ill."

"So we keep hearing. Yet we have no proof."

The fucking nerve of this guy.

"You want proof of my sick father? What do you want me to send you? A stool sample? Want him to piss in a cup?"

Maximo chuckles on the other end of the phone. The guy has been around for a while. He's an okay guy for a rival. Because let's be clear. Just because this treaty stands, stating we won't start war with one another, doesn't mean we get along. It only means we keep the peace. But this? The shit he's getting at right now? Seems like he's about to rile some shit up I don't want to deal with.

"This is precisely the problem, Vincenzo. Your temper is concerning." I hold my tongue, knowing lashing out is only going to prove his point. "The treaty stands between the heads of the families. That's not you. Not your brothers. If your father isn't at the next meeting, there's going to be a problem."

"Is there anything else?"

"Yeah, actually. Be grateful it was me who called, and not Dario. I hear he's mighty upset with you."

He ends the call. My phone falls from my hand onto the floor, and I run my hands through my hair. This is a mess. A giant fucking mess.

Dario Canvani has no reason to be pissed with me. He was paid what he was owed. We had an agreement. I give him the money; he forgets the issues with the Delises. Prick even charged me interest. Allowing it was my first mistake. Dario doesn't have the balls to come after me, or any of the Bramantes, though. He may talk a big game, but he's the smallest player on the fucking board out here. It's only him and his dumbass son, who will end up with a handful of STDs over the next year, if he hasn't already. The guy doesn't give a flying fuck he lost his fiancée, didn't do a damn thing to ensure she stayed, so the fact they're going to pull this shit makes little sense.

Though it's clear what's happening.

Dario's precious boy fucked up, and now everyone else has to pay for it. Well, he can have fun trying because he's messing with the wrong guy.

I lean back in my chair, running my finger along my chin as I think this over.

I have to tell my brothers.

Not that I want to, but it's for the best. Though, Maximo said he's already spoken to them, so why haven't they called me? I grab my phone from the floor and dial Elio.

He answers on the second ring.

"Great job handling the warehouse." He sounds proud. Maybe a little shocked, as if he thought I would fuck it up somehow.

"I didn't call for that."

"Then what did you call for?"

"Gaetano just called me."

"Ah."

"Ah? That's all you have to say about it?"

My family is infuriating.

"What else am I supposed to say? He's not wrong."

"Doesn't mean we lie down and take it. We need to figure it out. I've been saying this for months, Elio. We can't keep this game up forever."

"Yeah, I suppose we do."

"Your lack of enthusiasm about anything is annoying as fuck."

"I appreciate your honestly, Piccolino, but I already knew that."

"Sfigato," I snap at him.

He chuckles. "Come to my place tomorrow for Sunday dinner. Marco will be here. We can chat then."

"Will Papa be there?"

He hesitates a moment. "No."

I shake my head. "Yeah, fine."

"See you tomorrow, little brother."

I end the call and swivel in my chair to stare at the monitors.

My little angel is still in the dining room, right where I left her.

Much to my surprise, she didn't try to escape while I was gone. I was sure it would be at the top of her list of things to do. Though, she has been scoping the area. Probably looking for a way out. She won't find one. I think we both know that. She won't accept it until she realizes it herself, so I won't waste my time telling her. Watching her try to solve this puzzle is fun, so she can have at it.

I get up and head to the bar across the room to pour myself a drink. I take it down in one gulp, hissing at the burn as I pour another. I shoot that one back too, fill the cup a third time, and move to the window to stare out into the bleak darkness that is my life.