Chapter 18

My breakfast is ready and waiting for me, just as he promised. Just as it has been every day this week.

But Massimo isn’t.

I glance around the kitchen and then focus on the setting. The dish is an omelet. Tomatoes. Mushrooms. Shredded cheese. Prosciutto layered over eggs. The plate has been left on the breakfast table, at the seat closest to the window where the bright morning sunrays spill inside. On the right, there’s a nicely folded cloth napkin, with cutlery on top. A glass of orange juice is positioned on the left. And completing the setting, in the middle of the table, a small vase with a single sprig of jasmine.

It’s all rather sweet, if one disregards the man with a semiautomatic rifle standing in the center of the room.

“Peppe? Is something wrong?”

“Nope. Just following Massimo’s orders.”

“And those are?”

He throws a quick look at the table. “Watching the eggs.”

“Uh-huh. Are they going to attack us?”

The corner of Peppe’s lips quivers as if he’s going to smile, yet he remains serious.

“Iris went grocery shopping,” he says. “I’m not supposed to let anyone get close to your breakfast. If anyone does, I’m to off them, immediately.”

I shake my head and cross the kitchen to take my seat, feeling Peppe’s eyes on me the entire time. He must be annoyed by Massimo’s behavior, too.

“He thinks someone might try poisoning my food,” I explain as I eat the first forkful.

“I’m sure that’s what he tells himself.”

“What do you mean?”

Peppe leans on the fridge, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’ve known Massimo since he was fifteen. I’ve always admired the way his mind works. Unrelenting focus and determination, bordering on obsessive. When he believes something needs to be done, he’ll do it, no matter the consequences. And no matter the personal sacrifice. Achieving the ultimate goal is the only thing that matters. And if at some point, an alternate course of action is required, he finds a way to convince himself that it’s exactly what he needs to do.” He gives the plate in front of me a pointed stare. “Or not do.”

“I’m… not sure I understand what you mean.”

“He knows it’s very unlikely that someone would want to poison you, especially here, but he’s convinced himself that is a credible threat. Because it’s the perfect excuse.”

“Excuse for what?”

“To make you breakfast.” He meets my gaze. “I’ve never seen him care about anyone like he cares about you. To be honest, I didn’t think he was capable of it. Which is why he’ll do whatever is necessary to make sure you won’t end up hurt. The Family tends not to favor… relationships between stepsiblings.”

I tense. “You know?”

“I have eyes, Miss Veronese. When the two of you are in the same room, the air itself becomes so charged it would barely need a spark to explode. But maybe, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, you know? To let it detonate. If you are ready to bear the scorn of our world, that is. If you think you can handle it.”

“Believe me, I’ve had plenty of practice in my life.”

“Then brace yourself.” Peppe nods as he leaves the kitchen. “He’ll try to push you away. Might even hurt you believing it will save you from greater heartache. Don’t let him.”

I eat the rest of my meal in silence, contemplating Peppe’s words while staring at the yard beyond the window. With the grass cut and the flowerbeds cleared of weeds, it’s finally looking like a garden instead of a wild jungle.

“Is it edible?” Massimo’s voice reaches me.

I look up and find him standing in the doorway. His tailor must have delivered his bespoke suits, because the one he’s wearing fits him like a glove.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Good. That’s good.” He shrugs and heads over to the coffee machine. “The Council members will be arriving around seven this evening. We’ll hold the meeting in the dining room.”

So, we are obviously not going to discuss last night. Does he really believe we can just pretend like it never happened and go back to the way things were?

“Would you mind if I use the lounge area across the way to redo the dress I’m working on?” I ask in the most offhanded tone and pick up my plate to carry it to the dishwasher, which happens to be next to where the coffee machine is. “The fabric I prepared for it is completely saturated with my juices from you eating my pussy on top of it last night, and I decided I want to keep it there.”

I never imagined that a person could stay as utterly still as Massimo does when the words leave my mouth. His body becomes so rigid, it’s as if he’s carved out of stone. The only part of him that appears to still be alive is his eyes. They glare at me with fire. And hunger.

“We agreed; that subject is closed.”

I put the plate away and lean my back on the counter. “I don’t remember agreeing to anything.”

Suddenly, he is in front of me, his body hovering over mine as he grips the edge of the countertop on each side of me. His jaw is clenched, his nostrils are flaring madly. And his eyes, those are glued to my mouth. Is he thinking about how it felt to have my lips wrapped around his cock? Because I am. I remember every second of it. What it was like to have his whole body unravel under my touch. How amazing it felt to have him at my mercy. And then, to have him eat me out on a pile of silk, shattering me into pieces and putting me back together at the same time.

After an endless moment, Massimo reaches out and brushes my bottom lip with his thumb. “Some things are not meant to happen, angel. We are one of those things. And we both need to accept it.”

His hand falls from my face. He turns away while my heart withers inside my chest.

***

“I don’t recall you having issues with my decisions when the value of our investments doubled!” Massimo’s roaring voice carries beyond the closed dining room door to the little lounge area on the other side of the entrance hall.

Shaking my head, I pull my attention from the sewing pattern I’ve spread out on the floor. Someone inside that room shouts back, making me tense. It sounds like Brio, but it’s hard to tell with the doors shut. Everyone, however, has been so loud that I’m certain the entire household can hear them.

The meeting seemed to proceed just fine until Massimo announced he was getting out of the strip club business and selling off our venues to the New York Family Don. Salvatore Ajello has been a thorn in everyone’s side for years, especially after he began to send men to spy on us while Nera was running things as Massimo’s proxy. Even knowing that Massimo and the infamous don had some prior dealings, it was still a surprise when he arranged a meeting between Nera and Ajello a month ago. I wondered how he managed to pull that off.

“Oh, you sure about that?” Another round of Massimo’s snarling reaches me. His voice is even louder than before. “How about I set up a meeting for you with the Guadalajara Cartel, and you can inform El Jefe personally that we’ll have to cut the next order by half since Tiziano’s girls are tying up a large portion of our cash? You can take Primo with you, I’m certain the two of you will have an amazing time in Mexico.”

Everyone starts yelling all at once, insults and threats flying in a cacophonous exchange. I can’t even decipher who’s saying what. The noise is deafening. It sounds like they are moments away from killing each other. Shit .

I swipe Massimo’s phone from where he left it on the side table and dash toward the dining room. In a sea of bad ideas, interrupting a Council meeting where the topic on the table is succession is probably the worst, but Massimo needs to snap out of his rampage or this conclave will head downhill, fast. I don’t even have a clue what I’ll say when I get inside, I just grab the knob and open the door.

As I step into the room, I’m faced with complete madness. The shouting continues without anyone realizing I’m here. Massimo is on his feet at the head of the long black table, his palms braced on the smooth wooden surface. He’s leaning forward and shouting at Brio at the top of his voice. Brio—seated to Massimo’s left—is sniveling his protests. His face is getting redder and redder with every word, and he’s waving his arms and shaking his head like a toddler in the middle of a tantrum.

Next to Brio, Tiziano is slamming his fist on the leather ledger splayed out before him while exchanging obscenities with Adriano across the table. Adriano is the Family’s biggest investor and could probably buy out half of the people gathered in this room. He’s always had an air of aristocracy about him, and could easily be the sort of man who sits on his ass and lets others work for him. Instead, Adriano has always been heavily involved, personally overseeing his logistics company’s transport of Cosa Nostra drugs across the country. I’ve never seen Adriano so much as raise his voice at anyone before. Now, however, his normally impeccable appearance is distorted by hand-messed hair and a tie that sits slightly askew.

Primo, who’s sitting on Brio’s left, is blabbering and pointing between Donatello and Patricio, two other investors in the Family businesses. Salvo is the only person who is silent. He’s relaxed back in his chair on Massimo’s right, quietly observing the unfolding catastrophe.

“What are you doing here, girl?” Brio’s angry voice unexpectedly carries over the yelling.

The shouts suddenly die down, and then everyone is staring at me.

“Um… I just—”

Massimo moves like a predator. In an instant, he’s fisting Brio’s shirtfront and tie and lifting the older man out of his seat, the twisted material jammed up under the capo’s chin. All Brio can do is claw at Massimo’s arm while he struggles to breathe.

“Don’t you fucking dare speak to her with that tone,” Massimo says through gritted teeth right into Brio’s shocked face. “Apologize.”

Brio’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, yet no sound escapes. Massimo tosses him back into his seat like a ragdoll.

“I’m sorry,” Brio mumbles as he tries to straighten out his tie.

“I’m sorry… what?”

“I’m sorry for my tone, Zara.”

Like a flash, Massimo strikes again—grabbing Brio by the hair and slamming him face-first against the table. He follows that by pressing his elbow to the side of the capo’s head, pinning down the now bleeding man. Brio’s blood, streaming from his nose, mixes with water from an overturned glass, and the blended liquid soaks the documents spread across the wooden surface and flows toward Brio’s mouth and eye.

“She’s not ‘Zara’ to you. Try again.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Veronese.”

“That’s much better.” Massimo finally releases the battered capo and looks up at me. “What do you need, Zahara?”

Eight pairs of eyes stare back at me. The room feels supercharged, even though no one is shouting anymore.

“I…” I drop my gaze, focusing on the phone I’m holding. “Your phone rang. It was… it was your lawyer, and it sounded urgent.” I swallow, then look up, right into Massimo’s eyes. “He might be losing control of some things that need to be handled with finesse. So, I thought you should be made aware.”

For a few heartbeats, as his gaze stays locked on mine, his face remains the same angry mask he’d directed at Brio. But then, I notice his facial muscles relax. Slowly, he lowers onto the leather chair and interlocks his fingers atop the table. His entire posture changes, becoming completely at ease.

“Thank you,” he says, his tone calm. “I’ll make sure to give him a call as soon as I’m done here.”

“Okay. Well… I guess, that’s all. I’ll be going now.”

I turn, reaching for the door handle, just as Massimo growls behind me, “Get your ass in that empty chair at the end.”

My whole body tenses. He never uses that tone with me. Shit. I shouldn’t have interrupted their meeting.

“Now, Brio,” Massimo continues. “Zahara, please have a seat beside me.”

A ball lodges in my throat. And I seem to have lost control of my limbs because I can’t move. My gaze remains fixed on the door in front of me. He can’t be serious. This isn’t done. Only capos and appointed members can attend Council meetings.

The dragging of a chair across floorboards breaks the silence. The silence that hangs over the room like a dense shroud. The tension is nearly palpable.

“This is outrageous.” Someone’s irate mumble reaches me. “The rules—”

“Shut your trap, Tiziano. When you get to be the head of the Family, then you can enforce the rules. But right now, I’ll choose which rules I’ll honor, and which I won’t.”

Paralyzed by indecision, I remain rooted in place, staring at a dried paint bubble on the door in front of me.

“Zahara, please.” A much softer voice reaches me.

I slowly turn and face the grim expressions in the room. Brio has taken a seat to Primo’s left and is glaring at me most vehemently. I bite the inside of my cheek as my eyes glide down the long table, briefly connecting with the judgmental gaze of every seated man until they land on Massimo. He is standing, having pulled out the chair on his left-hand side that was vacated by Brio.

My hands tremble as I take the first step forward, but I refuse to look at the floor as I would have in the past, even with all these powerful men staring at me. All they’ve ever done is look down on me. Yet, despite the acute pressure of their eyes, the so-familiar urge to hide doesn’t hit me.

Another step. And then another. I keep my chin up, gaze connected with Massimo’s as I cross the room. I can’t believe he invited me to join the meeting. That’s unprecedented. He’s basically proclaimed me an equal to every man here. Equal to Tiziano, who, a few years ago, asked me to fetch him another drink, taking me for one of the serving staff in my own house. And Primo, whom I overheard telling his wife that, if my father offered their son my hand in marriage, they’d need to find a way to avoid it, hoping that Dad would relent and allow Nera to marry “the darling Ruggero” instead. And to Brio, who once outright asked my dad if I had a speech impediment because I preferred to stay quiet at social gatherings instead of yapping nonstop like other girls my age. They all must be fuming on the inside, and I couldn’t be more delighted by that fact.

As I take my seat, Massimo helps slide my chair in and then resumes his place with a slight incline of his head in my direction.

“Now, where were we?” he asks casually, cutting his eyes to Brio.

“You’re selling our strip clubs to Ajello,” Brio says through his teeth.

“Yes. And in exchange, he is giving us an in with his construction project in Manhattan. We’re investing in a premium residential complex fifty-fifty, and splitting the profits in the same way.”

Absolute silence descends over the room again while the men stare at Massimo with expressions vacillating between shock and wonder. Salvatore Ajello is known for killing any Cosa Nostra member from outside of his own Family who dares to set foot in his territory. He usually mails the body parts back to their respective don in a bag. Or several. The fact that he agreed to a joint project in New York with another crime family, borders on science fiction or fantasy.

“What’s the expected profit?” Adriano asks, seemingly back to his perfectly composed self.

“After the construction is complete and the condos hit the market, he projects sixty-seven point five million in earnings for each side, after tax. Clean, legitimate income we can easily reinvest as we see fit.”

“That sounds too good to be true,” Brio throws in. “Who will vouch that Ajello will keep his end of the deal?”

Massimo turns toward Brio, his face a mask of barely subdued rage. His jaw is tightly clenched, and the vein on his forehead is pulsing, a sure sign that he’s moments from losing his temper.

“Are you suggesting that I’ve been acting against the Family’s best interest?” Massimo’s voice is eerily low. He appears ready to kill Brio on the spot. Shit.

“I’m just saying that I don’t see how this benefits Ajello. Why would he want to let us in? Unless you’ve made another— private —deal with him that you don’t want to share with the rest of us.”

Oh God. Brio just insinuated that Massimo has been working toward his own concerns and contrary to the Family’s. I chance a look at Massimo just as he’s reaching behind his back. He always carries a gun.

Under the table, I lay my palm on Massimo’s thigh and give it a squeeze. He doesn’t seem to notice. Shit. I squeeze it again, so hard that my nails almost poke through the fabric of his pants. His body tenses, and for a fleeting moment, he just sits there with his hand suspended behind his back. I look down at the surface of the table and tighten my hold on his leg until my damn fingers hurt. The Council still hasn’t voted. He can’t outright kill that bastard for insubordination or impudence. Not yet anyway.

Lacking another option, I continue to draw long, even breaths until I feel a soft caress on my fingers. Massimo’s hand covers mine. Despite the roughness of his skin, his touch is feather-light. Reassuring. I lift my gaze and find Massimo relaxing back in his chair, his other hand on the table. No gun. Thank fuck.

“As a matter of fact…” His voice is nonchalant, the complete opposite of his demeanor from just seconds earlier. “I do have a deal with Ajello.”

All eyes are now focused on Massimo, waiting. His gaze slides over every man present and stops on Brio. “Ajello ran into a few obstacles obtaining building permits for a project he has planned in Chinatown. As it happens, the Triad owed me a favor, so Mr. Wang will be happy to assist our new partner in obtaining them.”

“I don’t remember the Family doing any favors for the Triad,” Tiziano grunts.

“Because it didn’t. I did,” Massimo smirks. “And their debt was significant enough to spark Ajello’s interest. Which is why I’m sitting here six months earlier than expected, after he fixed things for me,” he says and pins Tiziano with his unrelenting stare. Then, he turns to Primo. “Starting next month, Primo, you’ll be laundering Ajello’s dirty money.”

Outraged cries explode anew, with the men practically losing their shit en masse, but Massimo just continues to chill in his chair, observing this latest flare-up with a serene smile. The entire time, he keeps my hand in his under the table.

“And what are we going to do with our own dirty money?” I whisper.

“The New York Family will take care of it for us, of course.”

The yelling suddenly stops, and all heads turn to Massimo.

“Even with numerous shell companies, the businesses we use to launder our money lead back to us. If someone digs deep enough, they’ll make the connection,” Massimo says. “That risk practically disappears with Ajello in the picture. His infrastructure will add at least three levels of protection, so tracing the source of our cash will be twice as hard. Between the mortgage loans and the interest payments, the inflated prices will be a wash. Throw full concierge services on top, and all the complementary vendors they depend on, and this complex becomes a goddamned license to print money. So, we help Ajello, he helps us. Problem solved.”

For almost a minute, no one says a word. They just stare at Massimo.

“You think it will work?” This from Adriano, always the shrewd businessman.

“Like a Swiss watch,” Massimo declares. “And if needed, we can always have the Bulgarians ‘clean’ our extra funds through their chain of car washes. I just need to boot Camorra out of their scheme first.”

“And how are you planning to do that?” Brio again.

“By kicking Efisio and his lot out of our territory. That idiot cousin of his, Alvino, dared to kidnap the don’s daughter. It gives us grounds for retaliation. I want Camorra out of Boston. If they don’t choose to leave, I’ll pick them off, one at a time, until our streets are cleansed of their filth.”

“That was more than three years ago, Massimo,” Brio throws in. “We can’t act on it now.”

Massimo cocks his head to the side and smirks. “Well, I was out of town for a while and I just found out about that little detail. For me, it’s as if it happened last Friday.”

“We don’t need any skirmishes with outsiders. It’s bad for business.”

“Let me tell you what’s bad for business,” Massimo barks and leans forward. “Our competitors thinking they can pull shit like that and get away with it because Cosa Nostra is weak. That era is done. From this point on, every single person in this city will know that no one fucks with our Family. We’ll be what we once were—the embodiment of fear and respect. People will tremble when they hear the Cosa Nostra name. And if I need to paint the Boston streets with Camorra blood to make that happen, so be it.”

Nods of affirmation from all around the table. Even Brio.

“I’m glad you agree. Then, let’s do what we have gathered here to do, shall we?”

I swallow. It’s time for the Council to cast their votes. The voting ritual, the oath, and the subsequent swearing of allegiance to the new don is sacred. Massimo’s invitation for me to be present at this meeting means the world to me—something he may never realize—but I don’t want him breaking any more rules on my account.

Giving his leg another light squeeze, I rise and head toward the door before he can stop me.

“Refreshments await you in the lounge when you’re done,” I toss over my shoulder and hightail it out of the dining room.

The door closes behind Zahara with a soft click. With her exit, the animosity rises within me once again. Ten minutes ago, I almost ruined everything I’ve been working over two decades of my life for. If she hadn’t grabbed my leg and snapped me out of the blind rage that threatened to consume me, I would have probably killed Brio where he sat.

Adriano takes off his black-rimmed glasses and pins me with his discerning gaze. He might be the most unruffled and affable man in the room, yet his word carries a lot of weight. “Old money” talks, as they say. As a majority shareholder in his family-run logistics company, his personal net worth is around ten billion, and more than half of it is invested in Cosa Nostra businesses. Over the years, he’s been offered the rank of capo more than once. But he has always declined. If it wasn’t for that little fact, I would have bet that he was the one trying to off me so he could become Boston’s don. He has the means, for some reason, however, he’s never been interested in an official position within the Family hierarchy.

“It’s incredibly impressive, and a little mind-boggling, that you were able to steer this Family’s investment portfolio and look after business matters from behind bars all these years. And not only did you keep everything afloat, your actions resulted in significant financial gains,” Adriano says. “As such, I’m inclined to believe that you’ll do an even better job going forward, now that you can be openly involved. You have my vote, Spada.”

I accept his decision with a nod.

Donatello and Patricio are next, and neither of them would ever contradict Adriano. They both nod to indicate their support. I turn toward the other side of the table, leveling my eyes on the capos.

“You have my vote,” both Primo and Tiziano say in unison.

Brio remains silent, his gaze focused on his clasped hands on the table. His face is grim, still showing traces of now-dried blood. He really doesn’t want me leading the Family—it’s plainly obvious—but with the rest of the Council in agreement, he must feel like he has no other option. With his teeth clenched, Brio nods too.

“Salvo?” I turn toward my underboss, still struggling not to punch him in the head every time I look at him. Days later, and I can’t seem to shake my ire toward him after he had the gall to ask for Zahara’s hand. My friend has been unusually silent for the entire meeting and for reasons I can’t explain, it’s rubbing me the wrong way. It’s just not typical for him to stay out of a discussion. If there’s one thing I could always count on, it was Salvo making his opinion known.

“Of course you have my vote, Massimo. I’m glad to see you finally assume your rightful place.” He rises out of his seat and comes to stand before me. “My loyalty and my life are yours, Don Spada.”

With his eyes downcast, he bends forward and kisses my hand. It’s an old tradition. A show of adulation and fidelity to the seat of power, but also, recognition of the protection that will be received from that merciful authority. I was never a fan of it, because it reminds me of a cult. I don’t need them to worship me like a fucking saint. It’s the last thing I am. And with the changes I have planned, changes that many of them won’t like in the slightest, I have no doubts they won’t like me in the least. Italians though, and especially mafiosi, do love their ceremonies. So, I patiently sit through the whole ordeal until every man pays his respects.

“Let’s move over to the lounge for some drinks, and to discuss how we should approach the issue of disposing of Camorra,” I say.

“Now?” Primo asks. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Yes, now.” I let my gaze slice to them. “The vacation is over, gentlemen.”

***