Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

DARIO

P aolo drives with an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. His fingers drum on the steering wheel as if he can’t wait to light up, his calculating eyes always hinting that he’s working something out. Allessio sits next to him, and I take the back seat.

“You two are the only ones who know the truth,” I tell my two most trusted soldiers. Every man is loyal to the Moretti Family as a whole, but these two are faithful to me specifically. We’ve fought together. We’ve bled together. Allessio and I grew up together.

“It’s going to stay that way,” Allessio says.

“Or off with our heads, be it,” Paolo comments.

I smirk. “You almost sound afraid.”

He looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Of you, Dario? Why would that be? You’re such a pussycat.”

With no other men here, we’re able to banter like this. That’s one reason I like these two so much. They almost make me feel normal, like just another soldier in the Moretti army, which is what I feel like most days.

“How’s it going, anyway?” Allessio asks. “She doing a good job?”

I think about telling the truth. She fumbled her first big task, but the idea of badmouthing her doesn’t sit right with me. When she got all sassy back at the house, technically, I should’ve put her in her place, but I didn’t. I almost liked the way she spoke to me, as if she wasn’t afraid, as if I wasn’t some intimidating godlike figure.

“She’s doing amazingly well,” I say.

Allessio nods. “That’s good to hear.”

“But let’s focus on the Romanos,” I say sharply. “Vincenzo is living in a dream world if he thinks we’re going to allow him to take over one of our goddamn charities to launder money. Who does he think he is?”

“He hasn’t escalated to violence,” Paolo remarks.

“That’s the only reason we’ve agreed to talk ,” I say bluntly. “This conversation would sound more like the Fourth of July if he’d gone any further. Infiltrating a charity, blackmailing an accountant, that’s one thing. If he were to make a serious move, one misplaced punch, or, worse, a purposefully placed bullet …” I curl my hands into fists. “I’d beat the motherfucker to death myself.”

They nod, knowing I’m being serious. In the back of my head, there’s an ugly voice telling me that a civilian like Elena could never really be with a man who deals so casually in violence, which is good—I tell myself—because this is all a show anyway. If anything, I should be glad my life is too dangerous for her. It means if I were ever to develop real feelings—which I can’t—I wouldn’t be able to act on them sincerely. Her life would change and become far more dangerous than she could imagine.

Paolo pulls up outside the bar. Two Moretti men are waiting for us outside. One quickly rushes forward and opens the door for me.

“They here?” I ask.

“Inside, boss.”

Allessio walks in front of me, his tatted arms at his sides like he’s ready for a fight. Most born-and-bred mafiosi don’t have tattoos, but Allessio wasn’t always part of the mob. In his late teens, he went to live overseas, working security and as a bouncer all over Europe as he traveled, painting his adventures on his skin.

Allessio always enters any room before I do. “If they try something, let them hit me first …” He’s the most loyal man I know.

The bar is thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of whiskey. Vincenzo is waiting for us at the far table. Several of his men are dotted around the room, and several of mine are, too. Nobody would be stupid enough to try anything here unless they are willing to sacrifice their lives.

Vincenzo stands, a tall, imposing man around my age, his hair completely gray, his eyes just as calculating as Paolo’s. He’s on the leaner side, giving him a hungry look, which is fitting. The Romanos have wanted to take what we’ve built for a long time.

“Dario,” he says, smiling and offering his hands.

“Vinnie,” I reply, pretending we’re best buddies as we shake.

“I hope the traffic wasn’t too bad.”

“This city. You know how it is. Shall we talk in private?”

A flicker of fear touches his features, though he tries to hide it. I sense his men tensing up all around me. Reaching into my pocket, I take out my piece, eject the bullet in the chamber, catch it, and then remove the magazine. I place it all on the table. Vincenzo does the same. “Sure.”

I head into the back room. He follows. It’s a power move my father taught me when I was a boy. “If you want to show a man that he isn’t a threat to you, turn your back on him. It’s the ultimate sign of disrespect.”

In the back of the bar, there’s a meeting room, almost like a police interrogation room. It’s a simple layout with a table and two chairs. We sit opposite each other. Vincenzo taps his fingernail against the table, the speed of the tap-tap-tap noise increasing the longer I remain silent.

“You trying to keep me in suspense?” he says.

I smirk. “Why are you nervous?”

“Nervous?” He drops his hand under the table, probably because it’s the only way he can stop the tapping. “I see why you brought me back here now. You didn’t want to disrespect me in front of my men. How courteous of you.”

“Whereas you are content with disrespecting the Morettis in front of the entire city.”

He narrows his analyzing eyes. “Am I missing something?”

“Have you ever heard of Paths of Promise Foundation?”

He swallows. “That’s your pet project, isn’t it? Your charity? It’s a great thing, Dario. Helping underprivileged youth to find a way out of the ghettos and the crack houses, helping them get away from the abuse they’re suffering. Of course, I’ve heard of it. It’s one hell of a thing.”

I lean forward, leaning my elbows on the table and glaring at him. Anger pumps through me, reminding me of who I am. I’m not the man having flirtatious banter with a young actress. I’m this—the man who makes people cringe away and inspires fear. It’s all I’ll ever be.

“Do I look like a fucking idiot to you?”

“Whoa, Dario?—”

“You’ve been blackmailing one of my accountants,” I say flatly. “For three weeks, you’ve been laundering money through the foundation. You’ve already laundered almost ten thousand dollars. Did you seriously think I wouldn’t find out about this? Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice a sudden influx of donations from a shell company belonging to you? Or maybe you just counted on me not giving a damn about the foundation.”

Vincenzo keeps his expression neutral, but I can see the cogs turning as he tries to figure out if he can lie.

“The company belongs to you , specifically,” I growl. “Remember that before you try to tell me you had no idea. You made a mistake. If you wanted plausible deniability, you should’ve had your consigliere establish the company.”

Finally, he sighs. “It was nothing personal. The charity’s office is in the ideal location. We saw a chance, and we took it. We would’ve done the same, even if it didn’t belong to you.”

“But it does belong to me. Many men in my position would see this as a declaration of war.”

He swallows again. “Do you?”

“I see you as a man punching way above his pay grade. I see you as a man who will get himself and his Family in trouble.”

“Careful,” Vincenzo says.

I laugh in his face. Telling me to be careful after he put one of the only bright spots in this city at risk. “Am I supposed to take that seriously?”

“I can’t sit here and allow you to disrespect my Family,” he grumbles.

“You disrespected it the second you tried some petty bullshit like this. You’re going to pay the Morettis thirty grand, stop the laundering, and give another ten grand to the accountant you’ve been tormenting.”

“None of that sounded like a request.”

“No, it did not,” I say firmly. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

After a pause, he says, “I thought engaged life might’ve softened you up a little.”

I try to hide my shock, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Everybody knows everything in this city. “Word travels fast.”

“Nobody knows much about your little lady, but clearly, she hasn’t tamed the big bad wolf that is Dario Moretti.”

“It’d be in your best interests to never speak about her again,” I grit, anger clear in my voice when I should be able to hold it back. My hands tremble as I imagine punching him so hard his teeth go flying from his mouth. I’m usually able to keep my cool during business meetings, but today, that’s not the case.

“You really are in love, then?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” I slam my fist on the table. “If you make one more comment about her, you’re going to have a serious problem. I’ve laid out my terms. Accept them …”

“Or?” he says.

“There’s no ‘or.’ I’ve given you far more courtesy than many men in my position would already.”

He sighs. “I agree to your terms on one condition.”

I grit my teeth, saying nothing, waiting for him to go on.

“Let me come to the wedding. I want to see your pretty bride walk down the ais?—”

Like a panicked animal, he makes a yelping noise when I dart my hand across the table and haul him over it. I spin and slam him against the wall, holding him off his feet, his legs kicking powerlessly. “Don’t fucking speak about her,” I snarl. “Keep Elena out of your mouth. Keep her out of your head. She has nothing to do with you—nothing to do with this life.” When I shake him, his head bashes against the wall. “Am I clear, motherfucker?”

Slowly, he realizes what’s happening. He grabs my wrists. “Let me go. Now.”

“Have I made myself clear?”

“If you don’t let me go, there’s going to be a gunfight. We both know it. It’ll be a massacre.”

I come to my senses. What the hell am I doing? I’ve never snapped in a business meeting.

Outside, one of Vincenzo’s men calls, “Everything okay in there, Don Romano?”

Quietly, Vincenzo says, “Is it Dario? Are you okay? Or are you as cracked in the head as you seem right now?”

I put him down, taking a few stumbling steps back, my heart pounding in my ears, my head filled with countless images of this bastard doing terrible things to Elena. I need to chill.

“Everything’s fine,” Vincenzo replies. “We’re done here.”

“Don’t forget our terms,” I growl as he walks away.

“Don’t worry, Dario,” he says. “I won’t forget anything about this meeting.”

He leaves me to contemplate what I’ve just done. One comment about my fiancée—my fake fiancée—and I could’ve just started a war. Fuck .