13. Marco

Chapter 13

Marco

V alentina's giddy when she calls early the next morning. "Adam wants to meet with you this afternoon. Got some time?" I pace across my living room. The jackal ear sculpture catches my eye in its place of prominence near the windows.

"I had a feeling he'd call," I say.

"You don't mind that he got in touch with me first?"

"Not at all. I have a feeling he's got a crush on you."

She laughs lightly. "I doubt it. I'm just the disgraced daughter of a dead crime lord, remember? Anyway, he wants to see you at Osteria del Sole before it opens, around noon."

"I'll be there."

"One down. We're on the way." She hangs up and I smile to myself as I stretch in front of the windows, stroke a hand down the jackal ear, and drink some fresh espresso.

My mind is far from Adam and the alliance. All morning I've been thinking about Laura Bianco and the enormous risk I took in going to that second show, much less buying that sculpture. The second invitation was harder to fake than the first, and their system had some seriously impressive new defensive innovations installed. I worked on it up until the last second, and even then, I wasn't sure I disabled their AI face-scanning software, which is why I couldn't stay indoors for long.

The moment I saw that jackal ear, I knew I had to have it. Some old lady was already shoving her checkbook at Angelo Bianco's wife, and I had to step in with a fake German accent, a phony alias, and a lot of fucking money to make it mine.

But there's no way I would've left that show with it.

Laura sculpted it for me. She made that with her own hands, and there's no doubt in my mind she was thinking about our game as she did it. In some way, I think that ear was part of whatever we have happening between us, and she would've been heartbroken if I hadn't taken it home, like it was a test.

I suspect I barely passed.

Too bad she has no clue who I really am. If she did, she'd understand why going to Cage is insane, and only a total idiot would risk it.

The Bianco Famiglia would shoot me on sight. I was too high up in Luciano's organization for them to let me live. I've been lying low for a while, building up my strength and sharpening my skills, but no matter how good I am, walking right into the heart of their world is total madness.

Which is why I can't ever do it again.

I look up at the ceiling, eyes closed. I taste Laura on my tongue. That fucking kiss—it was world-changing. I've never felt a mouth like that in all my life. Her tongue, her little moans and whimpers, the way she threw herself into it like I was the last man on earth. It was incredible, and that kiss made what happened later even better.

Her body on the screen, wreathed in the darkness of her room, obeying all my commands as she teased her own pussy while I watched. I made her come with nothing but my words again and as she licked her fingers clean, I finished stroking myself, coming so hard I nearly blacked out.

That girl is going to kill me, and I can't wait to die.

Osteria del Sole is quiet this early in the day. The staff ignores me and Adam as we sit at the bar and drink beers. Valentina decided she'd better not show up—I think I freaked her out with that little crush comment earlier.

"I don't know how you did it," Adam says, staring at his drink, and I honestly can't tell if the guy's happy.

"It wasn't too hard." I give him the abridged version of my meeting with Michael.

Adam grunts and seems amused. "I could have done that."

"Maybe, but I did, and it worked." I clink my glass against his. "You're welcome."

He leans back and studies me. I can tell he's looking at me in a new light now. I'm guessing for a long time, I've been nothing but Luciano's former Capo, a talented hacker and a smart crime boss, but not necessarily someone to fear.

Now, he's rethinking that attitude.

"I told you that if you could get me the restaurant, and if you could convince the others, I would join."

"I remember."

"You've done one of the two." He tilts his head. "Now, do the second, and I'll go up against the Biancos."

"About that. I'm going to tell the others about the deal we made. All I ask is that you don't deny it." I figure pressing him to help me convince the others will only backfire, but if they know he's a step away from joining, that'll do a lot of work all by itself.

He nods and tilts his head towards me. "That's reasonable." But then he pauses and clears his throat. "I should tell you something, though. Dusan has no intentions of joining this group."

I don't like hearing that, not at all, even if it doesn't surprise me. I knew Dusan was going to be the most difficult of them to bring around. "What makes you say that?"

"He's currently dealing with a problem."

"As you're now aware, I'm good at dealing with problems."

Adam's lips press together. "You won't like it."

"Tell me anyway."

"Dusan's goddaughter fell in with a man. She's only fifteen, and he's twenty-six. He's also Italian and a member of the Bianco Famiglia."

I sigh and take a long drink. "That sounds unfortunate. But wouldn't it be more of a reason for him to want to oppose the Biancos?"

"Yes and no. Dusan's got a soft spot for the girl, apparently, and she's madly in love with this boy. Her father is livid, but the girl insists she's going to marry the Italian boy. It's a mess."

"I can see that." I turn my glass in a slow circle as the condensation pools around the base. "What if I were to make the boy go away?"

"That would break his goddaughter's heart, and I think he wants to avoid that."

I grunt and cock my head to the side. "And I assume going to war with his goddaughter's new boyfriend's crime family would also be bad?"

"Now you see the problem. Dusan wants the girl to leave this boy, but he also doesn't want to hurt her. Or that's what he told me at least. I suspect there's more to the story that he's not sharing, but you'll have to figure that part out on your own."

"I appreciate you telling me all that."

Adam shrugs and finishes his beer. "I suppose it's the least I can do, considering. That restaurant means a lot to me and my family, and we're very happy to have it back under our ownership, where it belongs. I'll keep my word, even if it's a long shot. Convince all the others, and I'm in."

I walk him out after we finish our drinks. Adam's not a talker, and I'm ready to tell Valentina the story of Dusan's goddaughter and her much-too-old Italian boyfriend. I suspect she'll have some ideas on what we can do.

We exit Osteria del Sole together and pause on the sidewalk. I shake his hand as his bodyguard flicks away a cigarette and comes to join us. The butt barely hits the ground before a car comes screaming down the block, tires churning up black smoke as it slams on its brakes directly across from us.

"Boss, get down," the guard says, leaping forward and drawing a gun. But he's too late, and much too slow.

I hit the ground hard and roll toward a parked truck. Car alarms blare as gunshots bang out into the morning, loud like cannons on the otherwise silent block. I curl up and cover my head as glass rains down around me, and there's a brutal, pained scream, which better not be fucking Adam. The shooting goes on for way too goddamn long before it stops, and a car door opens.

The assholes. I yank my gun from my waistband, roll onto my belly, and as soon as a guy in a black ski mask steps onto the sidewalk, I shoot him twice in the shin and again in the head as he falls backwards. Arrogant prick was going to finish us off, but now he's dead, and his friends abandon him as the car swerves, burns rubber, and shoots away. I take a couple shots but miss.

"Adam," I say, turning toward the wreckage of the sidewalk. At first, all I see is blood, half from the dead attacker and half from the Polish bodyguard. Then I spot the big crime boss climbing to his feet, hidden behind an old metal mailbox, the blue paint chipped and rusted from years of neglect, but apparently enough to save his life.

"The bastards," the big man growls as he pushes past me and rushes to his bodyguard. "Jakub, I told you to stay home." He cradles the dead man's head, strangely tender. Around us, bystanders begin to poke their heads out, and I notice more than one calling 911.

"We need to go," I tell him, gently taking his arm.

But he shoves me back. "Jakub was a friend. I'll stay with him."

"The police are on their way. They'll have questions."

"And I know nothing about what happened here, except there was a botched robbery."

I hesitate, not happy about leaving him. But I know better than to get mixed up with the police. I hurry to the dead attacker and yank off his mask: wavy dark hair, olive complexion. I'd say Italian, which is confirmed when I yank his wallet out and check his ID: Raffaele Bianchi.

Dark thoughts swirl. This had to have been the Biancos, and they wouldn't bother with a hit like this if they didn't think it was worth the risk. Which means we're on their radar before we're ready, and that's a very, very bad thing.

Someone talked. I don't know how else the Biancos would've heard, much less would've known about my meeting with Adam. Very, very dark thoughts swirl, as I hurry away from the scene of the shooting, already planning my next ten moves.