4. Vinnie

4

VINNIE

A nger crawls up the back of my neck. "You're not serious."

Raven Bellamy. I met her only once, and I was struck by her beauty. Even without hair, she rivaled the most gorgeous women in the world.

"Have you ever known me not to be serious?" Grandfather asks.

"That's a little bit of a loaded question, isn't it? I haven't been around the last seventeen years. How should I know what the fuck you are now?" I cross my arms and stare him down. "Although if you want me to take out an innocent young woman—one who just got through hell—you're more evil than I ever thought you were."

Grandfather scowls. "And that's how you speak to me?"

"Sure as hell is." I look around the office. Those art deco paintings on the wall must be worth several hundred thousand dollars each. They're gorgeous, but right now, each priceless square inch of those painted canvases hits me like a tiny poison dart. "What has our family come to? We're killing for sport now? This isn't business."

"Sure it is."

"Don't give me that bullshit. Taking out an innocent young woman that has nothing to do with our family is not business." I draw in a breath. "And I won't do it."

"Then I'll never trust you, and neither will my men."

"Maybe I don't trust you , old man." I sear him with my gaze. "Did you ever think of that? I could pull out a Glock right now and put a bullet through your eyeballs. Then I would be in charge, and I'd make the rules."

Grandfather chuckles sardonically. "You're not armed."

He's right. I'm not. No one gets into my grandfather's office armed. But it wouldn't take a lot for me to murder my grandfather. I glance around the office. There are lots of objects I could use as weapons—liquor bottles, letter openers, large books. Hell, I could crack his head open with the large brass lamp on his desk. But the most tempting thought is to simply strangle him with my bare hands.

I'm not going to do any of those things. I'm playing a part. Killing my grandfather might stain my reputation with his henchmen. So I take a seat and calmly speak.

"You don't have to like Falcon Bellamy. But he's Savannah's fiancé, and she loves him. And I love her."

"I love her too."

I shake my head. "You have a fucked-up way of showing it. These people aren't involved in our business. Falcon's not, and his sister sure as hell isn't. This may not have been the match you wanted for Savannah, but the guy you chose for her is dead."

"Killed by your father," he says.

I jump to my feet. "Yeah, killed by my father. You know what? If he hadn't done it, I might've. Rather than see McAllister kill an innocent man?—"

"Innocent?" Grandfather scoffs. "The man's an ex-convict. Or have you forgotten?"

"I haven't forgotten anything." I lean forward across the desk, staring my grandfather down. "I got to know him. He's a good man. Did he do what he was accused of? I don't know, and at this point I don't care. He's paid his debt to society, and he's a free man now. And Savannah loves him. That's the end of it. You want me to take someone out who's done our own family wrong? Say the fucking word. I'll do what I have to do to prove my loyalty. But to murder an innocent young woman who hasn't done anything? Whose brother hasn't done anything, other than love my sister? No. It won't happen. Not under my watch."

My grandfather rises slowly. "You're forgetting that this family is still under my watch."

"Yeah? Fine. I came back. This is my birthright, Grandfather. You need to start changing with the times. Name a name. Any name—as long as he deserves it. I'll do my duty. I'll kill the motherfucker. But I will never harm an innocent woman. Especially not one who just got a second chance at life."

He stares at me then.

Glares at me.

And I wonder if his eyes are drying out, because he's not blinking.

Despite my urge to, I don't look away. I see this for what it is. It's my grandfather trying to stare me down.

He will look away before I do.

I may have learned to come to peace with my guilt during my time in a Buddhist temple, but I also learned inner strength. I learned the power that you can manifest from within yourself.

Right now, I am taking all that power and focusing it into staring my grandfather down.

I'm not sure how many minutes pass before he finally looks away. "Fine," he says. "The name is Giacomo Puzo."

"Who the hell is he, and what did he do to our family?"

Grandfather sinks down into his leather office chair. "He's trying to nudge into our territory. He's been talking to our suppliers in Mexico, and I don't take kindly to it."

I blink, drawing in a slow breath. "Fine. Giacomo Puzo. I'll take care of it." I turn, walk toward the door.

"Vincent?"

I look over my shoulder, raise my eyebrows.

"I'll need proof."

"Won't his obituary be proof enough?" I ask, resisting an eye roll.

"Bring me his pinky finger. Along with that goddamned gaudy pinky ring he always wears." He wrinkles his nose. "I hate the fucking thing. Does he think he's a goodfella or something?"

"Fine. Consider it done."

I'm not cutting any fingers, but I'll get the fucking ring. That'll be good enough.

I leave the office, walk down the hallway past the reception area and to the elevators. This is my grandfather's front—the legitimate business he hides behind. Bianchi & Sons Imports. We're coffee importers. The finest Arabica beans from Columbia.

It's good stuff. We make a lot of money.

But it pales in comparison to the money we make from drugs.

And now, apparently, people.

A shudder runs down my entire body. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

I steel myself. All part of the plan. I've got to go along with it, just for a while, and when the time is right I'll take it down from the inside. I'll do right by my family.

My real family. Savannah and Michael. My dad and mom. And Falcon, too, I guess.

My grandfather may share his DNA with me, but he sure as hell doesn't count.

Why he decided to branch into human trafficking is beyond me, but we won't be doing it for long.

And Giacomo Puzo?

I won't kill him.

But he'll die one way or another.

* * *

Puzo is easy enough to locate. He's one of those sleazy two-bit mobsters who thinks he's smarter than he is. He is also an attorney in a downtown law firm. I don't dare go to his place of business. Nope. I need his home address.

My private investigator has a location for me within half an hour.

He runs a drug ring in the back of a dry cleaner in downtown Austin. A gambling ring as well. I could get in the game, but that would be too easy.

I need to talk to the guy first. I can probably make him skip town…but not before I get that damned ring.

I go downstairs and text my driver to bring the car around.

Yeah, I have a car now. A black Mercedes with bulletproof windows. And a driver. His name is Fred. He wears a chauffeur's hat and everything.

I give Fred the address, and forty-five minutes later, we roll into an affluent suburban community to a custom home. The house's fa?ade is a combination of brick and natural stone which is complemented by large, arched windows. A grand double-door entrance is framed by classical columns and topped with an intricate wrought-iron balcony. The roof is adorned with decorous dormer windows, and the walls are lined with climbing ivy.

This is where Giacomo Puzo lives, along with his lovely wife Marinella and their two children, Anna and Paulina.

Marinella and the girls probably have no idea what Daddy does for a living.

Fred parks the car in a circular driveway in front of the home's three-car garage.

My bodyguard, Elmo—yes, that's actually his name—sits beside me in the backseat. When Fred is in front of the house, he moves to get out of the car, but I stop him.

"I'm going up alone."

Elmo frowns. "Mr. Bianchi wouldn't like that."

"Do you think I give a rat's ass what Mr. Bianchi would like? I'm going up there alone. If he's not home, I don't want to alarm his wife or children."

Elmo looks over at the house for a moment, but finally nods. "If you say so, Mr. Gallo."

I get out of the car and take the concrete walkway up to the elegant brick-and-stone two-story. This is a suburban dream. All that's missing is the white picket fence.

I ring the doorbell, and a golden retriever peeks through the side window, his tongue hanging out of his mouth so that he looks like he's smiling.

Man, a golden retriever? Aren't mobsters supposed to have Dobermans or Rottweilers? Who is this guy anyway?

A moment later, a young woman wearing light-yellow yoga pants and a dark-gray hoodie answers the door, shooing the dog out of the way. "Go on, Francis." Then she looks at me. "Hello, can I help you?"

"Are you Marinella Puzo?"

She laughs. "Gosh, no. I'm Clarice, the kids' nanny."

"I see. When do you expect Mrs. Puzo to come home?"

Clarice pulls out her cell phone and checks the time. "Probably pretty soon. She had lunch with the girls, and then a mani-pedi." Clarice rolls her eyes.

I stifle a chuckle. Classic Mafia wife, for sure. "All right. What about Mr. Puzo?"

Clarice frowns. "He works late most nights. I hardly ever see him. By the time he gets home, I've already got the kids in bed and I've retired to my room."

"Oh, you live here?"

"Yes. The nanny position is a live-in job."

I tilt my head. This young woman is being pretty liberal with the information she's giving me. She has no idea who I am. Granted, I'm wearing an Armani suit, and I totally look the part of a businessman. She has no idea I'm here to kill her employer.

Except I'm not going to kill him. Not directly, at least.

I have my own ideas of how to deal with this. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do, but I'm good at strategizing on the fly.

"Please tell Mrs. Puzo that Vincent Gallo Junior stopped by to see Mr. Puzo."

"Sure, glad to." She smiles. "Do you have a card or something?"

"Of course." I pull my wallet out of my pocket and take out one of my newly minted business cards.

Vincent Gallo Junior, Bianchi & Sons Imports. The Finest Arabica Beans from Colombia.

She grabs the card and reads it. "Oh, I love coffee."

"We only import the best." I give her a quick wink.

I learned while I was in Europe that my good looks can get me pretty much anything I want from a woman. I never took advantage of that, of course.

That is to say, I never used it for the gain of my mafia family. I took plenty of women to my bed, but they had just as good a time as I did.

Unfortunately, I may have to use my powers for evil now.

"It was nice to meet you, Clarice."

"You too, Mr. Gallo."

I dazzle her with my smile once more. "Vinnie. Call me Vinnie."

"Sure. Of course."

I nod and walk away from the Puzo home.

Clarice is a nice girl. Cute, friendly. Clearly overqualified for her job of changing diapers and chauffeuring rugrats to and from their errands.

I almost feel bad about the fact that the man who employs her will soon be six feet under.