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He’d go to his father, kill him, and then what?
Little Toni would take over the Battaglia reins.
Which meant Sal would be the one to shoot Vitari in the head. Toni would order it.
This was what Sasha wanted. To destroy it all. Because he could.
Vitari never should have made a deal with him. That mistake had been his downfall.
“Looking forward to going home, Angel?” Neo asked. “Back into your papa’s loving embrace?”
Vitari ignored him, but the anger simmered, then boiled, until silence was no longer possible. “You could have had everything you want, Neo. Money, status. If you’d come to us the right way. The Battaglia embraces honor and integrity, not like Sasha.”
“Honor and integrity,” Neo mocked. “The Battaglia is last century. The whole fucking Italian Mafia is on its way out. Organized crime got sophisticated while you Italians are stuck in the past. Honor, integrity, throw in some respect too, right?” He laughed. “It’s bullshit, fra. Nobody cares about family anymore.”
“The Mafia has survived this long because of family, and respect. The DeSica has none. Sasha will turn on all of you. None of you mean shit to him. You can’t follow someone like that.”
“Oh, so you honor and respect your father?”
Vitari bared his teeth in a meaningless smile. “Whatever I think of my father, I respect don Giancarlo and the Battaglia. You have no respect.”
“So that’s why you betrayed him, huh? Out of respect?”
He should never have bothered speaking to Neo. He’d never understand.
“Or was it because of Stanmore?” Neo asked.
Vitari’s heart turned to ice. “What the fuck do you know about Stanmore?” He couldn’t know anything. Neo was just a grunt. Sasha wouldn’t have told him about Stanmore, especially if the Russian was behind it all, as Francis believed.
Neo’s smirk turned cruel. “I know it’s where you got assfucked by a string of horny men?—”
Vitari didn’t even register leaving his seat and only knew he’d moved when a blast of fire surged through his knuckles and up his arm from the brutal punch he’d landed in Neo’s face. Neo’s guards hauled him off, but he’d done enough. For now.
“Fucking cuff him!” Neo screamed, his face red and his jaw flushed where Vitari’s knuckles had landed.
Vitari was slammed back into the leather seat and cuffed there, chained like the rabid dog he was.
“Guess Stanmore’s where you caught being gay, huh?” Neo laughed, then winced through his pain. He dabbed a napkin to his lip, and it came away stained with blood.
Vitari shouldn’t have reacted. His rage gave Neo power. But he didn’t have it in him to let some things go, and Stanmore was one of them. “What else did Sasha tell you?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“You know, I couldn’t figure out why Sasha didn’t just kill you. It took me a while to get it out of him. He took you from Giancarlo because Giancarlo was weak for some bitch, even back then. Sasha could have done anything with you, could have killed you, but he saved you instead, put you in that kid’s home, just in case he’d need you later, you know… leverage.” Neo said it all as though he were commenting on another sob story, like it was a joke. But that cruel joke was Vitari’s life.
Sasha saved him? Vitari laughed. That was some impressive spin. Sasha’s idea of saving him took a little boy in the faded Voltron T-shirt and put him in the hands of systemic pedophiles.
“Did he use me as leverage?” Vitari asked, hating how quiet his voice had gotten.
“How long were you there for?” Neo asked.
“Too fuckin’ long.”
“Then I guess not, or Giancarlo didn’t rise to the bait. Whatever. It’s some twisted shit, anyway.” Neo looked away; even he was disturbed.
Not as disturbed as Vitari. He wasn’t sure what was worse, being ridiculed by Neo or pitied by him. But he’d learned one thing: Archbishop Montague’s final confession to Francis had been the truth. Neo had now confirmed how Sasha had taken Vitari, put him in Stanmore, and left him there to rot. Montague’s involvement had been more by chance than design. Montague had known Vitari’s mother, helped her, and recognized Vitari when he’d gone searching for boys to fuck.
Although, Sasha had said some things when he’d lied to Vitari, back in his home that night. Things about religion and crime being intertwined. Vitari had assumed he’d been talking about the Battaglia, but he’d had it the wrong way around this whole time. Sasha had been talking about the DeSica, and he’d lied when Vitari had been trying to probe him for information on Stanmore. All of it was lies. He should have expected it, and now he knew the kind of man Sasha was—the kind to sell a child to the sex trade—he’d been a fool to ever believe a word that had passed the Russian’s lips.
Should he be grateful Montague had found him? If he hadn’t, Vitari would probably have died in Stanmore, like the rest of the boys from the back room.
