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“I know you think it’s a bad idea, Dante. But we’ve been invited to this wedding, and if I don’t show it could fuck up the alliance I’m trying to build with the Giordano family. Plus, it’s going to make me look like a vigliacco. I’ll have my bodyguards like always. If anyone decides to attack at the wedding, they will make quite a few enemies.”
Dante sighed. “I understand all that, boss. But like I told you, I’ve been hearing rumors, and they’re starting to get much more specific. That there’s someone in our organization—I don’t know who—getting ready to make a move against you, and this wedding seems like the perfect time to do it. Even if the Giordanos aren’t in on it, attacking you at the wedding would allow whoever it is that’s plotting against you to blame the attack on them.”
“I know, I know, Dante. But if I didn’t do anything you warned me would be dangerous, I wouldn’t do anything at all.”
That was bullshit and Enzo knew it, which annoyed Dante, but he decided against pressing the issue since it would only make Enzo angry, and more importantly, it would cause him to dig in his heels further. At least now maybe he’d be on guard and wouldn’t feel the need to get piss drunk at the reception just to prove a point.
Who was he kidding? Enzo Moretti was definitely getting piss drunk at the reception.
Apparently taking his silence for the extremely grudging acquiescence it was, Enzo continued, “Tell me about these rumors you’ve been hearing. Do you have any idea who it might be?”
“No,” Dante replied. “Someone high up. But I’m not sure exactly how high or how many people are involved.”
“Well you’d better fucking find out then,” said Enzo, with frustration but no real hostility.
“That’s what I’m working on, boss.”
Then, just as he rose to leave, a knock at the door was followed by the entry of very possibly the biggest asshole in Chicago, and very definitely Dante’s least favorite person in the world.
Gennaro Moretti.
Enzo’s youngest and only surviving brother, who for reasons of familial loyalty—and because Enzo was a stubborn fuck—had been made second-in-command of the whole organization over Dante’s objections.
Before even addressing Enzo, Gennaro turned to Dante and spoke in his most obnoxious, ordering-around-a-peasant tone. “I just got word there was a break-in at our warehouse over on Canal Street. I need you to go look into it.”
Dante didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. “Really? You want me to go personally check out a break-in at a warehouse?”
“Is there a problem with that?” asked Gennaro combatively.
“No problem, other than the fact that I have things to be doing besides grunt work,” Dante replied snappishly.
While Gennaro was second in command of the outfit, Dante’s unique relationship with Enzo was such that everyone in the room understood he didn’t typically get ordered around like some two-bit goon.
With an audible, let’s-just-keep-the-peace-here sigh, Enzo spoke up. “Dante, I know you don’t normally handle this sort of thing, but that warehouse has some important merchandise, so go ahead and oblige Gennaro this once and check on it for me.”
Deciding that he’d pressed Enzo’s patience enough for one night, Dante simply nodded, said, “Yes, boss,” and left the room, making an obvious effort to roughly push past Gennaro on his way out.
As the door closed behind him, Dante couldn’t avoid a sense of intense suspicion. Gennaro was an asshole and liked to flex his muscle within the organization as much as possible, but this felt too random to just be his normal attempt at dick-measuring.
Putting that aside for the moment, he pulled out his phone and called for a driver to take him down to the warehouse district.
Half an hour later, Dante wasn’t just pissed, he was concerned. Deeply concerned. It was one thing for Gennaro to send him out like an errand boy, but it was something else entirely for him to just make something like this up. And yet here he was at the warehouse with no sign whatsoever of a break-in…
His phone buzzed, and he knew instinctively that it was going to be nothing good. A moment later, the near panic in the voice of one of his best informants confirmed his worst fears.
“It’s tonight, boss. They’re making their move tonight.”
“Who? Who is it?”
“Gennaro. It looks like he’s working with Bruno Giordano.”
Fuck.
“I’m on my way.”
Aurora’s phone vibrated again.
Without looking, she knew who was calling. Having Enzo Moretti for an uncle came with quite a few perks, like a full ride at one of the most expensive schools in the country and an apartment in Manhattan, but also some annoyances.
