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I had to take care of this. Giulio hated me, but I would not let Don Buscetta kill him. Giulio deserved a life free of car bombs and snipers. Even if I died trying, I would give it to him.
It was the very least I could do.
Sasha leaned back to see my face. “Do you know who that is?”
I nodded. “Book me on the first flight to Palermo.”
* * *
Giulio
“Giulio, did you hear me?”
I pulled my attention back to where I was, which was in the passenger seat of Benito’s SUV. I was going on little to no sleep and hadn’t eaten much, either. Three weeks. It felt like a fucking eternity. The only thing keeping me sane was making preparations for Màlaga. “Hmm?”
“I asked if you’re going to let me come with you. To Spain.”
I took a drag off the lit cigarette in my hand. The dark streets of Siderno flew by as we drove through town to our meeting, and I let the nicotine relax me. “Of course. Fausto said I could choose. Are you sure you want to go?”
When I shifted to blow the smoke out the window, Benito leaned over to ruffle my hair. “And miss out on all the fun? Ma dai!”
I pushed him away and told him to fuck off. He laughed, but I heard the serious concern when he asked, “You sure you’re okay? You haven’t said much.”
“I’m fine.” I have been saying this so often lately, I should make it my newest tattoo.
When I finished my cigarette, I immediately lit another. The buzz distracted me from the mess in my head. I was exhausted and angry. The only person in a good mood these days was my father. He liked having me home. Frankie watched me warily, and Zia kept leaving me church schedules. Worse, I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Other than my close family, no one else knew the true reason why Alessio left.
No one knew that he’d betrayed me.
I took another drag to erase the bitterness out of my mouth. Loyalty was everything to me, the concept instilled in me from birth. Ravazzani men didn’t forgive or forget. My father’s truce with D’Agostino was the only exception I could think of, and that was a testament to how much he loved Frankie.
Benito turned a sharp corner. “So, Spain. Tell me about it.”
There was so much to like about Màlaga. It reminded me of Siderno, actually. “Good food, good wine. The beaches, madonna. You will love the women there.”
“Good, because I have fucked all the most beautiful Calabrian women already. I need new pussy, cugino.”
“Is that the only reason you want to come with me?”
“Of course not.” He shoved my shoulder. “I miss you, idiota.”
An idea had been in the back of my mind ever since I learned that Benito was coming to Spain. “I think you should be my consigliere.”
His head whipped toward me. “Are you serious?”
“Who else can I trust more than you?” Though he was a few years older, Benito and I had grown up together. We were family.
“It would be my honor.”
“Thank you.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “You’ll make a good one, Benito.”
He raised his eyebrows. “So you are, what? Don Ravazzani now?”
“Fuck, no.” That title was taken until my father died. “I’m just me.”
“Don’t worry, I will come up with something to call you.”
That was a terrifying prospect. We both fell silent as he pulled around to the back of a warehouse. It looked empty, deserted, but that wasn’t surprising. Our Turkish contacts were paranoid, and we were about to purchase a lot of illegal guns. Over the last two weeks I’d been amassing a stockpile of weapons, one large enough to start a war in Màlaga.
