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DANTE
Jealousy churns in my gut,snarling and popping like the acid did when I deposited Jimmy Smitts in the barrel last month.
Somehow Matteo and Rafe put marriage on Angelo’s table. And not just any marriage—to Maddie. I mean, what the fuck were they thinking? I thought we fucking agreed to keep her as far away from him—from this life—as possible.
Underneath my incredulity lies envy. If anyone’s going to marry her, it should be me. Being without the Rossi name has always left me feeling other, an outsider, but for once, it would work in my favor.
I roll my eyes at myself. I’m thinking about marriage like I haven’t been seeing her for months. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve been watching over her for longer, much longer.
But that’s a conversation I still need to have with her.
“Keys.” Matteo grits out the single word between clenched teeth, interrupting my spiraling thoughts.
My shoulders tense as my fingers curl around the keys to keep them from jingling. The last thing we need is to give someone an excuse to act.
To the untrained eye, it might seem like Angelo Rossi is out for vengeance. On a mission to avenge our lost men.
But they'd be fools.
Angelo Rossi looks out for exactly one person: himself.
Sure, he's the boss of the entire east coast outfit, so he has some investment in the survival of everyone below him. But that courtesy extends as far as it's profitable for him. His interests begin and end with his own personal gain. You're useful until you're not. And once you become useless, you become dead.
I hand the keys to Matteo carefully, keeping them tight in my fist as I scan the darkened parking lot. It's not like Matteo can’t drive, it's just that I like to. Being in control of a piece of machinery like that is a powerful feeling. It's one of the reasons I started looking into flying lessons, when and if I find someone that I feel confident will teach me what I need to know discreetly.
Across the road, the street light flickers before it goes out. Of course Angelo would pick this seedy little shithole, where the street lights are burned out and the parking lot is riddled with potholes—and full of expensive cars.
The usual clientele is bottom of the barrel, the type to spend more than they have. And who better to offer them a house loan other than Angelo Rossi? Like idiots, they take his offer. He hands money to men who can't hope to pay it back in their lifetime with a wide grin. Fucking stupid business plan, if you ask me.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, my intuition demanding I take notice. I scan our surroundings as we weave through the cars until we hit the sidewalk. Like usual, we parked two blocks away, allowing ourselves an easy escape route if we need it.
Escaping the building is one thing, but if you're landlocked in a sea of cars, you're fucked. I glance at my best friend out of the corner of my eye, noticing his stiff posture. I don’t know if it's from pain or anger, probably both. I swallow my question of concern, knowing better than to trust we're alone just because I don't see anyone.
The fact that he even uttered a single syllable, effectively breaking our rule tells me more than the four letters or stiff shoulders ever could.
I'm not egotistical enough to assume that the other heads of the five families don't have eyes and ears everywhere. I know for a fact at least two of them have more than capable seconds. Everyone in that room has been trained damn near since birth.
But unfortunately for us, too many of them are trigger-happy assholes who would jump at the chance to gain Angelo’s favor. I wouldn't put it past any of them to read more into a single movement or misread something. In a time where the lines between friends and foes are blurring, I’m looking over our shoulders now more than ever.
With that thought in mind, I pick up the pace, not enough to seem like we're weak, like we're running away, but enough that Matteo notices and matches my stride easily.
We round the front of my Mercedes, and Matteo seamlessly slides into the front seat while I take the passenger. We give it a minute, letting the overhead light darken and our eyes readjust to the dim lighting. Unlocking the glove compartment, I pull out two small devices, flipping the switch on each of them. Matteo watches from the corner of his eye as he adjusts the seat.
It’s an obvious nervous gesture considering we’re practically the same height—and we drive the same way. One of those things that started as a necessity for a quick getaway and somewhere along the way, morphed into our normal.
I can't deny how unsettling it is to see my nearly unflappable best friend so rattled. If I didn’t have such a lock on my own nerves, I might be liable to do something out of character and offer him platitudes.
I wait until the first device blinks green. A moment later, the other one does the same. I power them off and shove them back in the glove compartment underneath some napkins and a flashlight.
“No listening devices or trackers signals were picked up. Looks like our connection to the Brotherhood is really paying off.”
Matteo grunts as he starts the car and pulls onto the road. “Yeah, well I don't feel very fucking lucky right now, do you?”
I lean back in the seat and check my phone for any missed calls or texts. It’s silenced most of the time, but always during meetings. It’d be too easy to tap someone’s phone or create a piggyback signal, and we’d be fucked before anyone even realized it.
Damn. Nothing. I was expecting to hear from Leo or Rafe by now.
