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Damn it.
I swear in Italian. “Why?”
“Did we sell guns to that motorcycle gang in New Jersey?”
I shake my head. “No. That wasn’t us.”
“The Irish are under the impression that we sold the motorcycle gang the guns that we promised them. They’re claiming that the guns were inferior, and that we saved the right guns to sell to the gang and left them with piece of shit ones that we got from Russia.”
“We don’t get guns from Russia,” I answer automatically.
“I know that,” she hisses. “So do the Russians. But they’re not stupid, Elio. Their precious baby angel was kidnapped by the Irish again, and this time, they’re threatening to do much worse to her than they did before.”
I swear again in Italian.
“How does this explain their knowledge of Luna, though?”
“That’s our fault,” she admits grimly. “Once we heard about Luna from Caterina, Nico wasn’t exactly subtle. He bribed nearly ten people to figure out where Elio Rossi’s kid was, and all of them ratted.”
Unfortunately, I believe that does make sense. I was hasty and did not specify the need for discretion to Nico. “That doesn’t explain the attack though.”
“I’m beginning to think it really was a case of wrong place, wrong time. The motorcycle gangs have been battling it out for turf in that area. I’m inclined to believe that one of them mistook Luna’s hiding spot for something else, and bad shit happened.”
Hmm. Gia might be willing to accept such a theory, but I am not. Something else in her story still doesn’t align with what I know to be true about how these groups acted in their natural state.
“So the Irish just wanted to make the Russians suffer?” Why? That still didn’t make any sense. If they had such a fine prize in the Russian mafia princess, why not demand even more from them?
Why make them take credit for an attack that they didn’t do?
“I think that they definitely want to make the Russians suffer, but they were mostly trying to bait you into attacking them,” she says grimly.
There is much more at play here than I had initially considered.
It makes Caterina’s earlier interjection all the wiser. For the umpteenth time, I appreciate how she forced me to reconsider my thoughts. How she had stood up to me, eyes blazing, and told me to reconsider my actions.
No one keeps me. I choose for myself.
I had assumed Caterina meek, from the way that her brothers had presented her to me like a wrapped gift. The way she had sat at that table, demurely looking down, her hands in her lap, had seemed so… minimized.
I realize with a sinking feeling that Caterina was as much responsible for that moment as her brothers had been.
And I did not quite know what to do with that information.
Instead, I turn my attention back to Gia. “So, what’s the play?”
“We need to figure out what the hell the Irish are planning.”
“And how do we do that?”
She hisses out a long breath, and I recognize it. Gia does not like being boxed in. She is one who has dozens and dozens of options, and not only do I appreciate that about her, but I count on it.
“You’re going to hate this.”
“Gia, I doubt I could hate anything more than the fact that my child is somehow being targeted in this upheaval.”
“No, you’re definitely going to hate this.”
“Gia. Just spit it out,” I warn her.
