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“Did he handle them? What did they do?”
“Went into one of Maximo’s clubs. Shot it up, stole shit.”
“You didn’t answer the first part of the question.”
“Says he did.”
“But Maximo doesn’t believe it.”
Elio answers quickly. “Nope. He’s pissed at the balls he’s growing.”
“So am I,” I admit.
“He’s blaming us.”
“Excuse me?”
“He’s blaming our lack of authority and organization along with the respect of the treaty. Said if we’d have followed the rules, Canvani wouldn’t be pulling this shit.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“I know, but we can’t blame him for saying it. Business, Piccolino.”
Yeah, business. Fucking business.
The outside gate chimes, pulling my attention behind me to glance at my monitors. Marco’s car comes into view, and he’s let in by the facial recognition in the small camera and makes his way up the driveway.
“You know anything about Marco stopping by?” I ask as I get to my feet.
“Haven’t talked to him.”
This can’t be good.
I sigh. “Well, let’s see what this is all about.”
He’s chuckling as I end the call, but I don’t find any of this shit funny. Not one fucking bit. My brothers and I don’t make unannounced stops at the other’s houses. We’re family, but we’re not that close. When I open the front door, he’s getting out of his truck.
“Everything okay?” I call out.
He rounds the large vehicle, holding his arms out wide. “Can’t visit my baby brother?”
“Not for nothing,” I say.
He shakes his head as he moves up the stairs. We share a hug, then he’s moving past me. I go after him, still confused as to why he’s here and growing more annoyed that he still hasn’t told me.
“You got any food? I haven’t had breakfast yet.”
I check my watch. “It’s two in the afternoon.”
“Must be why I’m so hungry.”
He goes into the kitchen and opens the fridge, making an excited sound as he pulls out a container of Braciole, which was what Kate made for dinner last night.
I stand back and watch as he throws the entire thing into the microwave, grabs a fork, and eats it right from the container when it’s done.
“Did you come into my home just to eat my food?” I narrow my eyes. “You having money problems?”
He swallows, reaching for a napkin on the counter to wipe his mouth. “No, but I can’t think straight while I’m hungry.”
