Page 68 of Venomous Throne

“Donna!” a female gasped. “It’s Saveria.”

“Hi, hun, what’s happened—”

She spoke rapidly over me, probably not hearing in her frenzied state. “I was working downtown, at the hotel, and the kids were dropped off by Don Mancini and his wife. The house caught fire tonight. From sparks. The warehouse burnt!”

Through her rambling, two things crystallized. Bonetti’s idiocy was repaid. Don Mancini took my intel and acted on it! He had beef with Bonetti because the bastard attacked his club, and now he’d struck back.

Exactly as I hoped he would.

“Exactly as I planned,” I mouthed.

The other thought, that quickly followed on the heels of the first, was that my people had been caught in the crossfire.

“Your kids are okay?” I confirmed.

“Yes, the signora tried to save the house. She was on the roof! Watering it with a hose. When she couldn’t, they took the kids and a few belongings and got them out of there.” Saveria was crying.

I felt her terror in my bones.

That was too close a call. Too high a price for the victory.

“Other homes?” I was out of bed and tugging on clothes.

“I don’t know, donna,” Saveria sniffled.

“It’s going to be okay,” I promised.

Come hell or high water, I was going to take care of our people.

“Go to the church, you can stay there,” I instructed. “I’m headed to the warehouse now.”

Saveria squeaked. “No, donna! If Rocco is around, he’ll hurt you!”

He could try.

I was going to be the first on the scene. My people needed aid. Shelter and food, and then I would try and restore some semblance of order.

“Go to the church, Saveria. I’ll send word if I can’t come myself.”

When she croaked a response, I ended the call. The slip of paper fluttered to the floor. I folded it and tucked it in my bra, a talisman against whatever the night would bring.

If this was to be my fairytale, and I was some ancient queen of old, then my people came first. Always.

***

Five homes were razed to the ground. Their charred remains were a bleak testament to Bonetti’s hubris and the inevitable consequences. I stood amid the smoke and ash, watching firefighters battle the last of the flames licking at what remained of the warehouse. The smell of burning plastic and wood filled my lungs, making each breath a reminder of what had happened here.

“Donna Isabella.” A voice called from behind me.

I turned to find Joseph approaching, his face grim. Soot streaked across his brow, and exhaustion dragged at his features.

“Twenty-three people displaced,” the capo said without preamble. “No casualties, thank God, but three are in the hospital from burns and smoke inhalation.”

I nodded, relief washing through me. No deaths. At least there was that mercy.

A sports car whizzed down a side street, catching our immediate attention. The capo jumped in front of me, ready to take a damn bullet.

The car paused, lingering in the middle of the road.