But of course, it’s the perfect temperature. Our chef knows his trade well.
I’m on edge, with a restlessness I haven’t been able to shake for days. My interaction with Frankie has only made it worse. Might as well bring up the constant elephant in the room. The one none of us have been eager to face.
“What do we know about the man who killed our father?” I ask, pushing thoughts of my former wife to the corner of my mind and mentally begging her to stay there. “This…George Bregman.”
Just saying the name out loud puts me in a foul mood. Armani clears his throat and coolly reaches inside his breast pocket. He pulls out a piece of paper and slides it across the table to me.
“These are known associates for Bregman,” he tells me. “A couple of them are interesting.”
I unfold the paper and scan the list of handwritten names, some vaguely familiar. Except—one of these names has my pulse picking up. I find myself rubbing my finger over it. A Bruno. This name came up a lot when my mother and sister went missing years ago, in the boating accident. Not to mention, it’s the surname of a notorious rival crime family.
“Let me see that,” Marco says. “Please.”
I pass him the page and look back at Armani. “Have you contacted any of these?”
“Not yet,” he says. “I want to gather something concrete first. Bregman owes most of them money, but that’s as far as I’ve gotten.”
Just having the name of the man who killed our father is enough for me. I’m ready to make a move.
He’s likely got protection, though. We’ll have to lay a trap, draw him to us. The kind of game our father was well versed in playing. Growing up, I remember men being led to our front room by his enforcers. The captives would be crying. Pleading. Apologizing. And all the while my father would just stare at them, expressionless. Once he had what he wanted, they’d be taken away. It took a long time before I realized that he probably hadn’t simply let them go.
Marco sits up straighter. “What about the Bruno family?” he asks, homing in on the same name I did. “You have to look at who stood to gain the most with Dad out of the picture.”
Armani hesitates but then shakes his head.
“It’s possible, but not likely. Dad and the Brunos went way back,” he muses. “I won’t say they didn’t have their tensions, but they’re an old family like us. They know how it works. It’d be too big of a risk to fuck with the Bellantis that way. Retaliation from us could wipe them out completely, not to mention screw their relations with all the other families who respect us.”
“Let’s keep an open mind regardless,” I suggest. “Even if they didn’t hire Bregman directly, we can’t assume they weren’t involved in some way. They’re a huge syndicate.”
“Understood,” Armani says. “I’ll keep up the investigations.”
Marco volunteers, “I’m gonna be looking into a few leads myself. I’ve got some things I want to check out.”
My coffee cup hits the table with a clatter. “Like what? You know something you’re not telling us, Marco?”
“Nothing like that,” he says. “Just due diligence.”
I give a nod of agreement and drum my fingers on the table.
“What have you come up with to deal with the Rico issue?” I ask Armani.
His lips pull into a thin line. “I’m still working on it, as you’re well aware. Unless you’d rather handle him the old school way? The way Dad would’ve handled it?”
It’s obvious what he’s asking me, and Marco looks between us almost eagerly as I think it over for a moment. Dad would have had Rico erased in a heartbeat. But I’m not trying to be my father. Enzo Bellanti I am not. Part of me is surprised Armani even made the suggestion.
Granted, we have an unspoken agreement whereby he has free rein to take care of select problems however he sees fit—but my brothers and I have been on the same page about keeping our family name clean ever since our father passed. And as much as I want this Correa asshole out of our lives, I don’t want to cast any new shadows over our business or our family name. Especially now that the winery is flourishing.
“No,” I tell him. “We’re staying clean. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
I see Armani’s shoulders relax as he lets out a breath. “All right. Agreed.”
Marco looks slightly disappointed but nods his agreement as well. Armani stands from his chair and excuses himself for the night. Marco finishes his coffee a few minutes later and heads to his room as well.
I’m left alone, brooding, my coffee now cold. Everything in my life is always so goddamned cold. Except for Frankie. She was warm and lively. She challenged me with her intelligence and her mulish stubbornness. A stubbornness I’d grown to grudgingly respect. And I wasn’t the only one, either.
Hell, she’d only worked in the tasting room for a short while, but I can tell that the staff miss her. Those genuine smiles I’d started seeing around on the Bellanti employees are long gone. It’s like a kind of light has gone out of my life. One I didn’t even realize had been there.
I push back from the table in disgust. What am I thinking? I want her back in my bed, that’s all. There are no finer feelings in the heart of Dante Bellanti, and there never will be. I can’t afford that luxury. Or that weakness.
