His thumbs move rapidly across the screen while the men around me continue pacing.
“You wanted to see me,fratellino?”
Stefano walks into the room with Luca close behind him. My brother takes one look at the men gathered inside my office, then turns his attention to me.
“As all of you know, Stefano headed our New York operations until quite recently,” I begin. “He was also the one who made decisions for Kentucky, Virginia, and Ohio.”
“If you’re about to ask me to go back, Maverick, I don’t think I’ll agree.” He lowers himself into one of the chairs across from my desk. “As you suspected, I rather enjoy living here in Palm Springs.”
“Never,fratello,” I assure him. “I would never send you back. I like having you beside me instead of on the opposite side of the country.”
“Aww.” A faint blush spreads across his cheeks.
That’s my brother.
Sweet to his very soul.
Too soft for this world, despite everything this life has forced him to become. He led New York because our family needed him to, not because he ever wanted the power that came with it.
The fact that he survived that city without allowing it to harden every gentle part of him is something I will always admire.
It’s also why I will never send him back.
“Well,” Foster says, drawing everyone’s attention toward him. “I found the shipping company.”
Stefano looks at the name displayed on Foster’s screen.
The warmth disappears from his face.
I see the recognition immediately.
“What’s this about?” Stefano asks, leaning forward in his chair. “We shut that company down years ago. I personally saw to it that the asshole who was running it could never use those trucks to move so much as a box of tissues again.”
“And yet, according to his current employment records, Chris Olsen works for them,” Foster says.
“That’s impossible.”
“Apparently not,” I murmur.
Stefano rises from his chair and takes Foster’s phone, studying the information displayed on the screen.
His earlier warmth is gone. So is the sweet, blushing man who walked into my office only moments ago.
This is the man who controlled New York in my absence.
The man who may have hated every moment he spent sitting in my chair but still ensured no one dared challenge the Moretti name while he occupied it.
“I physically traveled to Ohio and dealt with this myself,” he says. “Their assets were seized, the trucks were stored away, the man in charge is dead, and every contract they had was terminated. There should be nothing left.”
“Someone may have reopened the company,” Spike suggests.
“Not without us knowing,” Stefano replies. “I don’t think you understand how much real estate we control, Spike. If you search the Moretti name in Ohio, you’ll find nothing connected to us. That doesn’t mean we aren’t there.”
“He meant no offense, Stefano,” I say, attempting to calm my brother.
My brother may have a gentle soul, but he does not appreciate having his competence questioned. Especially when it concerns territory he once controlled.
“My apologies,” Spike says. “I’m only trying to understand what’s going on.”
