I stared at him blankly, unsure what to make of that.
His grin widened. “Told you I’m crazy.”
“I’ve never heard of anything like that.”
“Yeah, I’m fucked in the head.”
“Why do you think you are that way?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Could be genetics, could be growing up in Cosa Nostra, or maybe a combination of the two. I’ve seen men get their heads blown off when I was as young as two. Still remember it.”
A sadness rippled through me and touched every nerve. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” he asked. “You can’t love yourself and hate the things that made you who you are. I’m fine with it.”
“But you were a child.”
He shrugged. “Briefly. By the time I was nine, I already felt like a man.”
“That’s not normal.”
“I’m definitely not normal—and I like that.” He continued to look at me with a playfulness in his eyes. “Don’t feel bad for me. I don’t.”
I’d already fallen pretty hard for this beautiful man, and the idea of anyone ever treating him with less than he deserved just killed me. “Well, it’s hard not to.”
“The past is the past,” he said. “If you live every day in the present, it can never haunt you. I know people have ghosts that haunt their homes and the graveyards in their minds, but I don’t.”
“What about your mother?”
“I tortured and killed the man who took her life,” he said simply. “It won’t bring her back, but I avenged her respect and dignity. And that’s enough for me.” He slid his hand along my face and cupped my cheek. “You’re my life now, Francesca. My present and my future.” His thumb swiped the corner of my mouth. “I live and fight for you now.”
20
WOLFE
It was evening when Don Mancini and Elio joined us in one of the warehouses at the vineyard, where they stored their guns and grenades and ammunition—all the good stuff. Andre, Salvatore, and Leo were there too, along with a few other guys, our crew for the night.
Don Mancini was dressed for dinner, in slacks, loafers, and a button-down dress shirt. He had a Patek Phillipe watch on his wrist, a vintage design like he’d had it for a long time or he just liked that old-fashioned style. “We eat. We negotiate. If terms are met, we make the exchange. If not, we leave. Simple as that.”
No one said a word, like they understood the plan, even though there was no doubt this would be more complicated than that. Nothing was ever smooth in this business—which was why I loved it.
“Let’s head out.”
We left in a line of vehicles, one of the shipping trucks with the vineyard logo on the side coming with us to carry the guns to the buyer. The meeting was in Catania, an hour’s drive from the vineyard. I’d already told Francesca about the job tonight and assured her I would text her the second the work was done.
You know, because the woman was obsessed with me.
Leo drove, while I sat in the passenger seat, the two of us sitting in silence as we followed the Mancini Vineyards truck.
“Want to hit up Taormina after this?”
“Why?” I asked blankly.
“What do you mean, why?” he asked. “Bars. Booze. Women. Need I say more?”
I already had a fine ass woman at home. But I couldn’t exactly say that. “Let’s just focus on the job.”
“You never go out with us.”
