My eyes had focused past his face, looking at a painting on the wall behind him. But my stare shifted back to him when I heard what he said.
“They say he’s fucking crazy—and you’re fucking crazy.”
I used to take that as a compliment, but in this context, it was an insult. “I don’t kill kids.”
“Well, that might be your one difference,” he said. “So for the preservation of us all, I think it’s best if you return to Cosa Nostra.”
My eyes flicked back to the painting as I rubbed my palms together.
“We need you, Wolfe. I know we parted on bad terms, but there’s still love and respect between us?—”
“That’s your interpretation.” I continued to look elsewhere, swallowed by unease and an all-consuming grudge. Then my eyes flicked back to his. “The only reason I sit here is because you need something from me. If Icarus weren’t a threat, I wouldn’t have heard from you ever again. You wouldn’t be invited to my wedding, and I wouldn’t go to your funeral. This family meant everything to me, but now I realize I was just a soldier and nothing more. Perhaps your memory has dulled with age, but you’ve forgotten how long I hold a grudge. And I will hold this grudge until you’re dead in the ground, Russo.” I stared him down with the flames of hatred burning rampant in my heart. “The dog you threw into the street has a new home now—and it’s where I belong. Don Mancini will stop Lombardi’s powder business imminently and focus on his arms exclusively. The rest of you are fucked.”
For the first time, there was a flash of rage in his eyes—pissed he didn’t get what he wanted. “It’s only a matter of time before he comes for you. Only a matter of time before the other gangs try to take your business because they fear Icarus more than you.”
“And they’ll quickly realize their mistake,” I snapped. “A hell of a lot quicker than you realized yours.”
4
FRANCESCA
It was another funeral.
The seventh one in two weeks.
We arrived in the heart of Caltanissetta and approached the outside of the enormous cathedral in the village at the top of the hill. I wore a black dress and heels, the straps over my shoulders thick because anything that showed too much skin was inappropriate in a church. I carried a lightweight black shawl to cover my shoulders when necessary. I probably shouldn’t show my knees either, but it was hot, and I knew God understood that.
I walked with my father and brother, surrounded by the men my father had brought along to escort him. Wolfe was one of them, dressed in black slacks and a button-up shirt. It was the nicest I’d ever seen him dress. And he lookedgooooood.
I noticed the way the women outside the church stared at him. He and I had only gone out together once, and it had been at the beginning of our relationship. So this was the first time I had to watch women outright gawk at him.
I felt a flush of jealousy, but I was able to brush it off by reminding myself I would do the exact same thing if I were in their heels. Besides, I was the woman he put a load in every night, so I couldn’t bethatmad.
“Dad, you alright?” Leo asked.
My attention snapped back to my immediate family.
My father stopped and stared up at the church, admiring the stonework and the cross at the very top. “I’m not sure how many more times I can do this.”
Leo put his hand on his shoulder. “Almost done.”
“It may not seem like it,” I said. “But being here helps everyone.”
My father appeared immune to my brother’s touch and my words of encouragement. “The reason we’re all here is because of me, because I didn’t see the spy eating at my own table. And I still don’t know the traitor in our midst…”
Leo lowered his hand and exchanged a quick look with me.
Dad took a breath then moved forward, approaching the mass of people as they waited to enter the large church for the service.
Instead of openly staring at me like he usually did, Wolfe scanned our surroundings like he took his job seriously today. Searched the buildings for snipers and those nearby that came too close. I wasn’t sure if he was actually worried—or just doing his job.
“Vincenzo.” A man about a decade older walked up to my father, and it took me a moment to recognize him as Lorenzo, one of my father’s clients for both wine and arms. He owned several restaurants throughout Italy, so he ordered our wine in bulk.And he was a customer of our weapons for his other business. “I know times have been hard. How are you, my friend?” He grabbed his hand and cupped their united grip with his other palm.
“Each service gets worse, not better, friend.”
Lorenzo nodded before he dropped his hold. “I come to pay my respects. I didn’t know Edoardo well, but I knew he meant a great deal to you.”
“He did.”
