Page 97 of Power & Punishment

“Tell me now if you’re not up for it, Russo. I can’t handle any weakness from you right now.”

“Fuck you, DeLuca,” he seethes.

“I’m flattered, but I don’t think your sister would approve.”

The line goes quiet, a few murmured curse words filtering through. I smile wider.

“Whatever,” he mutters. “Did you get Alice settled okay?” he asks, quickly pivoting the conversation.

I nod, walking toward the large window in my office that overlooks the park. “She’s fine. My sister is looking after her.”

I leave out the part about my brother being an ass about the whole thing. It got to the point where I considered asking my parents for help, but if they knew what I was up to, they’d try to stop me.

Having Mari and Gio involved is bad enough.

“Thank you,” he replies, catching me off guard. I grip the edge of the windowsill and wait for him to take it back or throw a targeted insult my way.

But he’s quiet.

I hate when people are quiet.

“You’re welcome, Russo,” I say, feeling uncomfortable about whatever silent surrender is happening between us.

Thankfully, the line goes dead before things get even more mushy.

“You know two anonymous phone calls in two days is going to raise some red flags at the NYPD, right?” Michael points out.

I keep my gaze pointed out the window, watching as people walk by—too focused on where they’re going to care that they’ve become a source of comfort for someone like me.

I’ve always been good at observing. Biting my tongue and biding my time until something useful presented itself. That’s part of the reason I got to where I’m at.

But that strategy got thrown out the window the moment I set eyes on Emilia Russo.

“I know,” I answer. My attention snags on a family waiting for Michael to respond. A man and a woman walk side by side, pushing a stroller through the afternoon foot traffic.

From this angle, I can only see the man’s face as he smiles brightly at his wife.

Jealousy isn’t a word that crosses my mind a lot, but looking at this random family enjoying a sunny afternoon on their way to the park makes my heart ache in a way that I can’t find the energy to fully understand.

When all I hear is the sound of Michael’s fingers tapping away, I clear my throat and turn toward him. “Is this the part where you start lecturing me about Mia?”

Michael stares blankly ahead. The only indication that he heard me is the fact that his fingers pause midair and lift away from the keyboard.

My eyes catch on the way his throat constricts like he’s restraining himself from saying what he really wants to say.

“Spit it out already,” I order.

He takes a deep breath. “You’re losing sight of the real goal here.”

I expect an instant reaction. Anger or even irritation at the very least. But I’m a reasonable man. He’s completely right.

“I still want him dead,” I say, not feeling the need to say the name of a man that doesn’t deserve headspace anymore, “but I won’t risk her getting any more hurt than she already has.”

“Mia can take care of herself,” Michael says, standing to his full height. The bastard is taller than me and uses it to his advantage. “She’s not as fragile as everyone expects her to be.”

I roll my head, feeling the ligaments of my neck crack and whine. “I know that, but she was getting in over her head. She asked me if I knew the name Marco Bellini. The second Enzo’s insiders caught wind that she was digging into his dead second-in-command, he’d start asking questions and figure out who she is.”

“And that wouldn’t be good for us,” I add, letting the pieces fall into place.