Page 78 of Made in Love and Blood

Giorgio’s gaze skipped over the dark wood on the table as he contemplated such a thing. “That would make business a bit difficult, wouldn’t it? He can’t be a dead man who everyone sees. He won’t stay dead for long.”

“No, he’d have to stay dead,” Salvatore agreed, watching the blond, blue-eyed capo for any reaction. He didn’t give one. “Christiano, thoughts?”

“I—”

“Wouldn’t you ask for my thoughts first?” Giorgio snapped. “He’s my capo, who by the way, makes a great deal of fucking money, Sal.”

Salvatore used the motion of rubbing his temples to hide the roll of his eyes. After, he turned his gaze upon Giorgio with the patience one needed to deal with small, unruly children. “Giorgio, the business can be transferred. The assets, the profit, the men. It can all be moved over to someone else’s control. Pick someone. It’s that easy. The narcos will take some handling, but even they can be fucking bought for the right price. What do you want, the trial and the papers for the next year or two, or nothing?”

“He’s not wrong,” Christiano put in.

Giorgio huffed, glaring at nothing in particular. “I made you.”

Christiano remained steadfast. “And look what I did, huh? Look what I did with it. Isn’t that what we’re all thinking?”

Silence covered the room like a thick smog coming down on city streets. The elephant in the room grew ten times its size, but Giorgio refused to pay it any mind, apparently.

“We’ll come back to this,” he told Christiano, “another time.”

“Sure, boss.”

Salvatore added nothing.

His seed was planted.

It took but a look at Giorgio after Christiano’s departure, and the way he sucked on the cigar dangling between his thick lips alongside the heavy lines written into his forehead, to know the boss was pissed.

“Now, what’s this about a conversation?” Giorgio barked.

Anthony Carcoli jumped in to speak first. “I don’t know, boss. Big Mike hasn’t called me for anything, and we haven’t had issues on the streets.”

“Nico,” Big Mike stated, quieting the room.

Three things happened, then.

Giorgio’s scowl deepened.

Anthony stared harder at Big Mike.

And Sal wondered if he should start praying again...

“Nico?” two people asked at the same time.

The boss and Carcoli glanced quickly at one another.

“Your son, yes,” Big Mike continued. “See, I’ve had coffee with him every Saturday morning for the last three weeks. I shouldn’t have needed to see his face in at least a month, yet he showed up, needing to chat.”

“I don’t understand,” Giorgio started to say, turning on Salvatore. “I thought you had him handled.”

“He is,” Salvatore replied, even if he didn’t know the reason for Nico’s name coming up at tribute. “Mike hasn’t told me differently. Nico is where he should be when he’s supposed to be there. I don’t even think he’s gotten a speeding ticket since being back.”

That one might be a stretch, though.

“Week one,” Big Mike said, tipping his head sideways as he stared down Carcoli across the table, “Nico took a random thing I said, and ran with it. Apparently, he found it very important to understand exactly what kind of agreement Anthony and I had about his clubs and my dealers. He came to me to confirm the deal, so he understood it properly.”

“Nico Russo is working on your crew?” Anthony asked. “Since when?”

Giorgio cleared his throat. “We all know the deal. I approved it. Carcoli has clubs in your neighborhoods, and he doesn’t pay to run the gambling in the back on your territory. You deal out of any club he owns, and he doesn’t take a cut.”