Page 15 of The Beast Who Begged Me

“I appreciate your concern,” Caligula says. “But as you can see, I’m fine.”

D’Amato nods. “Good. That’s good.” He looks around the small room again. “Thank you for taking care of that little problem I had, by the way. I received your care package yesterday morning.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about for a second. And then I remember: Scaglietti, that motherfucker, and Caligula blowing his brains out over the table. The hand, sent to D’Amato as proof, and Caligula’s confident explanation that the Morelli Don wanted his double agent dead. “I know how the mind of a Mob Boss works,” he’d said.

And he was right.

“It was my absolute pleasure,” Caligula says, deadpan.

“I won’t intrude long,” D’Amato goes on. “But my husband asked me to check on you, make sure you were being looked after.” He gives the slightest flick of his eyes toward me, and I know Fontana must have given his Boss a bad impression of me.

Not unwarranted, either.

“How kind of Finch to care,” Caligula says coolly. “But Dami has always looked after me well. Please tell him to stop worrying about me.”

“Finch also raised the matter of your lodging once you’re released from here,” D’Amato sweeps on. “You have nowhere to go.”

“I have other properties—” I start.

“Properties your previous Boss knows about, I’m sure.” D’Amato cuts me off without even looking at me. “A young man in your position, Cal…well. Do you know chess at all? Then you’ll understand me when I say your pieces are few. You’re a king with only a knight and a handful of pawns to protect you now. What you need right now is a rook: a castle to keep you safe.”

A knight. That’s me, I guess, in his tidy little metaphor. He’s wrong, though. Knights are pieces, and pieces get played. Not me.

I’m the hand that flips the fucking board.

“What are you suggesting?” Caligula asks slowly.

D’Amato gives a chilly, unwelcoming smile. “My place.”

My place, he says. Like we could crash on his sofa for a few nights. But his place is the Morelli mansion, where the old Don, Tino Morelli, met his end.

And Lou Clemenza did, too.

“No fuckin’ way,” I say.

“That’s very generous of you, Luca,” Caligula says. “But I couldn’t possibly go without my people.”

“Your…people?” the Morelli Don repeats, brows shifting slightly.

“Dami.” Caligula nods at me. “And Rosa and Vito. And Sammy, of course. You probably saw them out in the hallway. They’re very dear to me. All of them.”

D’Amato is quiet for a long moment. “All of them?” he asks, just a shade too polite. “Of course. They are…also welcome.” He sounds strained. “Finch will be very pleased.”

“I plan to discharge myself in the morning,” Caligula says, in news to me.

“Then I’ll send a car for you tomorrow,” Luca tells him.

“No fuckin’ way,” I repeat, but D’Amato has already turned to leave.

“Luca,” Caligula says, and only then does the Morelli Don turn back. “Thank you.” He smiles a fake smile.

“I’m a reasonable man, Cal. I see a promising opportunity, and I offer my support. That’s how this city works.” He gives me another look. “Even when there are complications.”

The door clicks shut, and I stomp over to the bed, not bothering to hide my fury. “I said no fuckin’ way and I meant no fuckin’ way.”

Caligula looks up at me, not smiling anymore. “And where else are we supposed to go?”

“I can get us a hotel suite. We don’t have to go crawling into the Morellis’ den.”