Page 57 of The Beast Who Begged Me

There are five of us in the room around a table that could seat twice that number. But it’s probably just as well that none of us are within arm’s length. Things could get heated tonight. I already overheard Alessi muttering something about “the Giuliano” to Rossi when they came in.

Luca D’Amato makes a toast at the beginning of the meal, calling for calm heads and generous hearts. Rossi and Alessi share a knowing glance, but they raise their glasses and drink.

The appetizers arrive, carried in by Rosa, and she shuts the door behind her.

Alessi speaks first. “Don Morelli, I don’t wanna tell you how to do things, of course, but it seems to me you coulda told us to expect a new Giuliano Boss as well as a Clemenza. Because I see no other reason why this guy—” He flicks a derisive finger Dami’s way. “—would be in this room with us now, unless he’s claiming to be head of the Giulianos.”

“Of course I’m not,” Dami snarls.

I’m not so far away from him that I can’t reach out and kick him swiftly with my toe. “Mr. Orsini works for me,” I say. “He has renounced his vows to the Giulianos.”

That’s not formally true. But nothing could make Dami return to Big Gee’s service after what they did to Sebastiano Conti.

“How are we supposed to trust him?” Rossi asks, as he cuts into one of Rosa’s stuffed mushrooms. “All those Gees kicking up around the City right now—they’re turning on each other, and they’re turning on us, too. We can’t take his word for it, kid. No offense, but we’ve been at this longer than you. You learn to expect betrayal. And besides, he’s armed.”

I glance at Luca D’Amato, but he just sits back in his chair, watching the show while he enjoys Rosa’s food.

“Dami,” I say after a moment. “Give me your gun.” He glares at Rossi as he places it on the table in front of me. I don’t mention the knife I know he’s started wearing at his ankle. If no one’s noticed it, I don’t want to bring attention to it.

“Now come here,” I say to him, “and kneel down on the floor next to me.”

I asked Dami to stop his performance. To quit the guilty act, the miserable penance. Now I’m about to demand the performance of his life. He might hate me for it. But it’s the only play I have.

His head turns slowly toward me, eyes like flint when they meet mine. But he rises from his seat.

And he does as I say.

“To whom does your life belong?” I ask him.

“To you, Don Clemenza,” he grits out.

Alessi scoffs. “Any man can mouth a few platitudes.”

I take the gun and place the barrel against his forehead, my finger on the trigger, the safety off. “What would you do if I told you I was going to pull the trigger, Dami?”

He spits it out. “I’d be fucking grateful.”

I glance over at Alessi, who’s grinning, and Rossi, who seems troubled. “Do I really need to mark Don Morelli’s carpet with fresh blood for you to believe me?”

“No,” Rossi says firmly, and adds, “Shut up, Joe,” to Alessi, who’s chuckling by now. “But the fact remains, Orsini doesn’t represent an ongoing concern in this city. The rest of us—including you, apparently—do.”

I hand Dami’s gun back to him without even looking his way. “Get up,” I tell him, all the while looking at Rossi, “and take your seat. Don Rossi, the whole point of this evening is to discuss that very question. So why don’t we stop wasting time and get down to business?”

And with that, we do. Rosa comes and goes with courses, and I listen as the Commission hashes out the current status of the City, from the Bratva to Big Gee, to the unauthorized use of one of the Alessi Family’s ports, to Don Morelli’s suggestions about which territories should be allocated to the Clemenzas.

There aren’t many of them, and none are currently under Morelli control, something that Rossi and Alessi are quick to point out. “That’s because they were Clemenza territories in the past,” D’Amato says. “Subdivided once the Clemenzas were no longer a consideration. And you’ll note that most of the areas are currently run by the remaining Giulianos. Not all of them, though,” he adds, looking at Alessi. “The body shop off Northern Boulevard was a Clemenza business for forty years before your Family took it over.”

Alessi lowers his fork. “The place was a wreck. We put a lot of money into it.”

“And I’m sure you’ve made it back,” D’Amato says.

“It’s too early to talk territory,” Alessi grumbles. “He ain’t even got his people to swear to him yet.”

“A matter of days, Don Alessi,” I repeat tonelessly, exactly as I’ve said it every time he brought up this issue before.

D’Amato waits. Alessi looks from him to me, then gives a short laugh. “Fine. Take the body shop, kid. It’s a fucking money pit anyway.”

“Thank you, Don Alessi,” I say. “The Clemenzas will not forget your generosity.”