Page 58 of The Beast Who Begged Me

“Yeah.” He picks up his fork again with a glower at the food. “That’s what worries me.”

A block in Astoria and now a garage. The empire is returning to me, one small fragment at a time. But I seem to be making more enemies in the process.

I wonder if that was D’Amato’s plan.

“We’ve got more important things to worry about,” Rossi says. “The Russians, for one thing. Don Morelli, you’ve held the peace in New York for quite some time, but things were eroding long before you came into your position. Tino always said the Russians would be a problem at some point. If they’re working with the Giulianos⁠—”

“They are,” Dami says gruffly. “They’re hand in fucking hand.”

“Now you see, Joe, Sal, why I invited Mr. Orsini tonight,” D’Amato says. “He knows the Giuliano business inside and out. He’ll be a valuable asset in the battles to come.”

“You think war is unavoidable?” Rossi asks.

“It’s already begun.”

For the first time, Joe Alessi has no chuckles to give.

“I want Daniel King for myself,” Dami says into the quiet. He’s staring at his bandaged hand where it rests on the table. “No one else kills him unless I’m dead myself. And I want first shot at Big Gee, too.” He lifts his head, looking around the table. “For Seb Conti.”

Rossi raises his hands. “No arguments here.” Alessi shrugs his agreement.

“These will not be easy targets,” is all D’Amato says. “Whatever help you need⁠—”

“I’ll ask,” Dami says shortly. “If I need it.”

We take a half-hour break shortly after, and Luca suggests we wander around the lower level of the mansion to stretch our legs. I watch Sal Rossi break away from Joe Alessi to enter the conservatory. I beckon at Dami to follow me in.

Rossi turns with a smile as I approach him. “Beautiful in here, don’t you think? Tino loved it very much, God rest his soul.”

“It’s lovely,” I say, but I’m not in the mood for more small talk. “Don Rossi, may I ask you a few questions?”

“What do you want to know, kid?”

For some reason, having Salvatore Rossi call me “kid” doesn’t feel insulting. There’s some genuine affection there. He was always fond of my father, too; Rossi was one of the few people I ever saw look disapproving when Nonno Lou was bitching about his “useless youngest, Cesario.”

“I wondered if you knew much about my grandfather,” I say carefully. “And how he ran his business back in the day.”

His face stays blank. “Your Nonno and I, we never got on all that well.”

I smile politely. “Well, we have that in common.”

“Do we?” He smiles politely back. “It seems to me that you and he share a similar temperament.”

He really didn’t like what I did to Dami back there in the dining room. Neither did I. But I had to make my point, and to make it, I had to oversell it.

But salvation comes from an unlikely source. “He’s not,” Dami says. “He’s more like his dad. Cesario. From what I hear.”

Rossi’s eyebrows go up. “I’m not sure that makes me feel all that much different, Mr. Orsini. Didn’t Cesario Clemenza kill your father?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” I say quickly. “Because…well, we think there’s more to the story.”

Rossi’s brows descend as he takes that in. “I don’t think I can help,” he says at last. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t close to those involved.”

“The information I want is more like…gossip,” I tell him.

“I don’t listen to gossip,” Rossi says severely, and I almost roll my eyes.

I try flattery instead. “Sir, everyone knows you’re a fair and capable leader of your Family. But the truth is, anyone in your position has to listen to gossip. Luca D’Amato keeps his ear to the ground. It would be strange if you didn’t, too.”