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“Falynn and I had a good time,” Gio continues. “Very romantic. Falynn loves that kind of thing.”
“Women,” Claro whistles, rolling his eyes. “But as long as you get some pussy, that’s all that matters—”
“Imagine how unexpected it was that my yacht would explode. It was just another day.Falynnwas supposed to be out with me that afternoon. Luckily, she was feeling sick and didn’t go. But C.J. did and lost his life. As I almost did.”
Claro shakes his head. “Miracle you survived.”
“Yes, it is. It’s very fortunate. I can still remember what it was like swimming against the current, glancing back at the flaming wreckage. My body was giving up on me. It was too badly injured to keep functioning. I lost consciousness and slipped under. But thankfully, a fisherman found me before it was too late.
“He brought me to shore—not the same shore I’d departed from, but to Santa Margherita. I was taken in by him and his wife, who was a retired nurse. It took weeks for me to be in good enough health to walk, let alone return. The couple was welcoming and gracious, though. I very much owe my life to them.”
“Great story. Should be made into a Disney flick. I’m gonna pour me some liquor. How about you? Want a refill? And you, Giancarlo—”
“Sit down,” Gio commands when Claro moves to get up. He promptly obeys. “We’re finished when I say we’re finished, uncle. Once I was slowly but surely recovering, the fisherman revealed some interesting news to me. He knew me by name, Uncle. He knew the family I come from. He knew Pa. He knew you.”
“So do many people. You know I’ve got some big names on my contact list. Just the other day, Bruce Willis called me up about doing lunch. You like his flicks? He’s always in some good ones.”
“He knew you because of your involvement withLa Cosa Nostrain Sicily. You and Pa once had strong ties with them decades ago and his family fell into money trouble with them. They murdered them in cold blood. I didn’t realize your connections still ran so deep with them. So much so, you’re still actively conducting deals with them to this day. I wonder, did Pa know?”
Claro wipes away more sweat from his forehead, then flashes an ugly, gold-toothed smile at my brother. “You shouldn’t be surprised how many goings-on we have—there are too many operations for us all to know each one. It’s a drug trafficking arrangement. Nothing more.”
“Exceptwhen you decide to assassinate your nephew. The same nephew my father, your brother, named as his heir.”
“Giovanni, you’re mistaken. That’s not—”
“You’ve spent your whole life in my father’s shadow,” Gio says over him. He stands up, draining the last of his cognac. “Uncle, you haven’t exactly been secretive about how you’ve always felt passed over. My father was named as Don Grimaldi’s successor. Meanwhile, you were cast aside in his shadow. And when his health failed him, and you could’ve taken over, you were locked away in prison.”
I linger in the background, eager to inflict as much damage on Claro as my brother has on me. I can already feel his rage building. He’ll unleash his temper any second now, and when he does, I can unleash my insanity—we can be the team we’ve never been as we take down the one responsible for everything that’s happened in recent months.
Our uncle.
Gio walks over to Claro’s mini-bar and fixes himself another glass. Back turned to us, he continues. “I admit I should’ve seen it sooner. All the signs were there. Your contempt for my father and for me. Your jealousy. You never got your chance to rule, and you didn’t think it was fair your nephew gets handed the throne.”
“That’s not what happened. I don’t know what kind of funny business you two think you’re playing at, but I’ve had enough. Get the fuck out of my house!” Claro springs to his feet, raising his voice and pointing at the door.
I lumber closer, my vacant stare unnerving him as much as Gio’s intense one. Claro takes one look at me, his eyes flicking over me and my deformities, and he eases back. More beads of sweat slick his skin, though this time, he doesn’t bother to wipe them away.
“You pit us against each other,” Gio says, still calm. He samples his second glass of cognac, turning around to watch me loom closer to our uncle. “You wanted me and Giancarlo to be at odds.”
“You told me you knew what it was like to be the black sheep,” I add. “That you knew what it was like to be the one who should’ve been chosen but wasn’t.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
Gio’s laugh is short and cold. “I kept thinking, how would Lovato know exactly when to strike? The attempt on the Strip was suspicious, but I figured maybe there were guys leftover in the city from his son’s operation. They helped carry it out. But Portofino? Would Lovato Senior have the capability to carry out a hit so far away? At such an obscure location? Nobody knew where I was. No one but those close to me. Someone with connections toLa Cosa Nostrato do his dirty work for him.”
“You were the one who reached out to me about the message you received,” Giancarlo says. “You never received any message because you were behind the message. You wanted me to go to Portofino. I’d look like the guilty party. There just in time for the yacht to explode.”
“Do you hear yourselves? How does it benefit me to kill you, Giovanni, when you, Giancarlo, is next in line? You said it yourselves—I’d been passed over. I’d missed my chance.”
“BecauseIwas your biggest threat,” Gio answers. “Once you take me out, Giancarlo is next, but you knew you’d be able to mess with him.”
I edge closer to Claro. “You gave me a gram the day of his funeral. You told me I needed to focus on filling Giovanni’s shoes. Each time you called, you brought subjects you know are triggers—my mother’s death. How I’m in Giovanni’s shadow. You were manipulating me, getting me to fall deeper into my addiction. You know how it affects my mental state. My condition.”
“Giancarlo ruling was always going to be temporary, wasn’t it?” Gio asks, setting down his drink. He starts toward Claro, his gait slow but purposeful. “You figured once he had his breakdown, there’d be nobody left. You’dhaveto inherit the throne. Except,” he says as he stops in front of him, “you didn’t want my father intervening. So you killed him.”
The tick from the den’s wall clock sounds much louder as the three of us fall into silence. Uncle Claro looks torn between cowering and standing his ground. Either’s possible, though he’s always been afraid of Giovanni. It all makes sense why he’s carried things out the way he has. He wanted to challenge his leadership but never possessed the courage to do so outright.
Now’s a similar predicament he finds himself in. He hovers between us as if weighing his options. His explosion comes next.
