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Chapter Seven - Luca
“I don’t understand your problem with reaching out to Dante Bernardi and seeing if there’s a way to declare a truce.”
“If you say that one more time.” I close my eyes and lean back in the chair, wishing my damn brother would leave me alone. He’s like a pesky fly I can’t swat down. He keeps dodging my every attempt.
“What’s so bad about that? Explain it to me, since obviously I’m not intelligent enough to understand how diplomacy works in a situation like this.”
“For one thing, stop using the word diplomacy.” I shoot him a look that makes him flinch. “This is not the time for diplomacy. He’s got some rogue fucking agent out there using women to hurt me, to hurt this family. She said it herself. He kept talking about his boss. This is all his doing.”
“So instead of sitting here making all these plans to blow his entire operation the fuck up, why not go to the man and say look, this is all-out war if you don’t knock this shit off here and now? Obviously, what you’ve done to him so far hasn’t made a damn bit of difference. And you still refuse to communicate clearly.”
“You sound like Dad.”
“Hmm, I wonder why?”
“And how did that go for him, exactly?”
“Don’t do that, because now you are conveniently forgetting facts which you gleefully threw in my face a week ago.” When all I do is frown, he throws his hands into the air while continuing to pace the study. “Remember? All those lovely things you said to me at our first dinner? Did you mean those things, or was it only your way of making a point?”
“What I mean is, he tried to go the peaceful route. He didn’t want a war. Bernardi doesn’t give a shit. He wants what we’ve got. He wants our ships, our harbors, our contacts. He’s a greedy bastard who doesn’t want peace because that doesn’t suit his agenda. What is peace going to do to get him what he wants?”
“I still say you haven’t talked with him about this. Tell him you know what’s up, and if it doesn’t stop, shit’s going to escalate.” All of a sudden he’s the big peacemaker, the level-headed diplomat. It isn’t easy to choke back laughter.
“Yeah, well, I’ve already sent a message.”
“And what does that mean?” He comes to a stop, hands on his hips. “What did you do?”
“Let’s just say a couple of his warehouses downtown aren’t doing so well today. Maybe because the cops got tipped off by one of their informants.” I shrug my shoulders. “Who can say?”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Let’s get one thing straight.” I rise slowly, even though all I want is to launch myself across the desk and beat him bloody. “I’m the head of this family. Not you. And I say this is the move we are making. What the hell do you want from me? Should I sit back and let him chip away at us without doing a damn thing to stop him?”
“And I don’t get any kind of say in this? What if I don’t want my fucking family involved in another war? I just got back. You think I want to go into hiding again?”
“So long as you manage to not do anything stupid this time around, you won’t have to.”
“I don’t need to do anything stupid,” he snaps. “You’re taking care of that for me.”
“Shut your fucking mouth.” By now, I’m sure everybody on the first floor can hear us, and it only throws fuel on the fire instead of convincing me to calm down. “One thing I don’t need is a lecture from you. Why don’t you go off and find a toy to play with? I have actual work to do.”
He shakes his head slowly, looking me up and down. The expression he’s wearing is the perfect blend of our mother and father—Dad’s disapproval and Mom’s concern. “Why don’t you drop the act and admit what this is really all about?”
“Who the hell are you? Sigmund Freud? Are you going to get me on a couch and charge me two hundred an hour?”
“I don’t need to, because I know you.” When I roll my eyes, it only makes him double down. “Sorry if you don’t like that idea, but here’s a newsflash: you’re not that difficult to read. I know exactly what’s going through your head.”
“And what would that happen to be?” I know better than to ask, but I can’t help it. It’s the contrarian in me, a part of me that hasn’t been able to stop blaming and berating myself for days. It’s like I crave the punishment.
“This is about her.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right. I haven’t known you my entire life. Mr. Cautious. Mr. Predictable.”
“You say that like there’s something to be ashamed of,” I point out with a snicker. “Like there’s something wrong with being cautious.”
“My point is, you aren’t acting with caution anymore. You’re going full balls to the wall on this, and I don’t think it has anything to do with the family or with Bernardi striking first. It has to do with her. You’re ramping up because of somebody who isn’t even family.”
