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“Nothing I’m not used to.” Gabriel chuckles softly. “Where was I? Oh, they both were placed in the same foster home, but Celia was three years old. She was found alone at a fire station with nothing but a teddy bear and a handwritten note. Parents are also drug addicts, location unknown. Sophomore at Amherst University, or at least she was until she disappeared a month ago without a trace.”
Seems our theory of her being forced to keep tabs on us is the truth. The fear for her sister’s life also wasn’t an act. I’m not sure who Willa was associated with in or outside the club, but I’d bet they had everything to do with her going missing and Celia’s sudden appearance at Club Sin.
“What about the security footage from Nocturne and the Corner Bodega I sent you earlier today?” Salvatore leans back in his chair. “Any luck identifying him?”
“His name is Ronan O’Banion. Born in Maroa, Illinois on September 21, 1987. He doesn’t have any affiliations that we can find, but he’s been doing freelance work for the highest bidder. He also has no allegiances to any families. Defining characteristic is a large rose tattoo on his left hand.”
Gabriel continues rattling off basic information, but I tune him out. This Ronan guy must be the man I saw attack Celia in the hallway of Club Sin. He’s the connection between the people trying to bring down our organization and Celia, but we’re no step closer to finding out who they are.
“We’ll be in touch.” Salvatore quickly ends the call.
“What was the point of that phone call?” Antonio asks. “I stopped listening after I heard Celia isn’t a mole.”
“Antonio,” Salvatore fumes, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Sometimes I really think Antonio has a death wish. Now is not the time to push his brother’s buttons. There is some unknown force trying to pull apart everything this family has built, not to mention the woman of our dreams running for her life.
I wipe my hand down my face. “What are we going to do?”
“Find the people threatening Celia’s life, save her sister, and end Ronan O’Banion.”
“Now that sounds like a fine plan to me.” Antonio pushes to his feet, making his way around Salvatore’s desk and pouring a glass of scotch, handing it to his brother before pouring another glass.
“What about me?” I question, knowing damn well he’s just being a shit.
“You can get your own.” He winks before making his way to his seat.
“Any guesses on who this O’Banion guy is working for?”
I clench my fists at my side, holding in the rage that is boiling to release. “Not one.”
It could be any number of different families attempting to expand their territory into Chicago. Most of the major families are in New York and other coastal towns, but everyone is always looking to expand.
Almost all the mafia families in Chicago have joined our cause, uniting under the Genovese banner. But there are always people who disagree with the way we run things or newcomers wanting to make a name for themselves. As long as the Genovese family remains on the top of the food chain, we’ll always have enemies.
“It doesn’t matter. Right now, our main priority is to keep Celia safe and find out as much as we can about this unknown threat.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Salvatore holds his hand up, stopping the words before they can leave my mouth.
“We also need to find out anything and everything about her sister. I won’t rest until we find her safe and unharmed,” Salvatore commands, resting both of his hands on the end of the table.
“Well, you’re never sleeping again because we know she’s lost a finger already,” Antonio snarks back, causing Salvatore to lunge toward him across the table.
“That’s it,” Salvatore snarls as I jump to my feet, stepping between them. “You’re lucky Matteo is here to protect you, as usual.”
Antonio sticks his tongue out at his brother over my shoulder before turning on his heels and heading out of the room.
“I guess I’ll add making sure you don’t murder your brother to the list of things I have to do.”
“That’s the hardest one on your list. Good thing you’ve had years of practice.” Salvatore snickers before pouring me a drink and placing it on the desk in front of me.
“Don’t stress, Matteo. It’ll give you wrinkles,” he teases before taking a drink.
“You’d know better than me.” I take a sip from my glass, the amber liquid burning as it goes down my throat, warming my belly.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
CELIA
