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I sink into the armchair behind Cas’s desk and drag his chessboard in front of me. With mild amusement, I realize it’s the one I bought him last year for his birthday. Judging by the thin film of dust covering the pieces and the fact he owes me twelve grand, he hasn’t been practicing.
Gabe stops behind me, casting a dark shadow over the board.
“Let me dumb it down for your ‘roid-raging brain.” With a flick of my wrist, I backhand all the chess pieces, sending them flying across the desk. “This is what you want to do. Immediate retaliation; total destruction. Sure, Dante rents his brain cells and only on alternate week days, but even he’ll expect us to bite back tonight. At the very least, his men are guarding the perimeter of Cove as we speak.” Slowly, I pick up all the pieces, taking my time to put them back on their rightful squares. Behind me, Gabe’s impatient huff slithers down my shirt collar. “But you know what he won’t see coming?”
“A Molotov cocktail?” he snaps.
“No reaction from us at all.”
Angelo cocks his head. Strokes the stubble across his jawline. “Rafe’s right. Dante’s going to be sitting behind Big Al’s desk, scratching his balls and waiting for a war.” He jerks his chin at me. “What’s the plan?”
I settle back in the armchair. “We play dumb and extend an olive branch. We tell him that somebody has blown up the port, and we need to put our differences aside to figure out who. Because surely,” I add dryly, “nobody would be stupid enough to bomb the port that they fucking use.”
“And then?”
With a smirk, I turn back to the chessboard. “And then, his luck begins to turn.” I flick off one pawn. Then another. “Heart attack. Car crash. Drug overdose. All his associates and soldati meet their deaths in unfortunate, yet unsuspicious circumstances. One day, he’ll look up and realize there is nobody left to fight with him.”
We all look down at the board, where one black king stands alone, opposite an army of white chess pieces.
Gabe reaches over and snatches up the queen from the pile of discarded pieces. It looks comically small in his busted paw. “His consigliere, Donatello, has gone already. Last I heard, he’s shoveling horse shit on a farm in Colorado with Amelia. A kid on the way, too.”
I look up and flash Angelo a knowing wink. “You do crazy shit when you’re in love, right?”
He scowls at me, picks up the rook and the knight, and slips them into his pocket. “The twins, Vittoria and Leo, we can leave out of it. They’re barely sixteen and probably scared shitless.”
Gabe reaches for the bishop, but instinctively, my hand shoots out and curls around his wrist. He glares at it like he’s about to take a bite out of my flesh. I pick up the bishop myself and twirl it between my thumb and forefinger, before knocking over the black king and setting it down in its place.
“Tor stays.”
The ice threading through my tone is a rare occurrence, and behind me, I feel Gabe stiffen.
“No.”
“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. He stays.”
Torquato Visconti might be Dante’s brother, new underboss, and the Coast’s biggest dickhead, but he’s my best friend and one of my finest business partners. Aside from turning up at the wedding, he’s laid low ever since his father was shot.
But I have no doubt in my mind he’ll come around.
“Yeah, he came to the wedding,” Angelo says pensively, strumming his fingers against the table. “But it’s funny that he was nowhere to be seen after the explosion.”
“He left straight after the ceremony.”
“That’s because he’s in on it,” Gabe snaps.
“Nah,” I shoot back.
Angelo’s expression hardens. “I know you’re five inches up Tor’s asshole, but Gabe’s got a point. We can’t assume he’s not backing his brother on this.” He checks his watch, raps his knuckle against the desk, and straightens to his full height. “Fine. Cas and I will reach out to Dante and arrange a meeting. Gabe, you regroup your men and figure out an action plan based on Rafe’s idea. And Rafe.” His eyes rest squarely on mine. “Let me know when you hear from Tor.”
Without another word, he strides around the desk and heads to the door. He stops within its frame. “By the way,” he grunts, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Your new bar has been blown to shit. Secure another location, and fast. I want a joint so grand it makes the whole of Cove look like a children’s birthday party at Chuckie Cheese.”
Ah, yes. Construction was well underway for Devil’s Dip’s first casino and bar. Cut into the cliff with panoramic views of the Pacific, it would have pissed all over Cove’s nightlife, especially with my name attached to it. But it was directly above the port, and well, shit happens, I suppose.
“Now that, I can do,” I murmur, slipping the poker chip out of my pocket and tossing it in the air.
Gabe shakes his head. “We’re going to war, and all you assholes care about is a good time.”
Angelo’s gaze darkens. “No. I want to show the cunt that a shitty little explosion isn’t enough to take down the Dip brothers.”
