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I want him to punish them, punish them all, make thempayfor this.
Chapter17
Brice
His private jet lands at a small regional airport south of Philadelphia and we’re whisked into a waiting limo before I have a chance to get acclimated. It’s colder up north and he has the heat blasting. His leg presses against mine in the back seat even though there’s plenty of room. Another man’s sitting on the bench seat facing ours looking grim in his dark suit with his dark hair and tired bags under his eyes.
“Boss,” the man says. “It’s fucked up, what happened down south. Real fucked up.”
“Angelo, meet Brice, my fiancée.”
The man Angelo nods to me. “Lovely to meet you.”
“And you as well.”
Carmine puts a hand on my knee. “Angelo is my right hand. He’s been watching things for me since I’ve been gone.”
“And it hasn’t been fucking easy. Do you have any clue how annoyed the capos are with you running around fucking Texas buying up shares in some fucking oil company like you’re a goddamn robber baron?”
I blink at Angelo and he grins at me and winks, and Carmine laughs.
“I am a goddamn robber baron and don’t let them forget it.”
“Seriously, Carmine, you gotta stay put for a while, all right? Let them know you got this and that you can handle it. Show off your pretty new wife a bit, you know the boys love that shit.”
“I’ll make the rounds, don’t worry.”
“All right, all right, I just don’t wanna see the family go through more pain. You nearly getting murdered doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence in the boys.” Angelo’s smile fades as he looks out the window. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“First thing’s first. The Panagos.” Carmine leans forward. “I want you to put together a list of ways to hurt them.”
Angelo’s eyebrows raise. “You serious?”
“They put a hit out on my wife, Angelo. They tried to kill her in broad daylight with me in the car. That can’t be ignored.”
He nods grimly. “You’re right. Those fucking Greek fucks, I knew they were ballsy, but that’s too damn far even for them.”
“Put together a list.”
“Consider it done.” He clears his throat. “And, uh, one other thing. About your, uh, living arrangements.”
Carmine sits back and looks out the window. “I’ll be splitting my time between Philadelphia and Dallas for the foreseeable future.” He pauses for a moment and I can tell Angelo didn’t like that answer. “But for now, we’ll be staying here, at least until the Panagos have been properly chastised.”
“Good.” Angelo lapses into silence and I stare out the window as we zoom up I-95 toward the city. It appears on the horizon, a compact skyline, a dozen or more big buildings reaching up into the clouds with a sprawl of housing jutting down below them, spreading out like prostrate worshippers. It’s strange, my family has so much money and influence, but I’ve barely traveled outside of going to Blackwoods for college and moving around Texas and California with my father for work. I’ve never been to Philadelphia before and a little surge of curious excitement runs down my spine.
The limo takes an exit and we slide into a warren of brick rowhomes with narrow streets and lots of activity, people everywhere despite the chill, kids playing in playgrounds, old ladies sitting on tiny porch stoops, young guys and girls walking in pairs, and cars everywhere, jammed into every available square inch of curb space. Dallas has wide streets and new houses, but Philly is totally different—it’s old and gritty and obviously wasn’t built for cars.
“My family controls most of what you’re seeing,” Carmine says softly and he gives me a brief tour: South Philly, Broad Street, City Hall, and into Old City where we finally stop on a quiet shady street. This place is much nicer, much more upscale, fewer cars, and the houses are beautifully kept. We get out and walk up to a brick row home with black wrought iron detailing around the windows and big black doors with gold knockers.
Angelo leads the way inside. It’s dark and quiet and I’m struck by how much it looks like the Rowe mansion back home: wood, paintings, all the trappings of wealth. Carmine hangs back as Angelo keeps going deeper into the house.
“You’re about to meet a lot of people,” he says and takes my hand. A sharp fluttering runs down my skin. Do I always react like this when he touches me? I can’t think straight right now, not with him so close, and his words from earlier play through my mind, the last things he said before the car was torn by bullets. This man, this sick man, he drives me wild. “I wanted to give you more time to get acclimated, but the capos were insistent on meeting right away. I couldn’t put them off.”
“How many people are we talking about?”
“I have twelve main capos and you’re meeting with eight of them. The remaining four are busy out of state, but I’ll introduce you eventually.” His hand grips my arm and he leans closer to speak directly into my ear. “You have to understand something. I didn’t name these men, my father did, and their loyalty is to the family, not to me. I need you to be quiet and respectful no matter what. Do you understand?”
I chew on my lip and nod. “I know how to do that.”
