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An alarm blared in my head with the knowledge of Tino in my city without me. They knew it, and while I had known the possibility of Tino not showing up next to his father, I took the risk. I left Katia alone.
The severity of the chance I’d taken grew against me. All I had was the trust of my brothers and my men to keep her safe.
In the end, this was the outcome I’d wanted. I just hadn’t known the suffocating grip it would cause. It couldn’t be fear. I feared no one.But did I fear for her?
I dragged my thoughts and shoveled them with murder. I sipped on red as my demon thirsted for blood and watched as my sadistic heart imagined his last name obliterated by my hands.
Soon,I promised. One by one.
“No need to stand.” His palms opened.
I hadn’t moved.
Borelli slid his chair out as his eyes roamed around the table with small nods to each boss. But when he met mine, our war spoke in freedom.
The lives he’d taken.
The lives of his men I’d taken.
All for the prize he wanted, the prize I had.
I had to pick my words carefully. A strength of mine, but with him present in the same room, I had to be cautious about making any accusations.
“Where’s your son?” My question was a simple thought, but my tone was the first punch I delivered, causing interest around Tino’s absence.
The first seed of many I would plant without allegations.
Borrelli’s arrogant smirk and answer, his own ruin.
He never traveled without him.
“He had important business to attend to.” His capo brought a wine bottle to him. He declined it. “But he sends you his regards.”
“Just me?”
He chuckled and glanced around. “Of course not. What have I missed?” he asked and faced Stefano Russo.
Stefano dusted his lips with shaky fingers and raised his glass to wash down his gluttony.
“We were waiting for you. You sure you don’t want some wine?”
“I don’t have the taste for wine.”
“What about some cheese? How about some salami? It’s seasoned to near perfection.”
My eyes slid to Stefano, perplexed by how a man of his age could eat and gush over food as he did. Even startled by his fixation over a fucking charcuterie board instead of business.
A quick glance to his son, Mateo, whose eyes were ahead and away from the conversation with a tight jaw, and the more I questioned Chicago’s order.
“No disrespect, my friend, but I’m only here on duty.” Borelli squared his shoulders.
Friend.
We had no friends.
Stefano leaned back, finally taking his first break from working his mouth muscles, and all eyes were on me.
I’d played over scenarios, picked and placed the right amount of information to give in front of the eyes of sin. To me, this was a simple chess game. This table was an open board. And while I was here to defend, I would be taking the first move.
