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Unfortunately, neither Vito nor Matteo seem to get the memo because neither of them utters a word as they choose to sip at their coffees instead.
“For someone so eager to talk and rush me over here, I really expected the conversation to flow a little smoother than this. It’s not like either of you to be so speechless.” I raise a brow at them, noting the tightness to Matteo’s jaw and the crinkling of Vito’s brows.
It’s Vito who relents first, sighing heavily as he sinks back in his seat. “That’s because I don’t know what to even fucking say.” He rubs at the back of his neck in annoyance.
“I don’t think any of us do.”
Matteo nods slightly in response as silence takes over us once more, but I manage to push through it and get straight to the point. “The reality of the situation is we were played. Big time. By the Russians when it comes to whatever game they have up their sleeve, but most importantly, by Featherstone.” My fingers run back and forth slowly over my chin as I relay my thoughts. “Which seems to include Wren. But bigger than that, the person we vowed revenge on, for the death of Totem, is the exact same person we took to the damn meeting because our instincts told us to protect her.”
Understanding shines in their eyes. The truth. The fact that we all felt something strong enough for this woman to want to protect her, when it was us that needed protecting from her all along.
It feels like an eternity before someone else speaks, and this time, it’s Matteo as he leans forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “A promise is a promise.”
I nod, knowing the words he’s going to speak next, but it’s Vito who beats him to it. “Blood is blood.”
“Death is never the end,” I say, completing the statements my father used to tell us when he was still alive and breathing.
Tapping my fingers on the table, I can’t help but wonder why those words feel so flat when it comes to this topic? We’ve applied them to every aspect of our lives, but this… this feels different somehow.
“Is a promise really a promise to a dead man that never kept his end of the fucking deal anyway?” I turn my gaze to Vito, his question lingering in the air as I mull the words over in my head.
I hum in response, at a loss for words as Matteo clears his throat. “Wren Dietrichson is the daughter of Totem, as well as his killer. Something about that doesn’t sit right with me. The darkness that flashed in her eyes, followed by the swift plunge into nothingness, caught me completely off-guard.”
My brows rise in surprise, not expecting him to take notice of anything like that from her, but I guess being on the gunpoint, these things are taken into account.
“I also don’t know what she meant when she spoke of redemption to Luna. I feel like there’s a lot we don’t know about her and Totem when it comes to their dynamic,” I state, watching as my brothers nod in agreement. “But more than that, there’s a lot of information that I’m suresheknows and we don’t. We could use that to our advantage.”
Matteo and Vito look between each other for a second before glancing back at me. I can’t tell if it's surprise in their eyes that I have an idea like that or something else, but either way, I sit patiently and wait for one of them to answer me.
“Agreed,” Matteo finally says with a sigh, downing the rest of his coffee before continuing, “Maybe we can pause everything until we can see what information we may be able to gain from her.Thenwe can revisit the decision on her life.”
His last statement makes my gut clench and my chest tighten, but despite the emotions swirling inside of me, I nod, willing to pause the conversation for now as I turn my attention to Vito to see what he thinks.
When he doesn’t respond, Matteo calls out his name, but just as he opens his mouth to add his opinion on the matter, the door I stepped through moments earlier swings open and ten of our men saunter inside. They’re laughing and joking among themselves, completely unaware that they just interrupted something important, but the three of us shake it off, rising to our feet as they close the door behind them.
The second our feet are firmly planted on the ground, we’re in full work mode.
Jaws tense.
Eyes sharp.
Shoulders rolled back.
Feet shoulder-width apart.
If the way this man stood could kill, there would be a trail of dead bodies in his wake.
“Torres, how are current operations running?” Matteo asks, looking to the highest ranked member. The rest of the men find a seat at the table as the room quietens.
Torres is our most trusted lieutenant, that’s why he came to New York with us, and the same reason he has the role of overseeing the smaller operations here in Italy. While we retreated when we returned home, taking a much-needed break, he was tasked with touching base with every member of ourfamigliainstead.
“Everything is looking good, Boss. The warehouse has a steady flow of stock coming in and out, the new Beretta 92’s are looking good and pleasing the clients,” he informs, referencing our gun business as he comes to a stop at the empty chair beside me. “There seems to have been a slight issue with the drugs coming out of Naples, but we rectified that before we came over here, and there is a new man overseeing the quality checks now.” No further words are required; if he says he’s handled a situation, then he’s handled a situation. “And the distillery just confirmed first profits for the year,” he adds with a smile on his face, and my own lips turn up with the news as I reach my hand out to shake his.
He takes it instantly, before doing the same with my brothers. Knowing the distillery is running at a profit is excellent news. It’s the one thing my father always refused to do—a legitimate business—but the three of us knew it was necessary when he passed, leaving the business in our hands.
I don’t think the De Luca family will ever go fully legit in our lifetime, a thought that has crossed my mind a time or two, and I’m fine with that. We were made for this life. Real life is far too mundane in comparison to the adrenaline we get from this.
“That’s good news, Torres. Good news,” Matteo murmurs, releasing his hand as he takes his seat at the head of the table again, and I follow suit, reclaiming my spot as I finally have a gulp of my coffee.
