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“Can we at least eat first? Whatever’s cooking over there smells good already,” Enzo pleads, the smell of garlic filling my nostrils as Matteo shakes his head, but before he can utter a word to his brother, Nonna interjects.
“I won’t take no for an answer, Matteo. You need to fuel your bodies if you plan on exerting energy,” she states, a sharp tone to her clipped voice that leaves the three of them staring in her direction for a second, before Matteo’s gaze finds mine.
“We can discuss it while we’re eating if necessary, but I don’t trust the ears around us.” It’s clear I’m the target of his words, but I maintain my silence, continuing to stare at him as I raise my brow in question.
“Who do you think she’s going to tell, Matteo? She chose to be here, remember? That’s more the reality than us actually taking her as a captive,” Enzo grumbles, wiping his fingers over his chin as he takes me in, and I simply plaster a smile on my face in response. I’m not confirming or denying anything right now.
With a heavy sigh, Matteo loosens his tie at his collar as he speaks to his brother. “They have taken us leaving New York without a follow-up meeting as a sign of war against them. In retaliation, they have hit two of our cargo ships that arrived in port last night, taking all the goods and killing every single one of our men.”
“How do you know it was them?” The question comes from Vito as I eagerly wait for Matteo’s response.
“No matter how each of our men were killed, a V was carved into their chests afterward.”
Yep, that’s definitely the Russians, all right. But I’m also intrigued by the fact that the Russians feel betrayed.
“Fuck,” Enzo bites, hands clenching on the table. “We can’t allow moves like this in our territory to go unanswered.” Tension radiates off him, the cool, fun, and collected side of him concealed behind his dark eyes.
“Agreed,” Vito adds, his jaw so tight it could cut steel as his nostrils flare with each breath.
“I think we need to put everything into place so we can head back to New York as soon as possible and confront them.” The palms of Matteo’s hands hit the table with force, making my heart race slightly. Not from his show of anger and frustration, but from the way I can see the picture more clearly than them.
“You need to see the bigger picture,” I interrupt, watching as Matteo, Vito, and Enzo each turn their gaze to mine.
“This has nothing to do with you.” Matteo’s voice is tight, but he doesn’t turn away, which tells me he’s going to listen if I speak.
“I know it doesn’t, but that doesn’t meanIdon’t know things.Importantthings that could be of use to you.” My blood pumps through my veins like it’s on fire, the feel of a battle or war between men spiking my very soul for the first time since I put a bullet in my father.
When none of them respond, each one looking me over with a wary, yet inquisitive look, I take a step toward them. “The Russians are calculated, right down to the very last detail. They won’t make a move like hitting your cargo without predicting your response and preparing their next move. More so, one thing the Russians hate more than anything, apart from bad vodka, is the feeling of betrayal. If that’s the reason behind the plays they’re making, then they will have observed how you have handled this kind of situation before, so they can keep the upper hand.” I stop at the chair next to Matteo, settling my gaze on him as I lower my voice, trying to keep myself calm and relaxed even though this entire thing is far more thrilling than I care to admit. “If going to your enemy for a confrontation is what you would usually do in this situation, then you’ll need to prepare for the fact that they know this and are already anticipating you.”
Matteo purses his lips, flexing his fingers on the table as he looks at me. “You’re wrong.”
My body tenses at his words, frustration threatening to get the better of me as I scoff. “If you say so, but what I think you’re forgetting is the fact that my father knew whateveryonewas doing at all times. Without fail. How do you think that worked? He couldn’t be the one with his eyes on every single group he was handling now, could he?” I grip the back of the chair in front of me, my knuckles wrapping around the wood as I lift my brow in question.
A couple of beats pass, and it’s Vito who speaks this time. “You were watching them.”
“I was.” The truth slips from my mouth without pause. With all my training in other matters, I also have the skills to embezzle, negotiate, and all that bullshit, yet here I am, giving it away for free. What a fool.
“What is our next move, then?” Enzo asks, leaning back in his seat as he undoes the top button of his shirt.
Pushing up off the chair, I fold my arms over my chest as I think for a moment. “I’m not standing here making moves for the De Luca mafia, Enzo,” I say with an eye roll, but I’m serious. The last thing I want is for them to think I’m making their plays or trying to infiltrate them or whatever other bullshit might run through their minds. “What I do know is that betrayal outranked anything else with the Russians. They would hit you in one way, only to draw you out of hiding to put the real stinger on you,” I state, remembering the deaths I witnessed at their hands. “Their secret move is always the double hit. Hit you once, make you mad, let you play out your usual response, only to be one step ahead and ready to bring you to the depths of hell at their hands. So, from my experience, you need to come at them hard and fast before they even realize it, but you can’t play the same hand you always do because that’s what they’re expecting.”
All three of them look away from me, silently speaking to each other with only their eyes, but the moment is interrupted as the rapping of knuckles sounds on the kitchen door.
“Boss, we have an issue.” I don’t need to turn around to know it’s Teto interrupting us, and I don’t give him the satisfaction of my gaze, not when I can see the smallest hint of anger and frustration flitting across Enzo’s face.
“Fuck.”
17
ENZO
“Let’s roll out,” Matteo orders as he rises from his seat. Whatever the situation is, it doesn’t look great by the look on Teto's face. If Torres, our second-in-command, has sent him in here, things can’t be good.
My stomach grumbles, hating that we are being interrupted before I can eat a single forkful of what Nonna is putting together. But despite my disappointment, I follow Matteo’s lead, as does Vito, while Wren waves her hand to stop us.
“I’ll come with you.” Her words make my eyebrows lift in surprise, but any response I may have is cut off by Matteo as he breezes past her and heads for the door.
“Like fuck you will!” he grunts, but that doesn’t seem to dissuade her.
