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“I can kill him if you want.” I stuff my hands into my pockets.
He laughs. “You joke, but I’m not far off planting a bullet between his eyes myself.Fuck. I need Diego. Who hires fucking runners that’ll turn at the slightest pressure?”
I say nothing, but he doesn’t need me to.
“Today?” Enzo questions, bringing us back to the matter of my recreant brother.
I nod. “Now.”
Opening the door,Roberto lifts his chin. “Hey.”
My younger brother has never been one to appreciate the need to look orderly. Even as consigliere to the boss of Cosa Nostra, he flits around in torn jeans and threadbare T-shirts. He hides behind the fact that he’s stupid enough to spend hundreds of dollars on the mass-produced items targeted at teens. He’s lucky he’s attractive enough that people look past his poor choice of clothing, distracted by the devious smile and eyes that belong to our late mother.
“Why don’t you ever clean your apartment?” I close his front door behind me as I enter.
“My cleaner quit.” He kicks dirty clothes out of his way as he moves back toward his living area.
Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I drift my gaze over his apartment and the empty take-out containers left strewn over his coffee table. “Why?”
He shrugs, dropping onto his couch. “She was a bitch.”
“You tried to fuck her,” I surmise.
He smirks, something vile passing through his eyes. “I didn’ttryanything.”
Anger bubbles under my skin, and I wrap my fist around the coil of wire in my pocket. I force myself to let it go, angered at my lack of self-control with needing to bring it with me. I had myself convinced that I wouldn’t be tempted, but right now, I want nothing more than to wrap it around his throat and watch blood rush into his eyes with the pressure, consequences be damned.
The problem with making a name for yourself in the underworld is that when you need to conduct business inconspicuously, you can’t let your demons take over the way you need them to.
I drag my thumb over the wire one last time, removing my hands from my pockets.
“Clean it yourself,” I scold.
He scoffs. “What do you want, Vincent?” he bites out, scowling at me. “I’m guessin’ you didn’t drop by to ridicule the cleanliness of my apartment.”
“Lackof cleanliness,” I correct, stepping farther into the apartment, my lips twisting in distaste as the smell of old food drifts under my nostrils. “Warehouse drop was raided today.”
He won’t meet my eyes. “Shit.”
“Lorenzo has been trying to call you.” I massage the knuckles on my hands.
He lifts a shoulder. “Been busy.”
I fucking despise the lack of respect my younger brother holds. His position in the family has filled his head with a romantic notion that he’s important. Lorenzo pushed him into consigliere with the hope we could keep a closer eye on him. It was a mistake. The power climbed into his stupid fucking head.
I step into his line of sight, kicking at his foot. “Roberto.”
He looks up at me. “What?”
He glares at me with murder in his eyes. I imagine his thoughts of pain and death mirror mine. There is no love lost between us. Roberto’s problem is that I’m male, and he saves his fury for women. He’s a gutless villain with the face of Prince Charming. I should’ve killed him years ago.
“We were fucking raided.Again. That doesn’t concern you?” I push, working to getanykind of reaction from him. I want him to confess. I want him to at leastactas though he gives a flying fuck.
“What do you want me to do about it?” he growls, lifting a cushion on his sofa to retrieve a packet of cigarettes.
“We have a rat,” I declare, watching the way his hand folds over the feeble packaging of his smokes, crushing it in his white-knuckled grip.
The advantage of being related to a sniveling, lying piece of shit is that I’ve been forced into spending enough time with him to decipher his tells. The micro movements in his face give his traitorous ass away. It’s how I knew he was double-crossing us. Too many fuckups pointed in his direction. Enzo and Leo didn’t want to believe it, but I knew. One look at his canary face, and I knew he was singing to save himself.
