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I shake my head and realize I’m aggressively putting away books.
I’m just exhausted from his constant criticism and lack of support.
I don’t want to think about it. Not anymore right now. I’m supposed to be happy. I’m in the one place that brings me joy—the one place where I don’t have to pretend to be a doting wife or like I’m something or someone I’m not.
The bells above the front door signal someone is entering, and I turn to find Giana Amato crossing the threshold. I was so incredibly excited when she called me. I met her brother, Niccolò, a few days ago when he came in for a book and coffee, and she called me the same day.
The last name immediately put me on alert because I’ve overheard the DeSantis men talking about the Amatos, but Enzo assured me he’s okay with it if she turns out to be a good candidate.
Hedid, however, tell me I shouldn’t mention it to anyone, which was mildly alarming, but when he followed that statement up with the fact that he wanted me to have good help without getting family politics involved, it almost seemed like he was doing something in my favor for once.
I can’t say I’m not on guard about his sudden, random act of kindness, but if I like this woman who is walking toward me with a smile, it’ll be worth it.
3
NICCOLÒ
“You’re late.”
Gabriel Amato’s hoarse, cigarette smoke-induced voice greets me as I walk into the bar our underboss, Stefano Mancini, owns. The men are all sitting around a circular table in the back room that reeks of old beer and sweat.
I nod to Gabriel, our boss, otherwise known to others as myfather.
“Yeah, it appears I am,” I grit out as I take a seat and note the other men. Gabriel and Stefano. Our consigliere, Pietro, along with my brother Matteo and the man of the fuckin’ hour, Enzo Greco.
I have no idea where my other brother Gabriel Jr. is. Probably off running around on some escapade Gabriel has sent him on.
“Hope you stripped him down and checked for a wire before you allowed scum to sit at our fucking table,” I say, not giving a fuck what anybody thinks about my comment.
Maybe Gabriel and Stefano want to work with this piece of shit, but I’m not in it. However, since I’m a capo and not one of the lead men in our family, I guess my vote doesn’t exactly count.
“Don’t play me for a fool, son,” Gabriel quips and pauses to puff from his cigar.
I glance at my brother, but he doesn’t say a word.
“Anyone care to share why we’re here and why we’re entertaining the enemy?” I ask, because apparently no one else is going to ask or hold Gabriel accountable for the things that could get us all killed. “Pretty boy Greco’s got some intel he wants to share in hopes his family won’t find out he’s fuckin’ some paid dancers behind his wife’s back?” I let out a humorless chuckle. “Sorry, guys, I just don’t believe he’s going to betray a family he’s vowed to over some south-side pussy.”
I look directly at Enzo, and I don’t miss how his fist twitches, like he’d start a goddamn riot if we were on his own turf.
“Last I checked, I’m the one giving the orders, and all of you are seeing to it that shit happens,” Gabriel says, stealing my attention from Enzo.
Sounds about right. Gabriel is a lazy sonofabitch and always has been. It’s been hard pretending to be his plaything all these years. Pretending to be his flesh and blood and to want the same shit as he does. It’s getting really fucking old.
“Enzo here is going to work to pay off a debt. If you’d have been handling your own shit at the club, you’d know he was trying to stiff the girls.” Gabriel shakes his head and laughs. “Not that I give a shit about the whores, but I do mind that he was taking away from paying clients that we’d receive a cut from.”
I resist the urge to make a comment.
It’s not worth it.
I grind my molars as I hold back the many things I’d like to say. I lost all respect for my “father” when I was twelve years old and he murdered an innocent little girl in front of me.
And then blamed it on me and left me with gaping fucking wounds that never scab over.
“Turns out Greco has already been useful in his own right. I’m looking forward to seeing where this little partnership takes us.” Gabriel sneers as he focuses on Enzo, and I try to taper down my disgust for the man I once thought was a hero. “The DeSantis men are in talks of an ambush. There are no current plans set in stone, but Romeo DeSantis refuses to let sleeping dogs fucking lie. He’s insisting that we have hispreciousSofia.” He takes a long pull from his beer. “Fucking pathetic bastard,” Gabriel mumbles. “Sofia and Julissa were dead not long after we kidnapped them. Maybe the boss of the DeSantis men would get more shit accomplished if he just cut his losses.”
Gabriel makes a show of carefully setting down his Gran Habano No. 5, a cigar that costs well over a hundred thousand dollars. Money makes the world spin for the man. And he doesn’t give one flying fuck who he has to take out to get it.
I should’ve known he wasn’t my real father before I found the DNA paperwork confirming it. I never had as dark of a goddamn soul as the fucker sitting down the table from me. I may be certifiable in my own right. I may love the thrill of a kill and the high when I strike a deal. But those were all learned behaviors.
