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Tizziano follows me, picking up the bottle of water from the floor and using it to wet his face, then he also leans on the ropes.
“I agree, using the shipment as bait for the CIA was a good idea after all,” he says, and I nod.
“If this really has to do with the CIA. I want news as soon as you get it.”
“It will be done, Don.”
“I also want eyes and ears on Mattarazzo. We've already done too much for that son of a bitch for him to prove incapable of guaranteeing the safety of a shipment of weapons, if he's not useful to me when I need him, he's no use to me at all.”
“It's already done,” he warns, and it doesn't surprise me in the slightest.
Tizziano didn't get the position of underboss because he was my brother, none of my brothers did. Unlike Cosa Nostra, the Sagrada does not reward nepotism, blood is important, but it is not everything. If each of them had not proven themselves, time and time again, to be capable men, they would not be where they are today. Not even I, being my father's first son, would have taken the Don's place after his resignation, despite his recommendation, if I hadn't proven myself capable of doing so. And I did. Deal after deal. Death after death. Visit after visit to hell, and in the twenty-six years since I got my crucifix, my rose, and my dagger, there have been many. At thirty-eight years old, there is not a single part of me that does not belong to the Sagrada.
“Good,” I say, already making space between the ropes to get through them. My brother takes advantage of the opportunity.
“Are you going out?”
“I am. Gianni asked for a meeting, something about the protocols for the trip to Brazil.” This makes Tizziano smile from ear to ear, completely leaving aside the seriousness of the conversation we just had.
“Are you sure you don't need me to go on this trip?” I scratch my throat in disdain.
“You're only thinking about Brazilian pussies, Tizziano.”
“I'm thinking about Brazilian butts and tits too.” The green eyes shine before my brother winks in my direction.
“Maybe I should get you a wife, then.” The suggestion immediately erases the smile from his face.
“It's not funny, Vitto,” he says between his teeth and my reaction is nothing more than a subtle arch of the eyebrow, it's not like I care.
If Tizziano or even I haven't gotten married yet, it's only because no one has offered a deal worth enough to involve my or my underboss's name in a marriage agreement, and he knows it.
“Don.” I stop in my tracks and look back when the familiar voice calls out to me. Old Ricardo Ricci, Caporegime[2] of Messina, stares at me from a few meters away, approaching with quick, short steps.
I frown because I didn't expect to see him here. Dario, one of my trusted men, is standing nearby, his hands clasped in front of him. The impeccable suit on his body says he's ready for our day's commitments, even if I'm not yet.
“Yes?” I say as I stand in front of Ricardo. “Do we have a meeting, Ricci?” I ask, even though I know the answer is no.
“No, Don. But, if it's possible, I'd like to talk.” The agenda planned for the day practically screams in my mind as I nod, already thinking about the rearrangements I will need to make.
“About what, Ricardo?”
“The Castellani, Don. They said no to your proposal.” The clenching of my hand into a fist is an automatic reaction, as is the movement in my nostrils.
“So, we need to make sure they understand that thenowas never theirs to give.”
CHAPTER 2
________
Gabriella Matos
I hold my breath, swallowing the urge to vomit my guts that takes over my stomach the moment I have a full view of the room I'm about to enter and, even worse, clean. I would run to the bathroom, but if past experiences have done anything, they have taught me that the bedroom is always just a preview of the level of death wish I will encounter in the suite.
The damp stain on the unmade bed makes my nose wrinkle as I look at it and the discarded condom next to it. I close my eyes when I notice, a little further to the right, the white, gelatinous texture. I grunt and look away. I hate my life.
“Come on, Gabi, you can do it. You can always do it,” I say out loud because I know that just thinking won't be enough, even if listening won't be enough either.
I forcefully expel the air from my lungs and finally push the cart of cleaning products into the room. I look at it thinking for the thousandth time, just today, that it would be enough to solve my problems for a month.
