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Chapter Eighteen
Nico
“Our intel places Romano in the basement of The Agua tomorrow night,” I say to the men gathered in the Vitelli mansion’s conference room.
All the capos of the Chicago Outfit, along with Dante, sit around the table. At the table’s end, the consigliere—my father—maintains a vigilant silence, his gaze sweeping over the men.
Since Leo's betrayal, he’s become even more observant, keen on catching any subtleties I might miss. His presence reminds me of the immense burden he bore for nearly three decades and sheds light on his desire for an early retirement.
I glance at the antique clock on the far wall. It’s already midnight. Fuck. There’s no way I’ll be making it back to Sophie’s tonight. And I didn’t show up for lunch either.
I refocus my attention on the men in the room. “We also know he will have some Cartel members with him.”
Orlando, ever the stoic, sucks his teeth, his toothpick bobbing from his thin lips, his expression unchanging. “So we’ll be pissing on the Mexican Cartel as well,” he states, his tone neither betraying excitement nor dread, but his thirst for violence is undeniable. Killing a man was generally his solution to any problem, and after thirty-two years of service to my family, he’s solved a great number of problems.
“When you stick your hand where it doesn’t belong, you end up with a bloody stump,” Enzo quips, and a murmur of agreement ripples through the room. “They should’ve stayed on their side of the border with their narcotics and human trafficking.”
Pietro, eager to steer the conversation back to strategy, interjects, “The basement of The Agua is where the prostitutes work. If Romano is going to be there with his capos, are we going to be interrupting some sort of orgy?”
Dante quips, “God, I hope not. I’m afraid Romano’s bare ass is way beyond the threshold of what I can stomach.”
Laughter fills the room, but it passes quickly. Every man here knows the stakes of what we’re planning to do.
“No, no orgy. It’s worse.” I continue, capturing their renewed attention. “Animal cruelty. Beyond the rooms where the girls work, there’s a large hall. Ideal for fights—dog fights, right, Salvatore?” I prompt, acknowledging his critical role in gathering our intel alongside Dante, though I know Salvatore is not one to seek credit for it.
“It’s true.” Salvatore’s nose crinkles. “He’s a sick son of a bitch.”
“Si,” I agree.
Moving onto the particulars of tomorrow night’s operation, I explain, “There are five guards.” I put up five fingers and two vials of clear liquid. “We’ll need to neutralize the five silently and conceal their absence—we can’t afford any disturbances on the main floor.”
“Those men deserve bullets, not pricks in their necks, in my opinion,” Enzo says without a flicker of emotion on his long, weathered face.
“You’ll have to go back on your own time if you want to share your bullets with them, Enzo.” I snap, but soften my tone with a small smile.
“Moving forward,” I steer the conversation back on track. “This operation demands precision. Once we take out the five guards, it’s open season, amici.”
A ripple of excitement passes through the room at the prospect, but I’m quick to temper it. “Stay away from Romano’s girls, but everyone else in that basement is fair game. As long as Romano and his men are eliminated, everything else is collateral damage.”
Orlando’s grin broadens, a gleam of approval in his eyes. “Bene. Anyone sick enough to wager on dog fights deserves a taste of their own medicine—thrown into a cage with one of those abused dogs.”
Now, there’s a thought. I can’t help but entertain the idea with a shrug. “If you manage to corral them into a cage, be my guest.”
Salvatore’s laughter echoes the sentiment, a rare moment of humor amidst the gravity of our plan. “Agreed.”
“But keep your eyes on the prize,” I caution, my gaze sweeping across the faces of my capos, ensuring the message hits home.
The room empties, leaving just my father and me to debrief, but I’m only half attentive because a restlessness that has become all too familiar begins to writhe through my veins.
I want Sophie.
Still, I manage to ask, “Romano was one of your capos and most trusted friends, Father. What do you think of the plan?”
“It’s solid. Catching him unawares is the best way to ensure a swift judgment without sacrificing good men.” My father scratches his graying stubble thoughtfully.
“But?” I prompt, wanting to hear the unspoken concern lingering in the air.
“He knows today was his final chance to take you out, Domenico, and since that has failed, he would know that his end is near. Pascal Romano is at his most dangerous when he feels cornered and out of options. He becomes the aggressor.”
