Shortly after Angel’s birth, the Commission and their messaggero negotiated the families into a ceasefire. Father grumbled about it at first, but seeing the increase in cash flow all but silenced his protests. We turned our full focus onto making money, and without the attacks more of my time was freed up to spend with Annetta and Angel.
“I should probably return to work soon,” Annetta said one night while she was rocking Angel to sleep. “I don’t know if Antonio’s will hire me back, but they might.”
“Why do you want to go back?” I asked.
She frowned, creating little lines across her beautiful forehead. “I went to school for it, Dom. Cooking professionally was my dream.”
“Was. Is it still?”
She smoothed Angel’s hair away from his face. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine leaving him with a babysitter. Every day he changes and grows and I don’t want to miss out on any of it.”
“You don’t have to go back to work, Net. Taking care of me and Angel doesn’t make you any less of a contributor to this family. I know you’re independent and you want to feel like you’re pulling your weight, but you work harder than most of the people I know. We don’t need the money, so there’s no reason for you to go back unless you want to.”
Honestly, I didn’t see how she could go back without putting herself and Angel in danger, especially with my erratic work schedule, but I wanted the choice to be hers. Still, I wasn’t above swaying said choice.
“Why don’t you let me put Angel to bed, and I’ll show you exactly how much I appreciate everything you do around here,” I suggested, standing to take him from her.
Her cheeks reddened. “That sounds…enticing.”
I scooped Angel up and cradled him in one arm, while the other lingered on her neck as I bent to kiss her. “Why don’t you go slip into something a little more comfortable?”
I spent the next several hours showing every inch of her body just how much I appreciated her.
***
Annetta, Angel, and I shared three blissful years together. As Angel grew, our home evolved. Blanket forts took over the living room and kitchen, sword fights and stories were often acted out in the hallway, and the entire place could instantly turn into a dance floor. For the first time in my life, I knew peace and joy.
Then everything fell apart.
It all started on a Sunday in early November. I was scheduled for the weekly pickup from the Pelinos, a task I dreaded, since Ciro Pelino had never forgiven me for ditching his daughter to marry “the cook” as he liked to call Annetta. Father considered it my penance to put me solely in charge of our dealings with the Pelinos. It was a dick move…a constant reminder of the family tensions I’d created by choosing love over business. And boy, was Ciro Pelino ever tense. Each week was the same. He’d ask about “the cook” and “the child,” and then toss me the bag of cash.
I, in turn, was obligated to ask about Valentina. He made it a point to gush about how well she was doing and how many suiters she had chasing after her. Each week I bit my tongue, resisting the urge to point out that I’d been married for three years and the girl was still single. Last week Ciro had bragged that he’d entered marriage negotiations with Valentina’s future in-laws, and I congratulated him earnestly, hoping maybe her bastard of a father would finally shut up about it and move on.
I’d been out working all day and was on my way to the warehouse when I got a page from my house phone. Since Annetta rarely paged me, I knew something must be up and stopped at a pay phone to call her back. She was crying and upset…something about Angel.
I was instantly on alert. I plugged the ear not attached to the phone and strained to hear her over the roar of traffic. “Slow down, Net. Tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s Angel. He’s been coughing all day, and now he’s burning up and wheezing like he can’t breathe. I’m taking him to the hospital.”
“MountainView?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay. Drive safely. I’ll meet you there.”
We disconnected and I called Michael and told him what was going on. Michael and his wife, Zeta, had been trying to conceive since they married two and a half years ago, but had been unsuccessful. And they both adored Angel.
“Go to the hospital, I’ll make the pickup,” Michael said.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I can make the pickup first, I just—”
“Dom, go be with your wife and child. I’ll take care of it.”
Relieved, I thanked my brother and hung up. Then I sped across town to join Annetta and Angel in the emergency room.
The doctor diagnosed Angel with pneumonia. His fever kept spiking and his oxygen levels were dropping, so they admitted him, filled him with antibiotics, and put him in some sort of breathing tent. Annetta and I stayed by his side, watching our little boy fight for his life.
Hours later, I got a page from Carlo so I went out into the hall to call him.
“Why are you calling me from the hospital?” he asked.
“We’re here with Angel. Didn’t Michael tell you?” I glanced at my watch, confirming the late hour. “He should have stopped by hours ago to drop off the Pelino money.”
“I haven’t seen Michael all day,” Carlo said, his tone hinting at worry. “He did the pickup?”
A chill went down my spine. Ciro Pelino had been pissed at me for three years, yet never made a move. Mamma said he wouldn’t…unless he got a better offer. He told me he’d been negotiating the terms of a marriage contract, and I hadn’t even asked him who Valentina was marrying. What if he had gotten a better offer? Maurizio Durante had a few sons, and I knew at least one of them was still single.
“Shit,” I said.
“I’m sending a crew. I need you over there.”
Angel was stable, and I may have just sent my brother into an extremely hostile situation. I hung up, kissed Annetta good-bye, and sped like a demon to the Pelino warehouse, arriving before Carlo’s men. Unwilling to wait for them, I checked my gun, flipped off the safety, and crept in.
The warehouse was deserted except for a body lying in the middle of the floor. My blood froze in my veins, and I knew before I reached him that Michael was dead, but still I knelt and took his pulse. Nothing.
The truce was over, and my brother was the first casualty.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Dominico
MICHAEL’S MURDER HIT me harder than I expected. Growing up in the mob, my brother and I had seen our fair share of death. Hell, we’d caused a lot of it. We knew mobsters didn’t live long. The oldest living wiseguy in our family, my mother’s second cousin, Samuele, was maybe sixty to sixty-five. I’d long ago accepted our limited life expectancy as an occupational hazard, but deep down I’d always expected to at least hit forty.
Michael didn’t even make it to thirty.
It had been almost a week since I found his body, and I still couldn’t believe he was gone. I stood over his casket, looking down on a face that looked very much like mine. His funeral hadn’t started yet, but the priest had opened the room for immediate family to pay their respects in peace.
Carlo joined me at the casket and peered in. “He looks good. Peaceful.”
“He looks dead. At least we can look at him. The bastard shot him in the back instead of the head.” I shook my head, anger twisting my stomach into knots. Michael hadn’t even seen them coming. “Probably didn’t even realize it wasn’t me.”
Carlo nodded.
“There’ll be no open casket for Ciro. I plan to be the last person who has to look at his ugly mug.”
Carlo looked away. I followed his gaze to where my father stood in the doorway talking to a cousin. “Has your old man given you permission to lead the attack yet?” Carlo asked.
“Not yet.”
Father hadn’t said a word to me since Michael’s death. He didn’t have to, though. The disgusted looks he gave me said everything. My choices had gotten his golden heir killed, and he’
d never forgive me for it. Looking down on Michael’s lifeless body again, I knew I’d never forgive myself either.
“I don’t know what Ciro was thinking,” Carlo said. “He found a husband for his daughter, but at what cost? He broke the truce and pissed off the Commission, probably to get into Don Durante’s good graces, but no family will ever fully trust a turncoat. Especially one who single-handedly restarted the war.”
“When does Father meet with the messaggero?” I asked.
“Two days ago. The hit was unprovoked and unsanctioned, so they already gave our family the thumbs-up to retaliate.”
“And the Durantes?”
“They’re stepping back. Claimed Ciro acted on his own. They’ve promised the messaggero they won’t interfere.”
“I want in, Carlo. This is my doing and I need to make things right.”
He nodded. “Let me talk to my brother. I’ll set up a meeting.”
“You sure he won’t clip me the minute we’re alone?” I asked, watching Father.
Carlo shrugged. “I make no promises, Dom. But you’re now the heir, so your life is probably the safest from him it’s ever been.”
Now that was a comforting thought.
***
As he’d promised, Carlo set up a meeting with Father. Hours after Michael’s funeral I found myself sitting in my old man’s office, begging for a chance to go after my brother’s murderer.
“You?” Father spat. “You’re not fit to shine my shoes. What makes you think I’d trust you to lead my men? I wish your brother was still alive so he could kick your ass for even suggesting such a thing.”
I wished Michael was still alive as well, but because of me, he wasn’t. Now, there was nobody else to claim Michael’s birthright…to take on his curse. I needed to step up and become the heir. But first, I needed to win back the family’s trust, which meant killing Ciro.
My father was a hard man who didn’t put much stock in words. I could talk until I was blue in the face, but I’d never convince him I was ready for the task. He required physical proof, usually in the form of a job or a task.
“What must I do?” I asked.
Father stood and paced behind his desk. “You’re too impulsive, too young and stupid, following your heart like a goddamn woman. Your foolishness got us into this mess in the first place. I don’t know that there’s anything you can do.”
Bullshit. Fine, if he wanted me to grovel, I would. “I’m asking you for a chance to make it right, Father. Please.” I looked to Uncle Carlo, but his expression didn’t change. I knew he wouldn’t intervene.
“Your wife and child make you weak. You put them above the family,” Father said.
“Twice.” First when I married Annetta, and second when Angel was in the hospital. Two times I’d let my wife and child come before my duties, and I knew he’d never let me live it down. “It won’t happen again.”
“Belle parole non pascon i gatti,” he said, reminding me that fine words don’t feed cats. He needed more than my promise. “How can you say this? Can you guarantee it?”
I had no clue what he wanted me to say or do, so I looked to Carlo again. My uncle remained silent and impassive, no help there.
Father leaned against his desk. “This woman…she messes with your head. She makes you forget you are the son of a Don, that you have duties. Michael, Pace all'anima sua”—Father made the sign of the cross with the blessing (God, rest his soul)—“he knew it is better to command than to screw. You are a weak man who chose the latter. You don’t deserve this family.”
I nodded, taking his abuse because I knew I deserved it. I had let my emotions determine my fate and my brother had paid the price. Now we were going to war, and we’d no doubt lose a lot more men.
“You don’t deserve your wife and child. If you really want to lead my men, you’ll remember who you are and stop acting like a panty-whipped chooch. You’ll be exactly where I want you, when I want you, because you screw up again and you won’t get a second chance. Capisce?”
I paused, wondering how bad it could get. The truce had spoiled me—gotten me used to spending time with Annetta and Angel. Father’s tone warned that I’d pay for every minute of freedom I’d gotten. He wanted to punish me.
“Mangi la minestra o salt’dalla finestra,” he said. Eat the soup or jump out the window. That was if he didn’t throw me first.
I bowed my head, already feeling the exhaustion I knew would come. “I will do whatever I need to.”
“Good. Carlo will help you. Now get your ass to work.”
And boy, did we ever. We attacked hard and fast, taking over the Pelino’s casino in a stealthy operation that left them reeling. Turns out their employees were even less faithful than Ciro. We killed one manager and the rest of them handed over their keys and split.
After the casino was secure we hit their operations, throwing around enough cash to find any that had been moved. It was a costly process, but we recouped our losses and then some by cleaning out their warehouses. We spared no lives and showed no mercy, driving home the promise that anyone who broke faith with the Mariani family would pay in blood. As a result, we kept the rest of our allies.
My father was as ruthless with my schedule as I’d feared, and my wife and son suffered for it.
“Is this our new normal?” she asked one morning as I was getting ready for work.
“Only for a while,” I promised.
“What are you doing out there? I barely saw you over the holidays. Angel’s birthday is coming up. Will you miss out on that, too?”
“I don’t know. Look, I’m doing what I have to do. I don’t have a choice.”
But since I couldn’t give her details about what kept me away, she started making up possible reasons and throwing accusations around. By the time I got the call I’d been waiting for, I was sure Annetta was only days from leaving me.
Five sleepless months after Michael’s death, we finally had a bead on Ciro. The coward had run the night we attacked the casino and had been on the lam since. We’d heard whispers of sightings, but nothing ever panned out. Then finally, one of Carlo’s sources pointed us to an unfinished house on Oslo Avenue.
“You’re sure he’s in there?” I asked Carlo as I looked through the night vision binoculars he’d handed me.
It was two a.m., and the entire unfinished development lay silent. Carlo and I were about a block away, peeking over the hood of my black SUV. I’d long since traded my flashy Porsche in for the bulletproof glass, a reinforced body, and runflat tires the SUV offered, and on nights like tonight I was thankful for the decision.
Carlo shrugged. “One of his men went for pizza. We got the call and tailed him back to that house. Based on the security, either him or the goddamn president is holed up in there.”
I scanned the building for movement. At least four guys were watching out of the upstairs front windows. Another two on the front porch. Someone walked past the front window. “Any idea how many?”
“At least ten. We’ve been watching it a while, seen a few come and go.”
I almost asked if Carlo was sure he hadn’t been spotted, but stopped myself. My uncle was a professional and there was no need to insult him. “What’s the plan?” I asked.
Carlo called in every soldier we had available. We surrounded the house and shot our way in, taking out sixteen Pelino men before we found Ciro hiding in the kitchen and disarmed him.
Ciro spat at my feet as I approached him. “This is on you,” he said. “You thought you were better than us. You’re nothing.”
He wasn’t worth wasting words on. I settled my pistol between his eyes and squeezed the trigger. Twice. It was the first lesson my old man had ever taught me. Two in the head, make sure he’s dead. The satisfying splatter of Ciro’s brains against the back wall enabled me to take my first deep breath in months. There’d be no open casket for him. I could never atone for my role in Michael’s death, but at least I’d avenged him.
We sea
rched the house but found no sign of Ciro’s son, Adamo, who was a couple years younger than me and married, with a son of his own. I worried that would come back to bite us in the ass, but didn’t have the energy to care at the moment.
Ciro was dead.
A mix of relief and exhaustion fell upon me as I drove home. I’d fulfilled my duty. The war had been won and now everything would go back to normal. I stumbled up the driveway and let myself into the house. It was after five a.m., and I couldn’t wait to climb into bed beside my wife. But our bed was empty. I checked Angel’s room and searched through the house.
Annetta and Angel were gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Annetta
NOBODY WOULD TELL me how Michael died, but Dominico claimed full responsibility.
“How are you guilty for his murder?” I ask, frustrated by the way he refused to tell me any more than admitting it was his fault. “You didn’t kill him.”
“I can’t talk to you about that, Net.”
Really freaking convenient.
About two weeks after Michael’s death, Rosalie asked me to lunch. Other than the funeral, it was the first time I’d seen or heard from anyone in the family. Hoping to finally get some answers, I dressed Angel in his Sunday best and met her at a cute little bistro off the strip.
The bags under Rosalie’s eyes told me she wasn’t getting much sleep. She also looked like she’d dropped a few pounds. I held Angel a little closer, unable to imagine the pain she must be going through.
After we ordered, Rosalie asked about Dominico.
“He’s been working a lot, so I hardly see him.” Truthfully Dom was gone more often than he was home. Some nights he didn’t bother coming home at all.
“They were very close. I can’t imagine this is easy for him.”
She didn’t understand.
“This is more than Dom missing his brother. He blames himself,” I said. “Not like the normal guilt you feel when you lose someone and wonder if you could have done something differently. He says it’s his fault Michael’s dead.”
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