But our wedding was only six weeks away and I had already endured a tight schedule of necessary tastings, rehearsals, meet-ups and brainstorming events that made it impossible to pretend I wasn’t caught in Cressida’s cunning clutches.
Where are you?
I ignored her question. She knew I was in Las Vegas for business and she didn’t need to know more than that. I didn’t trust her and that would never change.
Shoving my phone into my pocket, I raised my head in time to see us pull up in front of the huge steel gates to the Falcone mansion. An obnoxious F crowned the thing in addition to dozens of razor-sharp thorns.
“Judging by your pissed off look, that was Cressida. This meeting is important. We need to make sure we regain control of our drug routes. With the current mood in the Famiglia, we can’t risk earning less money. Even the Tradionalists are less likely to speak up, if their pockets are full. Don’t make a scene.”
“She makes my blood boil and not in a good way.”
“I don’t care. Do not mess up.”
I gave him a lazy smile. “I’m not a hotheaded teen anymore. You don’t have to remind me. Today’s about business, nothing else.”
Dad regarded me briefly and gave a satisfied nod, though I caught the hint of doubt on his face. He and I had worked well together these last few years despite our occasional disagreements. Maybe it was a matter of age that made Dad more cautious and reluctant to dish out violence. When he’d been my age, he would probably have ripped Antonaci’s throat out for demanding anything. He should consider himself lucky my father had abolished the bloody sheets tradition or Cressida would leave a very bad impression the morning after our wedding night. He was the leader of the Traditionalists after all. None of them would have taken him seriously anymore if his own daughter had done the deed before her wedding night.
Dad hit the button that made his window slide down so he could ring the bell and alert the Falcones of our arrival. Of course, they’d known about us because of their numerous security cameras the moment we’d pulled up.
The gates swung inward without a word out of the speakers. We pulled up the long driveway. “I don’t like that we’re meeting at their place. It always puts us at a disadvantage.”
“We want something from Remo and he invited us to his home. Refusing him would have set the wrong tone.” Then Dad’s expression became harder, and dangerous. “We’re outnumbered, true, but the house is full of people Remo wants to protect. That puts him at a disadvantage not us.”
“Then why invite us into his home?”
“Power plays as always. I’m sure the women and children of the family are well hidden and protected.”
In recent years peace had become harder to maintain. To think that not too long ago, our bond had been strong enough that Remo had allowed his brother Adamo to spend a year with us in New York…
Dad parked the rental car and we got out. Remo, Nino and Nevio appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Fuck, tell me that crazy bastard isn’t going to join the meeting too,” I pressed out under my breath, pebbles crunching under our shoes as we approached the house.
“He’s the future Capo. You and him will have to figure out a way to tolerate each other.”
“We both know war will break out the moment Nevio and I become Capos. No need to pretend otherwise.”
Dad sent me a warning look as we ascended the few white steps. Dad shook Remo’s hand but no love was lost between them either. I shook Remo’s and Nino’s hands before I came face to face with Nevio Falcone, the little shit that gave new glory to the name Madmen of Las Vegas. He wasn’t the little shit I’d last seen a few years ago. Now at almost nineteen we were almost at eye level while I’d always towered over him a couple of inches in the past.
His smile pulled wide, baring white teeth, his dark eyes gleaming with a promise I gladly returned. You’re a dead man.
Some people believe in love at first sight. Bullshit.
Hate at first sight? Definitely a thing. The first time Nevio and I had seen each other we’d loathed each other with fiery passion. I didn’t know why, only that our hate had been instantaneous and that it would outlast every promise and contract made by our fathers. One day I’d cut off his grinning head and skewer it on top of the obnoxious Falcone fence for everyone to see, even if that meant I would have to make peace with the Golden boy of the Outfit.
We didn’t shake hands, didn’t do anything but stare into each other’s eyes. I wanted nothing more than to give the crazy bastard a taste of his own medicine.