“It might not be taking place in one of Damiano’s clubs, but I can guarantee it will be a good party.”
“I love a good party. Next time you’re in New York, make sure to get in touch. I’ll return the favor.”
He’s laying it on thick, but I’m not fooled by the friendly giant act. This man wouldn’t be a consigliere if he wasn’t clever as hell.
I have to stay on guard.
“I will. Although, I doubt I’ll be there anytime soon. Things are busy here and back in Italy.”
“Of course. I remember what it was like when Rafe took over the family after his father’s death. There was a lot of work to do in the months that followed.”
“Must have been a big adjustment going from a made man to a don. Damiano’s been a capo for a decade, so he’s had time to earn the respect of our clan. That helps.”
We stop at the edge of the cliff to admire the view. Messero’s got his hands in his pockets, his expression a neutral mask. I take the opportunity to size him up. His features are sharp. Polished. There’s something vulture-like in how he carries himself.
Nero puffs on his cigarette. “Not really. Rafaele’s been preparing for this job his whole life. He earned everyone’s respect a long time ago. After all, he got made at thirteen.”
Fuck, that’s young.
I think back to the folder Napoletano shared with us a while back. Inside were all of Messero’s known crimes, business deals, alliances, and enemies.
The last section was sparse.
Messero had killed most of them.
An hour later, the six of us spread out across the leather armchairs and sofa in Dem’s office. I offer everyone whiskey, and they all accept except Napoletano. He joined us after the tour, and there’s a distinct annoyed glimmer in his eyes at having been asked to step away from Mari for this meeting. They haven’t emerged from their bedroom all day, and the collar of Napoletano’s shirt doesn’t quite cover the hickeys peppering his thick neck. Dem noticed them when we first walked in and gave Napoletano a dirty look. He knows better than to say anything though. Mari might be his sister, but now she’s Napoletano’s wife.
“Should we get down to it then?” Nero throws out once the drinks have been poured. His gaze lands on Dem. “Your second delivery was a fraction of what we agreed on.”
Dem props an ankle across his thigh and settles into his chair, looking utterly at ease. “I took control less than four months ago. We’re still working out the kinks with the new supply route we established for the counterfeits.”
“Have they been worked out?” Nero asks.
Irritation prickles across my nape. That fucking tone. “We don’t report to you, so stop talking to us like we’re your fucking crew.”
Nero lifts his palms up. “I wouldn’t dream of it. No disrespect, fellas. We’ve stumbled onto a good thing here, and it’s in both of our interests to get the cash flowing.”
“Indeed,” Damiano says, his gaze moving to Garzolo. “How much product can you move in the next six months?”
Garzolo takes a swig of his drink and glances at Messero. “That’s a question for Rafaele.”
I make a note of that. Interesting. So Messero’s crew is handling most of the distribution? What’s Garzolo’s role in all this then? We’d been operating under the assumption that he and Messero were splitting things fifty-fifty back in New York.
Messero is slow to answer. Clearly, he’s in no fucking rush. “We have a network of retailers across the East Coast with an eager clientele. The first month you sent us one million worth of merchandise. We could sell five times that.”
My eyes widen as I do the math in my head. Given our terms, this operation could bring in two and half mil per month. Jesus. After expenses, we’d be left with a two million profit each month.
This is a bigger opportunity than we were expecting.
Dem gives me a look that communicates he’s thinking along the same lines.
“We can ramp up production next month,” he says.
Messero swirls his whiskey. “How much?”
“Three million worth of premium leather goods, that includes shoes, purses, and accessories.”
“The quality?”
“Indistinguishable from the real thing. We forge the authenticity certificates too,” I say. “Every now and then, we send someone to the boutiques to ask for authenticity checks. They rarely fail. You won’t find any replicas better. Even the top-of-the-line Chinese factories don’t come close. Some of our factory managers have worked for the actual brands in the past, so they know exactly what to look for.”
Nero’s brows lift. “Impressive.”
“Three million won’t be a problem, but to get to five, we’ll need to build a new factory,” Damiano says. “It’s a large investment on our part. We’ll want to get more comfortable with the terms and discuss guarantees before we take that step.”
“We’re about to become family,” Nero says with a grin. “What other guarantees do you need?”
Damiano stares at him over the rim of his glass. “We aren’t family yet. Perhaps we wait until Rafaele and Gemma are officially wed.”
My posture stiffens.
I was doing decently well with putting Gemma out of my mind, but now everything comes flooding back.
The way her lips felt against my own is something I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
Fuck. I still need to apologize.
Kissing her was a mistake.
The bigger mistake has been allowing myself to get fixated on her.
Yes, she’s beautiful. I’m wildly attracted to her. I would have loved to do something about that attraction if circumstances had been different, but that’s not the hand I’ve been dealt.
She’s engaged. Spoken for.
She clearly hates my guts.
I need to stop being an ass and leave her alone.
I also need to stop worrying about her like she’s my damn problem to solve. It fucking sucks that she has to marry this asshole, but she’s an adult.
If she needs help, she’s got Vale to turn to. Otherwise, she’s responsible for her own life choices.
Rafaele pins me with his gaze, as if some part of him senses I’m thinking about his fiancée.
I scowl. “When is the wedding?”
“Soon,” Garzolo answers quickly.
“Is the date set?” Damiano asks.
Rafaele places his tumbler on the coffee table with a soft clink. “March sixth.”
That’s about five weeks from now. A heavy weight solidifies inside my gut, but I ignore it.
“Then let’s settle on three million for now and discuss how we can get comfortable with five after the wedding,” Damiano says.
Nero finishes off his drink. “We’ll see you there, won’t we? I don’t imagine your wife will want to miss her sister’s nuptials.”
“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Dem says.
My hand tightens around my glass. Great. Just great. That means I’m going too. Seeing Gemma walk down the aisle to this bastard is something I could definitely live without.
“Well, sounds like we’ve got it all worked out,” Nero says. “Is there anything else we should discuss? You’ve brought us out to paradise, De Rossi. Nothing would make me happier than a few hours to enjoy it.”