“What about the other family?” Napoletano asks.
Everyone turns to look at him. He’s been even more silent than Messero though all this, standing in the corner and observing us all.
“The one that used to run counterfeits before in New York,” he says. “I don’t imagine they’re happy about you taking over their territory.”
“Didn’t I already say to all of you a few days ago that the Riccis are done?” Garzolo snaps.
Suspicion licks up my spine. This topic really sets Garzolo off.
He finishes off his drink and slams the glass on the table. “Rabid dogs, that fucking family. They need to be put down. But now that word’s gotten around that Rafaele and I are merging forces, they won’t try anything stupid.”
“We just want to be helpful,” I offer. “You’d tell us if you needed any assistance from us, right, Garzolo?”
His eyes narrow on me. “Assistance? Do I look like a man who needs assistance? You want to come to New York and see how I run things down there? You’re welcome to come any time.”
I glare at him. “I’ll be sure to take you up on that.”
We end the meeting, exchanging handshakes so as not to end it on that terse note.
Once our guests leave, I turn to Dem. “All right, so what the fuck is going on here? If Garzolo’s sole value in this deal is to act as a broker between Messero and us, I don’t understand why we don’t just cut him out.”
“Because he’s family now.” Damiano drags his palm over his chin. “Maybe this is why he initiated the marriage between Messero and Gemma in the first place.”
“Messero isn’t stupid,” Napoletano says. “If all Garzolo had was his connection to Sal, and now to you, Messero wouldn’t have agreed to the marriage. No, Garzolo must have something else. Something Rafaele Messero wants.” He walks around the sofa and takes a seat at the end. “I overheard Gemma talking to Vale last night. She made it sound like Garzolo really needs this alliance. Like he’s weak without it.”
It’s an effort to keep my expression neutral since I overhead that conversation too.
Did Napoletano see Gemma and I in the kitchen afterwards?
I catch his eye, but he doesn’t react in any way that suggests he did.
“It’s possible,” Damiano mutters. “Let’s review what we know. Garzolo and Messero initially teamed up because the Riccis were getting too powerful in New York. The Riccis wanted to get their counterfeits supply from my predecessor, Sal, but Garzolo stepped in and tried to convince Sal to make the deal with him. When the Riccis found out, they went on the offensive against Garzolo.”
“Probably against Messero too,” I add.
“Right. So this alliance was borne out of Messero and Garzolo having a common enemy.”
“Who now appears to be neutralized, if Garzolo is to be believed.”
“If the marriage between Rafaele and Gemma doesn’t happen, the Riccis might decide to attack again,” Napoletano says.
“Garzolo said they were all but destroyed. Is he lying about the damage they did?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s possible. It would explain why Garzolo is all but sucking Messero’s dick right now. But Messero’s motives are unclear. Why sign up to protect Garzolo if the guy’s nothing but a middleman? He’s not pushing any of the product. If I were Messero, I’d call off the marriage, negotiate with Dem to do the deal between just the two of them, and let Ricci and Garzolo fight among themselves. There’s a good chance they’ll destroy each other, and Messero would come out on top.”
“We don’t know what’s going on in New York. Maybe Messero is having problems in other parts of his business.”
“I don’t like this,” Napoletano says. “I feel like we’re missing something. Something big.”
Damiano blows out a breath. “Do we need to concern ourselves with this? As long as they pay us on time, I don’t give a fuck what happens on their turf.”
Napoletano shakes his head. “If there are problems back in New York, this deal might turn to dust. It’s in our best interest to make sure things with our partners are stable. If we get to five million per month, our cut will add ten percent to our top line. That’s not insignificant.”
Damiano drums his fingertips along the armrest. “I hear you. Can you get more information about what’s happening on their side?”
“I have some contacts, but it will take time. And even then, I’m not sure if they’re close enough to the families to get the details we need.”
Dem rises and walks over to the window. “I need to think about how to proceed,” he says finally.
I observe my friend. We haven’t said it out loud, but we all know that there’s another layer to this whole thing. The fate of Vale’s sisters are intrinsically linked to that of their father.
And while Vale might be more than willing to turn her back on Stefano, she’ll never forgive Dem if her siblings become collateral damage in the process.
CHAPTER 9
GEMMA
Rafaele’s arm is steady under my hand as we walk into the buzzing cathedral for Vale’s wedding the next day.
I’m technically the maid of honor, but Vale didn’t give me any tasks before the ceremony, so Papà arranged for Rafaele to pick me up from the house.
We drove here in uncomfortable silence.
At least it was uncomfortable for me. Rafaele seemed completely unbothered.
I try to keep my nerves at bay by focusing on the elegant decor instead of my fiancé’s intimidating presence.
Woven baskets are suspended from the ceiling, with delicate white and purple flowers spilling over their edges. The smell of lavender wafts through the space. A lilac-colored carpet stretches from the entrance of the cathedral all the way to the altar, where a priest stands dressed in a black cassock, a bible in his hands.
Rafaele leads me to the front pew where my parents and Cleo are already seated. Cleo doesn’t hide her disdain for my fiancé, her expression morphing into a scowl.
Yesterday, my sister called him every name imaginable. I had to remind her that he could have gotten her into a lot more trouble if he’d told everyone how drunk she was when he picked her up.
I was furious. I dragged her into the shower as soon as we got to our room, and by the time Mamma came up to scream at her, Cleo had washed the smell of Jack Daniels off and managed to sober up. We were told to stay in our room until we were called.
I kept eyeing the door, waiting for Papà to storm in. Turns out he, Damiano, and Rafaele had a meeting, and when he finally returned, he was in a surprisingly good mood.
We got off the hook too easily.
I’m not complaining. It’s the only lucky break I’ve gotten since I arrived here.
We sit down. Rafaele gives Cleo only a cursory glance, which I know must irritate her. She’s itching for a confrontation. I give her a warning look. She scrunches her nose and turns toward the altar.
I relax slightly and try to get comfortable in my seat.
Rafaele’s platinum cufflink winks against the light streaming through the stained-glass windows. It’s engraved with the letters RM.