“Hmm. Maybe it was easy to convince him to let you be Gemma’s driver because he doesn’t want you sniffing around his business. He thinks he’ll keep you occupied that way.”
I frown. Damiano has a point. I should have thought of that. “Shit, you might be right.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. He was cagey enough in Ibiza. You’re going to have to find an outside perspective on the situation in New York. Have you met with Kal’s contact?”
“Meeting Orrin tomorrow morning.”
“Good. See what you can get from him. Don’t be shy about sweetening him up either.”
“I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“All right. Any leads on Gemma’s situation?”
“Nothing yet.”
“You should ask her about her dad. Napoletano said he overheard her talking about how Garzolo needs this marriage to happen, so she might know something.”
I scratch my chin. Yeah, the last time we touched on that topic, it ended in disaster.
I’m about to tell Damiano I think that’s a bad idea when I stop myself.
A rush of something unpleasant slides down my spine. Am I compromising my efforts here because I’m afraid of upsetting Gemma?
I owe my boss more than that.
“All right. I’ll see if I can get something out of her.”
We hang up, and I sip on my drink and come to the conclusion that I need to get a hold of myself. I’m here on Dem’s orders. I owe him a clear head. I need to focus on my actual priorities, which don’t include playing games with Gemma. If Garzolo catches a whiff of how I’ve already compromised his daughter, no amount of threats will make him allow me to stay. He’s desperate for his clan to link up with Messero, that much is obvious. He won’t put up with me if he sees me as a threat to that.
This deal with the Americans is important. It’s our first major move with Dem as the head of the Casalesi, and our people will be watching to see how it shakes out. I don’t want anyone to have any doubts that Dem is the right leader for us.
I remember the moment I realized he had it in him. That was almost a decade ago. No one, fucking no one, was talking to me after what had happened with Sara. I was a shell of a man. Broken, angry, destructive. Her betrayal ripped my heart out. I didn’t leave my apartment for weeks.
Damiano was the one who pulled me back from the abyss. He was the only one who really even tried. He saw that I wouldn’t—couldn’t—see a future for myself, so he sold me on his vision. I believed in him for years before I started to believe in myself.
I finish off the whiskey and put the glass down on the nightstand with a soft clank.
I have to do better than this and focus on my work instead of contemplating the indentation Gemma’s body would make in my mattress. There’s a reason why I’ve kept every single woman after Sara at arm’s length. I haven’t allowed myself to get distracted from what’s important in years, and I’m not about to start now.
I arrive at Poet’s Café, the coffee shop where I’m meeting Orrin Petraki, at eight fifteen. It’s closed despite the sign on the door saying it opens at eight.
I let out an annoyed huff, which materializes as a white cloud in front of my face. It’s minus ten degrees, or what the app on my phone says is fourteen Fahrenheit. Even in my new black cashmere sweater and wool jacket, my nipples feel like they’re about to freeze off.
Fuck this.
My fingertips are numb as I take out my phone and give the Greek a call.
“I’m almost there,” he says, static cracking over the line. “Pulling up. You the guy in the long coat?”
“Yes,” I bark into the receiver. “I’m fucking freezing over here.”
He chuckles. “Oh, I remember when I first got to New York. Took me four winters to adjust.”
A black SUV pulls up to the curb, the driver a grinning young man with curly black hair and a prominent nose. He waves his phone at me.
I hang up and stuff my hands into the pockets of my jacket, my shoulders nearly at ear height. I should have bought a hat and a scarf at that department store, but I was somewhat preoccupied with getting rid of my raging hard-on after the incident with Gemma.
I wonder if she’ll bring it up when I see her later today.
Orrin hops out the car and comes to shake my hand. “Ras, right?”
I scan him over. He’s young but there’s an old scar slashed over his cheek and a newer one through his brow. They give him a certain kind of gravity. I can already tell he isn’t someone who sits on the sidelines.
“Yeah.” I tip my head toward the sign above the door. “You the poet?”
He throws me a lopsided grin. “Depends who you ask. You’ve got a last name?”
“Sorrentino.”
“Oh, I know a Sorrentino around here.” He rummages in one of his pockets before pulling out a set of keys. “You’ve got relatives here?”
I shake my head. “Not in New York. My whole family is still in Napoli.”
He unlocks the door and motions for me to go inside. “Never mind then. I’ve never been to Napoli, but you know I’ve always wanted to go. Your pizza’s supposed to be the best, right?”
I shiver in relief as the heated air of the cafe wraps around me. “That’s what they say.”
“You know, I met a guy from there a while back.” Orrin lets the door slam behind him. “He’s with one of Messero’s crews. Actually, maybe he wasn’t from Napoli. Fuck, there’s too many damn Italians here, I always get confused where everyone’s from.”
I slip my jacket off as he walks over to the coffee machine. This guy talks a lot, but that might be a good thing given what I want from him.
“Want coffee?”
“Yeah.”
He pulls out a container of ground coffee beans. “So Kal told me to be my most helpful self as far as you’re concerned. Sounds like you and your boss have worked with him for a while.”
“Kal’s a good guy. He’s helped us a lot through the years.” Kal Petraki is the reason we’ve never lacked guns or ammunition in Ibiza.
“Congrats, by the way. Heard De Rossi recently became the top dog.”
I relax into the chair and cross my ankle over my knee. “The Casalesi leadership was in desperate need of a change.”
“Big promotion for you too, huh?”
“Trust me when I say it’s not as glamorous as it seems.”
Orrin starts making two espressos. “I’ve been working my way up since I first got here six years ago. Now, I’m leading a crew of about a dozen guys. We’re not big players, but I’ve got a good thing going, and I think I can keep growing it if I keep up the diplomacy with your country men.”
“You’ve got your own territory?”
“Smack dab on the border between the Messeros and the Riccis. It’s been a little tense lately.” He glances at me. “Maybe you’ve heard.”
“Thought the matter’s been resolved.”
“Yeah, the Riccis got fucked with a big Messero-Garzolo branded strap-on. It’s going to take them at least a decade to rebuild.” He brings over the two espressos and sits down across from me. “So how can I help?”