She hurries away to make herself pretty for her asshole fiancé while all I can do is pretend like this isn’t fucking killing me.
A few hours later, I’m dressed and ready to go. Garzolo and I are waiting downstairs when Gemma and Cleo appear at the top of the steps.
My gaze latches onto her and doesn’t let go.
She’s wearing that dress she tried on in the department store, only now it fits her like a glove, highlighting all her soft curves. The memory of that day torments me, spreading heat over my skin. When she moves past me, the backs of our hands brush, and her cheeks redden.
We get on the road, me in one car, and the rest of them in the other. After the club, I’ll drive Cleo and Gemma home.
Giulia Messero’s birthday party is in downtown Manhattan at a place called the Melody Club. The room is already filled to the brim with Messeros by the time we arrive. On one side is a long bar, and on the other, the food is laid out buffet style. The dress code is formal, but some of the women have taken liberties with their interpretation. One in a tight red minidress with her cleavage practically spilling out passes by me and gives me a coquettish smile.
Gemma appears at my side, her gaze narrowing on the woman.
“How was your trip?” I ask, taking advantage of the fact that her mother isn’t hovering around her.
“It was two days, but it felt like a week.”
“Tell me about it,” I say gruffly.
A small smile pulls at her lips. “I missed you too.”
My chest expands, but I manage to keep my expression straight. “Did you talk to Vince?”
Her face falls. “No. I’m so annoyed. I rang him dozens of times and left him a ton of messages. He only responded to one and said we’ll talk soon. I don’t know what to make of it.”
Neither do I. Vale hasn’t been able to get in touch with Vince either. It seems like he’s ignoring everyone who might be able to help him.
Suspicion tugs at the back of my mind, but I don’t voice it to Gemma, because I don’t want to risk upsetting her with speculation.
Still, I wonder if Garzolo is telling the truth… What if Vince is happy to have this responsibility taken from him?
Gemma lifts on her toes, trying to see above the crowd. “Anyway, I should go say hi to Nona. I think she’s somewhere over there.”
“Let’s go.”
As we weave through the crowd, I spot Rafaele across the room talking to a group of men. One of them, tall and dark haired, turns.
My steps halt.
It can’t be.
But then he smirks and waves at someone, and the scar on my wrist prickles.
My blood runs cold with recognition. It’s him. I’d recognize that smirk anywhere. I stared at it while I was sure I was about to bleed out.
Nunzio.
I’d heard he left Italy for America shortly after getting married to Sara, but I never would have guessed he’d link up with the mafia here. I always thought part of why he hated me so much was because he despised my family and the power they had over his own.
But it wouldn’t be the first time a man pretended to hate something he wanted deep down.
Gemma stops by a table, but I keep moving, as if in a trance.
I told myself that if I ever ran into him again, I’d kill him. My hand reaches for my gun, only for me to remember it was confiscated at the door. The only men allowed to have guns are the guards at the entrance. That’s fine. I don’t need a gun to kill a man, but this could get messy.
What the fuck is Nunzio doing here? Does he work for Messero?
As if I needed another reason to despise that fucker.
Nunzio starts moving along the edge of the room, and I speed up my steps to intercept him. I need to find out what position he occupies here before I can decide what exactly to do with him.
Our paths collide a few moments later. I stop in front of him, blocking his way. He flicks his gaze to me, his lips curled in an irritated sneer I know all too well. When he realizes who he’s looking at, the smirk melts away and blood leaves his face. His hand jerks to his waist, finding air.
Nunzio swallows. I wonder if he’s doing the same kind of math I’m doing in my head. We’ve always been about the same height, and ten years ago, he was far stronger than me, but time hasn’t been kind to him. His shoulders are slumped, his gut hangs over his belt, and his lips are dry and thin from what I suspect has been a lifetime smoking habit. At seventeen, he was already smoking a pack a day.
He must realize there’s a high probability he’ll be dead in under a minute because he takes a step back.
“Sorrentino,” he says, not using my nickname for once. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same thing. I always wondered what happened to you after you left Napoli.”
His narrowed eyes scan my face. “I heard you’re the underboss of the Casalesi now. Is that true?”
If he’s in Messero’s inner circle, he would know this with certainty. He must not be that high up.
“I am.”
He adjusts his stance, visibly tense. “Congratulations.”
“You’re with Messero?”
He nods.
“When did you land with his crew?”
“A few years ago.”
“Oh yeah? They treating you well?”
“Fine.” He sniffs. “So what brings you here?”
“I’m Garzolo’s guest. We’re family now, haven’t you heard? Damiano, the new don, married one of Garzolo’s daughters.”
Some tension leaves Nunzio’s shoulders. Is he relieved I didn’t come all the way to New York for him? Maybe he thinks I’m unlikely to do anything that might jeopardize the relationship between Garzolo and Messero.
I’ll admit, killing him right now wouldn’t look good, but that doesn’t mean I’m not tempted.
He swipes his fist under this nose and shoots me an insolent look. “So you became a ras after all. I have to admit, I thought as Ras of the Casalesi, you’d have more important things to do than visit family abroad.”
I smirk. He can’t keep up his polite act around me for more than a minute.
Good. Let’s cut the shit. “And what do you do for Messero? Pull things off the back of a truck? Harass small mom-and-pop stores for protection money? How does it feel, Nunzio, to do all the same things you used to revile my family for doing?”
Revulsion flashes across his face before he masks it with a cold smirk. “I’ll do whatever I have to in order for my family to have a better life here than they did back in Napoli. I know that must be hard for you to understand. You’ve never cared about anyone as much as you care about yourself. I’m surprised Don De Rossi has put his trust in you. If he knew you like I do, he’d realize it’s only a matter of time before you screw him for your own gain.”
His words make me bristle with indignation. He’s wrong. I may have been selfish when Nunzio knew me, but I’ve changed. Back then, I was just a fucking kid who felt like he’d already disappointed everyone, so what was the point of trying? But I’m not that kid anymore.
I promised myself I’d never disappoint Dem, and I haven’t.
“People change, Nunzio.”
Across the room, a flash of yellow catches my gaze.