“Molly’s not contagious. It’s food poisoning,” I told him, but I was still glad I was so meticulous about washing my hands before picking Anna up.
“Whatever you say. How’d the meeting with Bianchi go this morning?” I stared at him. I hadn’t told him about it, so how had he known? Marco threw me a predatory smile devoid of any levity whatsoever. “Don’t look so stunned, brother. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.”
“Sandro told you?” I assumed.
“No, actually. I overheard you two talking. Thanks so much for keeping me in the loop, by the way,” he said, his sarcasm dialed to eleven. He kept his tone even, but I could tell he was miffed.
“Marco, look—” But he cut me off.
“You would think as the second in command, the second son, I would’ve been informed before Alessandro, but I guess you neglected to inform me about the change in ranks.”
Anna, sensing the growing tension, made a whimpering sound. “We’re taking this elsewhere.” I forced myself to remain outwardly calm as I kissed the top of her forehead. Greta, always discreet, had made herself busy at the far side of the nursery, but as I stood, she approached my daughter, grabbing her out of the walker and wiping a smear of food off her face with a soft cloth.
“Time for your bath, little one,” she said, disappearing into the attached bathroom.
I led my brother to the adjacent room, the one we called our main headquarters, though it mainly functioned as an office. In it were everything from burner phones and computer monitors to the dusty old ledgers our father’s accountant had used.
“I was planning to update you and Gabriel tonight at dinner, so get off your high horse.”
“But you went off without informing us this morning. What if the Bianchi’s had shot you dead while they had access to you? Ever think about that?” Marco demanded, and though annoyed, I appreciated the sentiment.
Somewhat, anyway.
“Dad did whatever the fuck he wanted and never informed us about shit,” I told him.
“And now look where that’s led.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Luca, there’s evidence that Dad was ripping the Bianchis off. Not just records but video footage. But it’s of the man who told us over and over again to act with subtlety, to take people out only when no other way could be found. He’s not someone who would start a war with a family almost as strong as we are. Something about all this stinks. Its stinks to high hell.”
I had to concede Marco’s point. Nothing about this thing with the Bianchis had sat right with me from the beginning. I felt like there must be some crucial piece of the puzzle missing but I didn’t know what it might be.
“And no matter what Dad may or may not have been doing, I still think they should pay,” my brother went on. “Coming in here and shooting the patriarch of such an important crime family down like they were on some big game hunt… It’s wrong.”
Again, I agreed with him. I always had. But I didn’t want to risk the lives of every single person in this house by starting something that would only end in bloodshed on both sides. “It is wrong, and I’m angry about it just like you are. But we can’t go to war over this.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, gazing out the window. It was another bitterly cold December day. “I know going to war would be crazy, and Dad knew that better than anyone. That’s why I can’t figure out why he’d be so reckless. I could see him trying something he knew he could get away with, but this? Being on their premises with cameras right there in sight? He’d never do something so out in the open like that. He’d never be so obvious.”
I wished our father was alive so I could demand he tell me what was going on. Even if he’d backhanded me for my impudence, at least I would’ve no longer been in the dark. “We need to keep our eyes peeled and stay alert. I want you, Sandro and Gabriel to contact your informants and see if there are any underground whispers we haven’t heard yet.”
Marco nodded, leaving me alone in the room. I sat down at one of the desktop computer stations and sent out feelers among my own personal spies. I hadn’t asked much of them in over a year, but I knew greasing their palms should net me at least some information.
The problem was Angelo Varasso may have gone to his grave with the information I needed.
24
Molly
After Luca left my room, my food poisoning intensified to repulsive levels, but thankfully I felt better the next day. Mostly. I still wasn’t back to one hundred percent, but I managed to muddle through by not eating anything. I had to because I had an appointment with my real estate broker.
I’d made an offer on my new house and it’d been accepted. I might have jumped up and down with elation, but my nausea had chosen that specific minute to make a reappearance. God, I couldn’t stand being sick.
I was never eating eggs, oil, or vinegar ever again.
Once I signed on the dotted line, I went to handle all the business I’d missed the day before, only to discover that Luca had already caught me up. Which I supposed I should be grateful to him for. It was a sweet thing for him to do.
But then I thought about it. Was it really sweet or was it just him maintaining his family’s dealings like he always had?