We march to The Castle gates with guns drawn. Guards flank every entrance to The Castle—the main entrance that leads to reception, a second entrance at the pavilion outside the courtyard, the entrance to the chapel which leads to the secret wine cellar, and the last that I can’t see from here, another entrance by the central sun room. With a touch of a button, Tavi’s called our security to full strength.
We march in unison to the front entrance, Rosa behind me and only inches away. Elise is tucked under Tavi’s arm. I pass Rosa off to security at the main door, and head to the chain-link fence where the dogs stand at attention.
“Time for action, boys,” I say under my breath. They wag their stumpy tails in greeting, the most friendly gesture either of them ever display. I give them a quick scratch behind the ears, then survey their surroundings for any sign of foul play. Something in bubblegum pink catches my eye. Frowning, I kneel in the dry grass to look closer, shove the blades of grass away, and extract a miniature doll-sized shoe.
My God. Natalia. If she came here…
I shove it in my pocket. We’ll deal with that later.
The chains are so heavy they take effort to lift and move so I can unlock them. The powerful, muscled dogs vibrate with excitement at the possibility of action.
“Don’t get so excited,” I mutter under my breath. “Could be nothing.”
I’ve seen these dogs tear the throat out of a man that tried to attack Narciso, and tear through the flesh of an attacker who once tried to hurt Marialena.
I gave them extra meat from my plate that night.
I snap their solid leather leashes on and hold them taut. “Heel,” I command. The dogs instantly fall into line.
When we reach the entrance to The Castle, I tether them on a short lead secured to a sturdy column behind the portcullis. They whine, but when I snap my fingers, they sit quietly.
“Good,” I tell them. “Stay there. Watch.” Their eyes are keen as hawks. They’ll miss nothing and immediately alert us if anything’s amiss.
Mama stands in the entryway, her lips pressed tight, but she’s otherwise composed. Marialena paces by the window.
“Where’s Rosa?”
“Went to fetch Natalia from the Great Hall,” Mama offers. “Guards are with her. What’s going on, Santo?”
I shake my head and lift my finger. “We’ll tell you soon. Have to secure everyone first.”
“Is everyone okay?”
Okay’s a relative term. We’re all alive.
I nod, as a car pulls in the drive. I look out the window and sigh.
Vittoria.
She must’ve been out when she was called to come back here. I wonder if anyone’s told her what’s going on yet.
“And everyone else?”
“Tavi’s in the war room,” Mama says. “Orlando’s securing Angelina with Elise in the Great Hall, where everyone else is heading. Tavi wants a family meeting.” She swallows and draws in a breath. “I’m told he called the Montavios, Santo?”
Montavio is Tosca’s maiden name. Before Narciso took over this castle, it was owned by the Montavio family. We’re on friendly terms with them, though the Montavios run a mob separate from us. We haven’t called them in here since I was kid.
“Good call,” I mutter. I run my fingers through my hair and watch as the dogs wag their tails for Vittoria. She bends and kisses them both, earning her wagging tails, before she enters. They’re gentle with Romeo’s bride.
“Why?” Mama asks. I’m not holding anything back. The plan of attack and who might be implicated will come into play shortly, and I’ll give Tavi the space he needs to lead, but Tosca and Vittoria deserve to know.
The door opens and Vittoria steps foot inside. “I know,” she says to me. Her eyes look red-rimmed but are now dry, and her voice is as strong as ever. Every Rossi woman, those wed into our family and those born into it, has a spine of steel. “Tavi’s already talked to me.”
Mama makes an impatient sound as Nonna enters the room behind her. “Well no one told me.”
I sigh. The sooner they all know, the better.
“Romeo’s been arrested. We have reason to believe he was set up. He has nothing he should be convicted for, and as soon as he was taken into custody, someone blew up my car.”
Mama gasps and covers her mouth. “What do you mean?” she whispers.
“The red Maserati,” I say with a sigh.
“Oh, Santo,” she says as tears spring to her eyes. Goddamn, if I don’t love her for feeling for me. She was the first one who ever did.
“It’s alright, Mama,” I say, shaking my head and swallowing the lump in my throat. “Cars are expendable. People aren’t.”
“I know, son,” she whispers. She reaches for my hand and gives it a little squeeze. “But that one was special.”
I look away. That car signified my move from childhood to adulthood. It meant almost as much to me as the vows I took and the ink on my arm.