“What do you know about Jason Caruso’s father, Val?” Lucca asked.
“Arsenio Caruso has three sons and one daughter. They have a portion of territory along the waterfront. We held the entire waterfront, but Arsenio came to Giuseppi some years back and they made a deal giving the Carusos a small section with two ports on it. It’s quite lucrative, and they’ve always upheld their end of the deal. We’ve never had any problems with them, and they’ve never encroached any further into our territory,” Val said.
“There are clear lines for territories.” Vittorio made it a statement.
“Absolutely. Each of the five families in Chicago has their territory, and they rule that area. The Messina family holds the biggest territory, and they definitely are the most powerful. My family holds the second-largest territory, and we have the water and ports, so it is extremely lucrative. The Russo family might be next in terms of holding a sizable territory. The Caruso family would sit about here, right in with the Russo family or just under it in terms of territory. The smallest territory belongs to the Savoca family. Cristiano Savoca is a shrewd businessman, and everything he touches turns to gold. He has a reputation for keeping his word. He has two sons, and like their father, they have good reputations.” Valentino summed up the other men holding territories in Chicago.
“So not all the same in terms of how much money and power each family has,” Salvatore said. “You don’t all share.”
“Not with one another, no. We do make deals occasionally, but we stay out of one another’s business unless it is necessary to work certain details out between us, or smooth over a dispute. No one wants to go to war, such as what happened with Miceli and Giuseppi.” He smiled at them—the smile he might give that inner circle, the smile of a predator. No one was ever going to stop him from going after his enemies if they struck at him as Miceli had at his father. If he found a traitor in his organization, he would take him down hard and fast. There would be no negotiations if he found the Caruso family had betrayed their deal. That had been brokered in good faith. The deal had been more than generous.
“We need to get back to Chicago, gentlemen,” Stefano said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
It had been necessary to keep up appearances. Both the Ferraro family and the newlyweds needed to look as if they were staying at the Ferraro Hotel, carrying on with their lives in front of the world, had alibis, and weren’t caught up in the bodies dropping all over the city. There wasn’t a single camera shot of the cars carrying those raiding the Miceli’s businesses. The dead bodies didn’t have any evidence on them.
The victims couldn’t tell anything other than that they were rescued and grateful and wanted to go home. Miceli Saldi and his sons had mysteriously disappeared and were nowhere to be found. The evidence had piled up against them as the ones committing the crimes, but if they were alive or dead, no one knew.
Once back in Chicago, Valentino wanted to take his woman home to the lake house, but they were still making repairs to the property. He wanted to make that his permanent home. That meant security had to be much tighter and all damage and any memory of it gone so Emmanuelle never had to think about it again.
Stefano had taken his own car, anxious to get back to Francesca, which was fine with Valentino. Emmanuelle fell asleep, head on his shoulder, and he had the chance to just spend time alone with her on the ride back from the airport, looking at her without having to worry about anyone thinking he’d lost his mind. It seemed like, in the time since he’d coaxed her back to him, too much had happened too fast, and they hadn’t had time to slow down and just breathe each other in. He wanted that time with her.
The driver pulled up to the private entrance of the hotel, and Valentino gently woke her. “Emme. We’re here. At the hotel, Princess. Let’s go up and get you in bed.”
Her feathery lashes lifted, and her blue eyes were looking at him, doing crazy things to his heart. She got to him every single time. He smiled at her. “I love you.” He brushed his lips gently over hers. “Never doubt that, Emmanuelle.”
“I don’t, Valentino.” She hooked an arm around his neck as he helped her slide out of the car and set her on her feet. For a moment she swayed unsteadily, as if she wasn’t quite awake.
Val had always loved seeing her that way. Emmanuelle wasn’t a light sleeper, and when she woke, she needed a moment to adjust to the world around her. He liked that moment. His woman still drifting a little. He had his eyes on her, the disheveled, sexy hair falling around her face and down her shoulders and back like a dark waterfall. The silken strands were wavy, looking wildly unruly—bedroom hair for certain. She could crawl in bed, but she wasn’t going straight to sleep, Val decided. She could try, but he had plans. Wicked ones. But she’d like them.