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Antonio shook his head. He’d already started making inquiries.
The door to Giovanni’s shared room opened. His brother’s jaw looked tight as he came out.
He hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt, only pants. There’d been a time when he would have been too self-conscious about his body to do that, but Nera had blown most of his insecurity away.
Giovanni crossed the hall, leaning against the wall beside Antonio. “Something you came to say?”
His gaze fixed on the door he’d closed behind him.
“I’m getting some sleep,” Enzo said, abandoning Antonio to the conversation with Giovanni.
Antonio wanted to drag out his vape pen. He also wanted to break the damn thing.
It had grown late. Once Enzo’s footsteps faded, the hallway was empty except for the two of them. Even the assassin wouldn’t be lurking around, not with his own warm bed to crawl into and Alina to hold.
“Sorry if we woke Nera,” Antonio murmured.
“You didn’t.”
“Wore her out, huh?” Antonio flashed a grin, but Giovanni didn’t rise to the bait. He didn’t even look at him.
His gaze remained fixed on the door in front of him.
“How many?” Giovanni asked.
Antonio tried to read his brother’s hard face. “How many what?”
Giovanni’s eyes looked like their father’s when he turned them on him. “How many of our men want me dead?”
Antonio sighed. “It’s not like that. Not fully. They voted you in.”
“At night, Enzo’s out here.” Giovanni’s gaze traced his face. “Or you.”
“No one’s said shit since the other day, the basement.” Antonio leaned against the wall, staring at the door. “And that was someone disparaging Nera.”
Giovanni stiffened, and Antonio wished he’d bitten his tongue.
“I took care of it,” he said.
Giovanni’s hands clenched at his sides, but he said nothing.
So Antonio ran his mouth like usual. “It was about her eyesight. Nothing too damning, but I’m drawing a hard line. It’s safer that way.”
“Isn’t that my line to draw?” Giovanni asked, and Antonio could feel his brother’s eyes on him.
He forced himself to shrug. “I can let you kill the next one if that makes you feel better.” His hand moved to his jacket pocket, pressing over the slight distention of the pen, pushing it into his chest. “Hopefully there won’t be a next one, but I’ll tell you if I hear anything again.”
Giovanni nodded, his hands loosening.
“There’s just a lot of shit in the air right now. Only a few months have passed since you were voted in. We had that meeting of the families that I’m still uncertain about. And now this development between the Lucchese and the Irish. That’s some bullshit.”
“How are the Coronellas?” Giovanni asked.
“A little banged up. I left some of our soldiers there, and we should back them up when they hit Lucchese.”
“Agreed. Will you be going with our men again?”
Antonio didn’t have to think about it, not with Vespa’s voice in his head telling him she’d put herself in front of Montrell. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand. He’d do the same with Giovanni. “Yeah, I’m going. The Irish was about blood for Montrell.” He avoided mentioning the exact relation. “And we already knew Lucchese was a shitty father. Makes me doubly glad ours is dead.”
