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Orlando may be the Outfit’s highest-ranking Capo today, but he started out as an orphan boy who clawed his way up from the dirt by serving three generations of Vitellis.
Orlando's wife, on the other hand, is a spoilt mafia princess, the last child of the wealthy Rinaldi family in New York. She was raised to know the difference between power and pedigree and wants nothing more than for her daughter to become a Vitelli.
Nico’s brows furrow. “No, I can’t say I'm surprised. Although, if Bianca is that ambitious, why would she turn down the Don of the Outfit . . . for the Underboss?”
“She must think I’m hotter or something,” I shrug, and we both laugh, the sound momentarily easing the tension in the room.
I continue, every trace of humor now gone. “Anyway, like I said, Nico, it's all down the drain. I called time on it last night.”
“You what?”
“I’ve broken it off with Alina. I’ll make it official with De Luca when he comes in today.”
Nico sighs wearily, then leans forward with a dark glower, his elbows resting on the desk. The vein on his temple is starting to pop out—a clear indication of how much he’s fighting for patience—and a part of me almost feels bad for him. It would be healthier if Nico yelled from time to time. But no, he keeps his emotions tightly in check.
“Dante,” he grits. “Orlando De Luca is my most powerful Caporegime, the one whose loyalty to the Outfit happens to be hanging by a thread. His wife has the strength of the New York mafia behind her. Do you have any fucking idea what would happen now that you’ve broken your promise to him?”
I shrug, my posture relaxed despite the gravity of the situation. “Best case scenario, mutiny. Worst case, an outright rebellion.”
“Exactly.” Nico’s eyes become flinty, his voice cold, his jaw clenching. Every ounce of my big brother is gone. In his place is Don Vitelli, and his empire comes before anything else. “And you think I would let you tear my house down, Dante?”
I meet his gaze without flinching. “Not only would you let me, you’d throw the first punch—bullet, so to speak, for me.”
“Why the fuck would I do that?” Nico’s voice finally rises in the stillness of the room.
“Red Wine. I’ve put her off-grid. She now lives here for the foreseeable future,” My words hang in the air like thunderclaps. “Somehow, I doubt that Alina could deal with a groom with that much baggage.”
Nico leaps to his feet, his chair scraping against the floor, his hands slamming down on the desk. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I ordered you to get her out of your system, and you take her and bring her under my roof—”
“She’s mine, Nico. Boston will have to suck it up.” I interrupt, my gaze steady.
“Suck it up? You take the Mob’s princess, fake her death, and expect them to take it lying down?” Nico’s voice is incredulous, his eyes wide with disbelief.
I explain with a calm belying the storm building in my gut. “Nico, sit down. I told you that a bomb killed Pietro. What I didn’t say was that bomb was meant for Addy. Her car was rigged last night, and Pietro got into it instead of her. Someone wants to kill her and pin it on us.”
Nico freezes, and then as if he’s suddenly run out of energy, he falls back into his chair. “And yet you in your wisdom, choose to put her off-grid. What the fuck, Dante? You realize you just made it possible for the Mob to do exactly that? Pin her death on us.”
He continues when I remain silent. “Eighteen years ago, some sick bastard killed Naomi Ritter and her daughter on our turf and shoved the smoking gun in our hand. We were dragged into a war for something we didn’t do, all because Father couldn’t keep it in his pants.”
Looks like Nico believes the rumors, too.
I ignore his grave warning and smirk instead. “A point of correction: Eighteen years ago, Naomi Ritter and Addy were shot while in bed. Addy survived and was adopted by Naomi’s brother, Benjamin O’Shea.”
Nico sits up so fast the air whooshes, his eyes wide with shock. “Red Wine? It was Red Wine?” he yells, his voice echoing in the room.
I almost feel sorry for Nico. I don’t remember him ever raising his voice. But I can understand his shock. The weight of this revelation must have hit him like a sucker punch.
I nod, my gaze steady. “Yes, it was her, Nico. A carefully hidden secret, even from Addy herself. She only fully pieced it together this morning. She’s their hostage. That’s why they lose their shit when she comes near Chicago. And now someone wants her dead.”
A low whistle escapes Nico’s lips, his hand running through his hair. “Fucking hell.” I can see the wheels turning in his head, his brows deeply furrowed. “Someone is desperate to start a war again.”
Nico leans back in his chair, his expression grave. “So, do you now see how you can’t possibly hold her here? I’ll negotiate a deal with the Mob to get her for you. We might need to give up a few thousand kidneys, but it’s doable. In the meantime, you will return her to Boston. ASAP.”
“I will do nothing of the sort.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion, Dante.”
“I can’t let her go.”
