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Romero shakes his head. “Not anymore. Gino’s burned every bridge he had in Chicago. And I mean scorched-Earth style.”
“How?” I demand, my heart racing. “What did he do?”
“For starters,” Romero says, ticking off points on his fingers, “he poisoned a consigliere. Then there was a car bomb that took out another Mob Boss. And get this—they’re pretty sure he offed his own father.”
The room falls silent as we process this information.
It’s one thing to kill another Mob Boss. But to kill yourownDon? Your ownfather? Unforgivable.
Jimbo breaks the silence first. “His own father? Are they sure?”
Romero nods grimly. “Apparently, Antoni was starting to have second thoughts about some of Gino’s more… aggressive tactics. Next thing you know, he’s dead.”
“Antoni’s cause of death was a heart attack,” Jimbo says, his hands clenching and unclenching.
“So Gino says,” Romero counters, steepling his fingers together. “Has anyone seen the death certificate?”
Silence.
“Jesus,” I mutter, unable to believe what I’m hearing. “So Gino’s got no support in Chicago?”
“None,” Romero confirms. “He’s persona non grata there. And the Irish? They smell blood in the water. They’re looking to take advantage of the Timpone family’s weakness.”
I stand up, my mind racing as I process Romero’s information. Something doesn’t sit right.
“Hold on,” I say, turning to face Romero. “How are the Irish so sure Gino killed his own father? That’s a hell of an accusation.”
Jimbo nods, his brow furrowed. “I’m with Angelo on this. It’s pretty unbelievable. We need more than just rumors.”
Romero holds up his hands. “I get it, Boss. I had the same thought. That’s why I did some digging of my own.”
I sit down and lean forward, my interest piqued. This is one of the many reasons Romero is my best enforcer. “What did you find?”
“Well,” Romero starts, “I started following the breadcrumbs based on what the Irish were saying. Led me to this little restaurant in Queens.”
“Wait, you flew back here and didn’t even tell me?” I demand.
“A restaurant?” Jimbo interrupts, skepticism clear in his voice. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
Romero shoots us an annoyed look. “If you’d let me finish, I was getting to that. Yes, Angelo, I flew back here, but I needed to follow the clues. This restaurant was a regular spot for Antoni. He’d go there at least once a week, right up until he died.”
I feel a chill run down my spine. “And?”
“And,” Romero continues, clearly enjoying being the center of attention, “I talked to some of the staff there. Off the record, of course. They remember Antoni’s last visit. Said he was there with Gino, and they were having a pretty heated argument.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” I point out. “Fathers and sons argue all the time. God knows my father and I did.”
Romero nods. “True. But here’s where it gets interesting. One of the waiters overheard part of the conversation. Said Antoni was threatening to cut Gino off, to take away his position in the Family.”
Jimbo whistles low. “That’s a big fucking deal in our world.”
“Exactly,” Romero agrees. “And get this—the next day, Antoni’s dead.”
I feel my stomach drop. “Shit. That’s… that’s pretty damning.”
“There’s more,” Romero adds. “I managed to get a look at Antoni’s autopsy report. Official cause of death was heart attack, but there were some… inconsistencies.”
“What kind of inconsistencies?” I demand. “And how the fuck did you manage to get a hold of that report?”
