Page 85 of Venomous Throne

My capo caught my glance instantly. It didn’t take any more instructions than that.

“On it, boss,” Joseph replied before barking orders at several men stationed near the kitchen door. The kitchen had become a war room. Paranoia buzzed like static electricity along every flat surface. The Made Men peeled away from dinner in a matterof seconds. Even Vincenzo—midway through slicing bread—set down his knife and followed.

I turned back to Johnny, who regarded me with curiosity tempered by something darker—a hunger for survival, maybe, or perhaps just an appetite for chaos.

“We’ll see if this raid happens,” I said coolly, not lowering my gun.

“I’ll earn your trust, signora.” Johnny didn’t flinch or plead or protest; instead, he simply returned his attention to dinner as though nothing had happened at all. After clearing another meaty portion from his plate in several seconds flat—the man ate like he expected every meal to be his last—he dabbed his lips delicately with a paper towel before speaking again. “One more thing.”

My patience twanged dangerously taut. Every eye in the kitchen was on us.

Johnny let that hush linger before saying, “Bonetti hired an assassin to take you out.”

No one moved, not even to breathe audibly, and I felt Franky’s tension radiate from across the island like heat off summer asphalt.

“We know,” I replied after only a heartbeat’s delay. “His body was left at The Ivory Pony Club this morning.”

The images seized my mind—the gaping mouth, Santa Caterina that mouth! The memory threatened to linger deep into nightmares yet unwritten.

But Johnny shook his head gently and popped another bite into his mouth as if we were discussing rain chances rather than mortal threats.

“That was attempt number four,” he said around chewed meat. He swallowed hard enough for everyone present to see it travel down his throat—and then looked up meaningfully. “And there’s already another hit lined up.”

The words dropped like bricks onto the counter, but no plates or dishes rattled; only minds did.

I re-elevated my gun—the barrel had drifted toward my side during conversation—and searched Johnny’s face for any hint of duplicity or mischief beyond what already lived there naturally.

Johnny grinned wider and spread both palms briefly in mock surrender.

“It’s not me, signora,” he promised smoothly. “I don’t have that kind of a death wish.”

He swept his gaze slowly around at my crew until he found Franky, who now lingered protectively by my right shoulder, then farther on to look at Joseph, Donnie, and Mikey and all assembled ranks. They were friends, who once might have owed him favors or grudges, depending on how things went years back. The energy changed again; wary amusement washed over some faces while others set in stone-cold suspicion.

“Like I said—I want to join you.” Johnny picked up his fork again and addressed it as much as me. “The cookin’s better over here anyway.”

He winked at Vincenzo, who’d been ready to leave for the car dealership, before demolishing another potato wedge with carnivorous delight.

“You’ll stay on a trial basis,” I decreed after letting the discussion spin out in silence for what felt like eons but was really only ten seconds of a solid staring contest. Every capo present nodded once, each giving their own private judgment behind hooded eyes.

“Donna Isabella,” Donnie cautioned. “He’s a capo, not a common soldier.”

But Johnny didn’t rise to defend his title.

“I was a soldier first.” He wiped his mouth clean again as if prepping for an audience with royalty—or maybe just respect for tradition—and went on. “I earned that title.” Then he put downboth utensils deliberately. “If you require me to earn it again? Shouldn’t be too hard.” He flashed his perfectly white grin at me. “I love a challenge.”

Joseph snorted at that. “Watch out, donna. When this one sets his mind on something, it usually goes his way.”

“Better friend than foe, in that case,” I offered. My words drained the tension from the room. “Keep me updated on your progress at the dealership. And if it’s a trap—”

I holstered my gun.

“It would be a sloppy trap, signora,” Johnny laughed. “You’re too smart to go there. You’re too smart to leave an untried soul like me alone here.”

I nodded. “It seems that way.”

Left with a heavy guard, the majority of the soldiers scuttled out the door. Beneath the surface, camaraderie ran an undercurrent sharp as broken glass. If Johnny crossed us, he wouldn’t walk out under his own power.

Now there was nothing to do but wait.