Page 36 of Wrong Pawn. Right Capo.

There are boxes of shoes in every color lining my room. A small note is taped to the first box. I pick it up, and it reads, “Every color you could ever want. So you never notice another man for any reason again.”

Chapter twelve

Adriano

“Successful, Capo .”

Those two words were all I needed to drift into five straight hours of slumber last night without nightmares.

“Good! Move to stage two.” I type back, then shove my phone into my pocket.

Satisfaction rises in my chest at the thought. Stage two. A simple play of blackmail.

Having done my homework on most of the corrupt officials on the Rossis’ payroll, I’ve gathered a list of evidence. Fraud, murders, thefts…

Now, Francesco would anonymously send all those agents the proof, blackmailing them to cut all ties with Enzo and his mafia, or the evidence goes viral.

It’ll start with panic, paranoia… fear. Then they’ll begin to tap out until the Rossi Mafia is stripped of connections.

Closing my eyes, the picture of Enzo Marcini kneeling before me, with my gun pointed right between his eyes, comes into my mind. And beside him, Elena would be kneeling and weeping…

No. That image isn’t right. My eyes snap open as I rub my hands over my face. I want to see every single member of the Rossi family pay, but somehow, the thought of Elena getting hurt is…

Fuck. What the hell’s wrong with me?

Walking over to the desk, I grab a bottle of whiskey, twisting off the top and bringing it straight to my mouth.

I couldn’t stand the fact that she was obsessing over the ridiculous color of those shoes given to her by that weakling, so I ordered her a new pair in every fucking color. Even though I knew I shouldn’t have.

A frustrated groan escapes. I shouldn’t lose control. Not especially over someone who should be a piece of leverage and nothing more. But for some fucking reason, I just can’t stand the thought of another man’s hand on her. Can’t stand the thought of her smiling at other men the way she smiled at that damn guard. These kinds of feelings… thoughts… are reckless and against every rule I’ve imposed on myself. And I hate that she’s making me reckless.

I run a hand down my face, disgusted at myself. None of this changes a damn thing. She’s still a name on a list I intend to finish. But until that day comes, I will keep her safe—because I will be the one to put a bullet through that pretty skull.

A scoff leaves my lips just as my phone buzzes, calling me out of my thoughts. It’s Lorenzo.

“Adrian, how is New Orleans?”

“Good.”

He sighs with relief, “Perfetto (Perfect). Dovrai tornare a Manhattan tra due giorni (You’re to return back to Manhattan in two days). Elena adesso è al sicuro (Elena’s safe now).”

“She’s safe?” I repeat, standing to my feet. “Her attackers have been found?”

“After combing through the CCTV footage from the pool many times, we finally saw it was a man disguised as part of the staff. As we speak, he and the rest of the men he pointed us to are bags of bones,” he sighs.

I have a lot of questions. How did he know Elena would be there? Why were they—

“They did it because Dean had crossed them years ago,” Lorenzo says.

Then I let relief wash over me like a cold wave, swallowing whatever questions I have. She’s safe, and I can finally be relieved from this godforsaken position and focus on my own plans.

“Does she know? Elena?” I ask. It’d be less worrisome if the burden of informing her were taken off my shoulders.

“Enzo’s speaking with her. In the meantime, you should get everything set. There’s been an attack on our weaponry, and we’re in a tight spot with the Irish. They launched a surprise attack… so right now, we need all our men.”

“I understand.”

“Good.”