Page 5 of Made in Love and Blood

Sure, he did. He meant all the fucking harm. Marco worked his last nerve on a good day. And it wasn’t a good day.

“Right?” Giorgio asked with more severity behind the word when Salvatore didn’t engage the peace offering.

“Right,” he eventually agreed. “Fact remains the same, however. We can’t kill him. What, because he’s gotten himself in a bit of trouble, we should just send the hounds and let the vultures pick up the scraps?”

“I mean, it would get him and that murdering his wife business out of the papers,” Marco countered.

“Fair enough, and it would also get us right back in it. Your father is practically apoplectic at having Christiano tied to the family and our dealings. Do you think he wants it splashed on every headline between New York and California about how the mob put a hit out on their capo because of a trial that has nothing to do with us and our part of the country?”

The slight arch of Giorgio’s eyebrow and the quick glance he passed Salvatore’s way spoke to his appreciation for the man having enough patience to put Marco in his place using words in a calm manner. That could be hard to do at times. Outrageous behavior that didn’t help tense situations were more common than not with the twenty-three-year-old. How the hell he ever planned to be boss one day, and Marco stupidly did, Salvatore couldn’t understand.

“We’re also not in a position to absorb and manage Christiano’s dealings,” he continued, deciding while he had the moment of unusual silence to educate Marco, he might as well try. “There are narcos that sit at that man’s table monthly to handle business, and don’t for one second think they would speak to us if we were the ones who showed up. No, they would just see that turn of events as a move to make. A.S.A.P.”

Marco didn’t hide his unhappiness or the lingering anger in his stare when he replied, “Point taken.”

What nobody wanted to say about Christiano Lombardi clung in the air like mildew in a damp room. The capo had his own setup in California without his ties to the Russo mafia. He wasn’t the only capo in the family to stretch his legs and head elsewhere to make his way. The boss encouraged it. It was good for the family’s captains to have plenty of territory of their own, so they weren’t constantly shitting in someone else’s. Either way, Christiano no longer needed them in the like he once had, and that could be a problem should push come to shove on an issue.

Sal figured it came down to blood and loyalty for the boss and the capo. That was why the one man made his way to New York to still pay his dues and the other man in the equation didn’t allow his stupid son to call the shots whenever he wanted.

Yeah, blood and loyalty counted for a lot. But that could always change, too.

“Enough of Christiano,” Giorgio said, drawing in a hard gust of air after the words slipped out.

Salvatore instantly gave his attention back to the man at the center of the room. “Did you not call me at two in the morning three weeks ago and demand I drop everything for this?”

Giorgio didn’t blink. “We have another problem.”

“No. No more problems, boss. I need one week. One week,” Sal stressed, staring the man dead in the face and daring him to say something different. “I haven’t sat down for a proper dinner at my own table in a month. I haven’t seen my daughter in three weeks. I’ve been across the country for the last two. Allow me a little peace before we jump into something new. You can’t, you will not, convince me there is something bigger or worse than Christiano that it cannot be handled in time, or by someone else. Do me that solid, okay?”

“Now, Sal,” the boss started to say.

Salvatore jumped in fast to shut it all down. “No, I’m serious. This is an important year for Frankie. She’s graduating in three months. She’s going to be eighteen in two. I didn’t see her race once last year. Do you know how many soccer games I missed of hers in the last few months?”

“About the same amount as last. And the ones before that.”

“I won’t get more,” Sal shot back. “This is it, and then she’s off to university before I know what’s even happened. God knows she’s probably going to try her damnedest to get the hell of out New York after the gap year she promised me to take. Do you know how much work it took me to get her to promise me that year?”

“No, I don’t.”

A custom Phantom Rolls, and a Hermès bag, on top of a penthouse apartment in Manhattan that would be paid for and kept maintained for future use. No, he wouldn’t have her at home, but at least she wouldn’t be in an entirely different state. For a single year.

“And you don’t care to,” Sal replied hotly.

It was the truth.

The boss didn’t deny it.

Giorgio shrugged indifferently. “We all make sacrifices, though.”

At that remark, Marco made himself known again by snorting while still glowering out the window. Whatever seemed so interesting beyond the glass, Salvatore couldn’t imagine, but he wished the arrogant, irritating son-of-a-bitch would jump straight out of it at any time.

“Even,” the boss drawled sharply, glancing at his eldest, “our sons and daughters.”

Marco’s eyes rolled.

“Marco,” Giorgio said, “take a walk.”

“Papa—”