Page 76 of Made in Love and Blood

Larkin’s reply buzzed after Salvatore pocketed the phone. He didn’t need confirmation to know his head of security would make sure his instruction was followed to the letter. As for his daughter, he would circle back to that.

“Matty,” Salvatore greeted.

Marco’s gaze slid Salvatore’s way as Matty replied, “Good to see you, Sal.”

“I’m not that late, am I?”

“Late enough,” Marco muttered.

Salvatore had been foolish to hope Marco would, if not outright avoid him, remain silent in his presence during the visit. He hadn’t seen him once since the accident. He wouldn’t, however, pretend to even stand to be in Marco’s presence. Whatever remaining grace he used to give Giorgio’s eldest son had been left behind in a ditch, along with parts of Salvatore’s favorite Mercedes.

“I’m sorry,” Salvatore said, turning his attention with a shift of his head in Marco’s direction, “were you addressing me?”

Marco’s jaw clenched and his reply came out tight. “No.”

“Oh, because it sounded like you were.”

His lips moved to deny it again.

Salvatore stepped closer. Too close if the way Marco instantly pressed his lips together and looked down at the floor was any indication.

That meant Giorgio had done something. At the very least, he warned Marco. He didn’t just poke at a scab when he put Frankie’s life in real danger. Marco tore open an old scar.

“A reason, Marco,” Salvatore murmured, not even caring if Matty could hear the threats that would very likely be taken back to the boss as soon as the meeting ended. “That’s all I need from you after what you did. A fucking reason. Give me one, please.”

Slowly, Marco’s gaze lifted, full of venom and fury. He said nothing, though.

“Daddy’s got that leash on tight, huh?” Salvatore asked, smirking. “Good. Because if he doesn’t, I’ll use it to hang you.”

Matty cleared his throat, then. “The boss is—”

“Waiting. Yeah,” Salvatore said, heading in. “I know.”

He opened the fucking door himself.

“Finally!” boomed Giorgio the second Salvatore entered the space.

He said nothing as quiet chatter passed from man to man down the long table. The glittering, car-sized chandelier hanging from the center of the vaulted ceiling took most of his attention as he headed his usual spot at the far end nearest to Giorgio.

“I started to think you weren’t going to show,” Giorgio muttered around the rim of his glass.

Salvatore sighed. “Me, too.”

Only the request of Big Mike, and the rumor that Christiano Lombardi would somehow be flying in from California, encouraged Salvatore to make the trip to Giorgio’s estate on a day he would rather be doing literally anything else.

He paid differently than them.

But they all paid, nonetheless.

“Did you speak with Marco?”

“Barely.”

Giorgio eyed Salvatore from the side. “How much longer are you going to continue this?”

“How fast did you have his Jeep chopped up so what he did couldn’t be traced?” Salvatore asked back, not missing a beat.

Their quiet conversation went totally unnoticed by the rest of the table. Piles of cash fell out of bags at the seat of each Russo capo.