Page 43
“Yes.”
He stares at the Audi, then looks down at the box, his lips parting. I'd expected him to be surprised, or even pleased, but there's no excitement on his face. Instead, his expression grows increasingly troubled, and when he finally looks at me, he appears almost sick.
“Do you not like it?” I ask.
“N-No,” he stutters, quickly shaking his head. “I mean, yes. It’s nice, but it’s too much.”
I close the distance between us and take his chin between my fingers, tilting his face up until he's looking directly at me. His eyes flicker over my expression, and I hold his gaze, making certain he understands every word I'm about to say.
“There’s nothing I give you or do for you that is too much. Get that into your thick skull.”
Alexander swallows and looks past my shoulder at the Audi again. He remains quiet for several seconds before finally nodding, although the troubled look in his eyes hasn't disappeared.
“Thank you.”
I release his chin, resisting the urge to draw him closer when he lowers his gaze to the keys once more. “Go back inside. I have a meeting.”
He looks up at me then gives me another small nod. “Bye, Antonio.”
I watch him turn and walk to the elevator, his footsteps echoing softly through the garage until the doors slide shut behind him.
The strange feeling in my gut doesn't ease as Davide drives toward Father's estate. Alexander has been quieter than usual since what happened in the alley. He insists he’s fine whenever I ask, but I've noticed how easily certain noises make him flinch and how he sometimes goes still when a stranger gets too close. I would've brought him along but he’s made a lot of progress since he started seeing Dr. López, and I have no intention of undoing it by dragging him into a room full of armed Italian men discussing an impending war.
Alexander has already witnessed enough of my world for the time being, and I'd prefer to keep him away from the uglier parts of it for as long as possible.
Davide turns through the gates of the estate, following the long driveway to the main house, where several familiar cars are already parked. I get out as soon as he brings the BMW to a stop, leaving him to park while I head inside.
“Antonio,” Father greets me when I enter the living room.
My uncles, aunt, and cousins are already here, along with the heads of several of the core families in our clan, most of whom have made themselves comfortable with drinks while waiting for the meeting to begin.
“Hi, Dad.” I cross the room and embrace him briefly, accepting the firm clap he gives my back. “I'm sorry I'm late.”
He gives me a knowing look but doesn't comment as I make my way around the room to greet everyone. When I reach Aunt Carmela, she immediately pulls me into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to my cheek before finally releasing me. She steps back and looks me over with the familiar scrutiny she's subjected me and my cousins to since we were children.
“I haven't seen you in a long time,” she says, straightening the collar of my shirt even though there's nothing wrong with it.
“I've been busy.”
“I haven't seen him either,” Uncle Giuseppe remarks from behind her, lifting his glass toward me as Uncle Domenico nods in agreement beside him. “They all don't want to hang out with old people anymore.”
“We should start,” Father says, raising his voice just enough to carry across the room.
I take a flute of champagne from the tray and sit on an armchair as everyone else finds a seat. The conversations gradually die down, and Father waits until he has the room's attention before speaking.
“Thank you for coming, everyone. As we all know, this issue with the Flacos persists, and we now have it on good authority that we shouldn't ignore them as we originally planned.” He pauses, looking around the room before continuing. “For them to approach the Russians, they must be planning something substantial. The kids have done a good job this week finding out who they are and who's funding them, so I'll let them brief us.”
Marco sets his glass on the table and leans forward. “The two men in charge are Francesco and Cosimo Giuliani,” he begins. “They're twin brothers, and their father was killed by Uncle Gaetano for stealing from the clan. The brothers spent the last several years working in Silicon Valley, and they've now decided to come back and settle an old score.”
He glances toward Father before continuing. “Their immediate objective is to dethrone the Scaleras and the other major clans. In the long term, they want to bring the Camorra under a single hierarchy, with themselves at the top.”
A few of the older men exchange looks, and I hear Uncle Giuseppe mutter something under his breath, but nobody interrupts as Enzo takes over.
“They deliberately spread the rumor that they're broke, hoping we'd dismiss them as idiots chasing a grudge without the money to back it up,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “What they neglected to mention is that they recently sold their startup for approximately one hundred million dollars. They have enough money to buy weapons and fund a prolonged conflict, but they're short on manpower, which explains why they've been approaching anyone they think might be willing to work with them.”
I set my champagne on the table and pick up where he leaves off. “We've put men on both brothers, and we're tracking their movements and contacts. According to the information we received from our source, the Brighton Beach faction doesn't have the numbers to commit to a war of this scale, which is why they rejected the proposal. We haven't confirmed whether Francesco and Cosimo intend to approach the other Bratva factions, but so far, we have no evidence that the Russians have agreed to support them. Our more immediate problem is that we don't know which of our own men might be willing to jump ship if the Giulianis offer them enough money.”
The room grows quiet for a moment, and I look toward the other family heads. Matteo Gaglione shifts in his seat and speaks first. “They sent a few goons to us some months ago,” he says, resting his forearms on his knees. “We chased them away, and they haven't returned since.”
