I keep myself busy over the two days by spending some time hanging around Garzolo’s crew. They don’t say anything to signal they’re aware of the trouble brewing with the Feds, but that’s not surprising, since they must know better than to talk about anything important around me.
My next meeting with Orrin is far more productive. He managed to confirm what Gemma told me about Garzolo at his poker game. The Feds are preparing a RICO indictment for Garzolo and a few other high-up members of his clan. They’re all looking at doing decades or life.
I wonder if his deal with Messero covers getting the rest of the guys out.
Orrin also tells me he’s heard rumors about Messero’s connection to the DA before, but I ask him to see if he can get anything more concrete so that I can convince Dem I need to stay here a bit longer.
I’m practically counting down the hours until Gemma returns.
It’s pathetic.
I’m a made man.
An underboss in the most powerful clan in the Camorra.
And this girl—one engaged to another man nonetheless—has me wrapped around her finger.
Friday afternoon, I’m eating a late lunch in the dining room when I hear her voice.
I stay in my seat, not wanting to seem too eager. But when she comes in and her eyes light up at seeing me, I realize I’m thoroughly fucked.
My heart beats louder inside my chest. My fingers clench as if they’re searching for something of hers to grab onto.
“Hi,” she breathes. “Were you bored here on your own?”
Bored.
Being bored would be a hell of a lot better than engaging in this dance with insanity.
You can’t have her. No matter what happens between the two of you in the days you have left here, you can’t fucking have her, you absolute damn idiot.
“I made do,” I squeeze out.
Her mother appears behind her. “Ras, how are you?” she asks in an uncharacteristically friendly tone. “You’re coming to the Messero party tonight, correct?”
She’s in a better mood than I’ve ever seen her. Their time in the Hamptons must have done her some good, or maybe that’s simply the effect of not being around her husband for a few days.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Good. I don’t think Stefano and I will make it to the club, but the girls will go. Gemma needs to be there to support Rafaele. Are you able to accompany them?”
Support him? It’s a fucking birthday party for his aunt, not a funeral. I paste on a smile. “No problem.”
“Excellent.” Pietra turns to Gemma. “You should go shower and start getting ready. Rafaele will expect you to look perfect. Most of his family will be there.”
My vision darkens at the edges, and Gemma stiffens as if she can guess the direction of my thoughts.
“Okay,” she says, giving me her back. “I’ll go do that.”
She hurries away to make herself pretty for her asshole fiancé while all I can do is pretend like this isn’t fucking killing me.
A few hours later, I’m dressed and ready to go. Garzolo and I are waiting downstairs when Gemma and Cleo appear at the top of the steps.
My gaze latches onto her and doesn’t let go.
She’s wearing that dress she tried on in the department store, only now it fits her like a glove, highlighting all her soft curves. The memory of that day torments me, spreading heat over my skin. When she moves past me, the backs of our hands brush, and her cheeks redden.
We get on the road, me in one car, and the rest of them in the other. After the club, I’ll drive Cleo and Gemma home.
Giulia Messero’s birthday party is in downtown Manhattan at a place called the Melody Club. The room is already filled to the brim with Messeros by the time we arrive. On one side is a long bar, and on the other, the food is laid out buffet style. The dress code is formal, but some of the women have taken liberties with their interpretation. One in a tight red minidress with her cleavage practically spilling out passes by me and gives me a coquettish smile.
Gemma appears at my side, her gaze narrowing on the woman.
“How was your trip?” I ask, taking advantage of the fact that her mother isn’t hovering around her.
“It was two days, but it felt like a week.”
“Tell me about it,” I say gruffly.
A small smile pulls at her lips. “I missed you too.”
My chest expands, but I manage to keep my expression straight. “Did you talk to Vince?”
Her face falls. “No. I’m so annoyed. I rang him dozens of times and left him a ton of messages. He only responded to one and said we’ll talk soon. I don’t know what to make of it.”
Neither do I. Vale hasn’t been able to get in touch with Vince either. It seems like he’s ignoring everyone who might be able to help him.
Suspicion tugs at the back of my mind, but I don’t voice it to Gemma, because I don’t want to risk upsetting her with speculation.
Still, I wonder if Garzolo is telling the truth… What if Vince is happy to have this responsibility taken from him?
Gemma lifts on her toes, trying to see above the crowd. “Anyway, I should go say hi to Nona. I think she’s somewhere over there.”
“Let’s go.”
As we weave through the crowd, I spot Rafaele across the room talking to a group of men. One of them, tall and dark haired, turns.
My steps halt.
It can’t be.
But then he smirks and waves at someone, and the scar on my wrist prickles.
My blood runs cold with recognition. It’s him. I’d recognize that smirk anywhere. I stared at it while I was sure I was about to bleed out.
Nunzio.
I’d heard he left Italy for America shortly after getting married to Sara, but I never would have guessed he’d link up with the mafia here. I always thought part of why he hated me so much was because he despised my family and the power they had over his own.
But it wouldn’t be the first time a man pretended to hate something he wanted deep down.
Gemma stops by a table, but I keep moving, as if in a trance.
I told myself that if I ever ran into him again, I’d kill him. My hand reaches for my gun, only for me to remember it was confiscated at the door. The only men allowed to have guns are the guards at the entrance. That’s fine. I don’t need a gun to kill a man, but this could get messy.
What the fuck is Nunzio doing here? Does he work for Messero?
As if I needed another reason to despise that fucker.
Nunzio starts moving along the edge of the room, and I speed up my steps to intercept him. I need to find out what position he occupies here before I can decide what exactly to do with him.
Our paths collide a few moments later. I stop in front of him, blocking his way. He flicks his gaze to me, his lips curled in an irritated sneer I know all too well. When he realizes who he’s looking at, the smirk melts away and blood leaves his face. His hand jerks to his waist, finding air.
Nunzio swallows. I wonder if he’s doing the same kind of math I’m doing in my head. We’ve always been about the same height, and ten years ago, he was far stronger than me, but time hasn’t been kind to him. His shoulders are slumped, his gut hangs over his belt, and his lips are dry and thin from what I suspect has been a lifetime smoking habit. At seventeen, he was already smoking a pack a day.
He must realize there’s a high probability he’ll be dead in under a minute because he takes a step back.
“Sorrentino,” he says, not using my nickname for once. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same thing. I always wondered what happened to you after you left Napoli.”
His narrowed eyes scan my face. “I heard you’re the underboss of the Casalesi now. Is that true?”
If he’s in Messero’s inner circle, he would know this with certainty. He must not be that high up.
“I am.”
He adjusts his stance, visibly tense. “Congratulations.”
“You’re with Messero?”
He nods.
“When did you land with his crew?”
“A few years ago.”
“Oh yeah? They treating you well?”
“Fine.” He sniffs. “So what brings you here?”
“I’m Garzolo’s guest. We’re family now, haven’t you heard? Damiano, the new don, married one of Garzolo’s daughters.”
Some tension leaves Nunzio’s shoulders. Is he relieved I didn’t come all the way to New York for him? Maybe he thinks I’m unlikely to do anything that might jeopardize the relationship between Garzolo and Messero.
I’ll admit, killing him right now wouldn’t look good, but that doesn’t mean I’m not tempted.
He swipes his fist under this nose and shoots me an insolent look. “So you became a ras after all. I have to admit, I thought as Ras of the Casalesi, you’d have more important things to do than visit family abroad.”
I smirk. He can’t keep up his polite act around me for more than a minute.
Good. Let’s cut the shit. “And what do you do for Messero? Pull things off the back of a truck? Harass small mom-and-pop stores for protection money? How does it feel, Nunzio, to do all the same things you used to revile my family for doing?”
Revulsion flashes across his face before he masks it with a cold smirk. “I’ll do whatever I have to in order for my family to have a better life here than they did back in Napoli. I know that must be hard for you to understand. You’ve never cared about anyone as much as you care about yourself. I’m surprised Don De Rossi has put his trust in you. If he knew you like I do, he’d realize it’s only a matter of time before you screw him for your own gain.”
His words make me bristle with indignation. He’s wrong. I may have been selfish when Nunzio knew me, but I’ve changed. Back then, I was just a fucking kid who felt like he’d already disappointed everyone, so what was the point of trying? But I’m not that kid anymore.
I promised myself I’d never disappoint Dem, and I haven’t.
“People change, Nunzio.”
Across the room, a flash of yellow catches my gaze.
It’s Gemma. I watch her as she walks up to Rafaele. She offers him her hand, and he presses his lips to it. I make the mistake of watching their interaction for a second too long, and Nunzio notices.
He chuckles. “Cazzo. You should see your face just now. Subtlety was never your strong suit. That’s Messero’s fiancé, Gemma Garzolo, right? You’re staying with them on your visit. Let me guess, you spent a few days watching her prance around the house, and now you want her.”
I keep a flat expression, even as a heavy weight materializes inside my gut. If Dem knew what I’ve done already with Gemma…
Nunzio smirks. “But you can’t have her. My, my, how history repeats itself. Tell me…” He leans in close to my ear. “Have you ever gotten a single thing you’ve truly wanted? Or do they all slip through your fingers the way Sara did?”
The rage that sweeps through me is so potent I barely realize what I’m doing. I grab him by the scruff of his shirt and swiftly push him through a nearby door that turns out to lead to a small, empty parlor.
He claws at my arm, trying to get my fingers off his neck, but my grip may as well be made of stone.
His face turns red.
His eyes start to bulge.
When his eyelids begin to droop, the distorted voice in my head suddenly becomes clear.
Let go of him.
I snap out of it, throwing him to the floor.
He clutches his throat and wheezes for breath.
Fuck. The pain he inflicted on me still runs deep, as does my need to make him pay, but this isn’t the right place or time.
He’ll get what’s coming to him.
I take a step back just as a woman peeks through the crack in the door.
She makes a loud gasp and rushes into the room.
My heart jumps into my throat when I see who it is.
Sara.
“Nunzio!”
She brushes by me and falls to her knees by the man who’s hateful eyes blaze in my direction.
My past slams into me, memories flooding in.
I met her a few months after Nunzio tried to kill me on the playground. She was sitting on her own at a café in the neighborhood, and when I walked by her, she smiled. She had a beautiful smile. Kind eyes that were the same color as the sky. I said an awkward hello and somehow mustered up the courage to ask if I could buy her another espresso. She said yes.
That’s how it began.
I fell hard and fast. So did she, or at least that’s what I thought. Eventually, I told her about Nunzio and what he’d done to me. It was a stain on my life, a painful past that made me feel weak and ashamed.
She listened. Sympathized.
Then a few months later, she left me for him.
I blink, studying the woman she’s become. She’s aged, but from what I can see, she’s just as beautiful. Thick eyeliner frames her light-blue eyes and wavy dark hair—I used to love that hair—cascades down her back.
What kind of a life did she make with Nunzio? I refuse to believe someone like him could be a decent man to anyone around him.
“What happened?” she asks in a panicked voice, reaching for his arm. He jerks it away from her and starts to hobble back up.
“I’m fine, Sara.”
She reaches for him again, and he snarls at her, “I said I’m fine.”
Hurt blooms over her expression.
There used to be a time when seeing her hurt would drive me into a fit, but as I look at her now, I feel nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
She twists her head and looks at me. “Who is that?”
Ten years have passed since she last saw me. I look different now.
I am different now.
“No one,” Nunzio growls, dusting himself off, but she keeps staring at me.
Finally, recognition flashes inside her eyes. “Cassio?”
I don’t answer. There’s nothing left for us to say to each other, so I turn away and exit through the door.
I’m still trying to pull myself together when Gemma finds me by the bar. I’m about to order a drink I desperately need.
“Hey, where did you go?” She places her hand on my sleeve. “We need to talk.”
“I know.” I flag the bartender down and order a beer. “I was catching up with an old friend.”
“Oh? I didn’t know you knew anyone from Messero’s crew.”
“I didn’t know he worked for Messero. It was a…surprise.”
She nods. “I need to find Cleo to make sure she eats something before we go to the club. Otherwise she’ll be wasted in fifteen minutes.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nunzio and Sara step out of the room where I left them. Nunzio’s palm is pressed against his neck to hide the marks I left.
His gaze meets mine, furious and vengeful. The next time we meet, I’m not sure there’s anything that’ll stop us from putting this to rest one way or another.
“Who’s that?” Gemma asks.
The bartender hands me a beer, and I tip it against my lips. Nunzio and Sara weave through the crowd until they disappear. “No one.”
“What’s wrong?”
She gazes at me, looking so fucking lovely and concerned about me that I get a terrible urge to lean down and kiss her.
“Have you ever gotten a single thing you’ve truly wanted?”
No. Because after Sara, I stopped wanting anything for myself. I didn’t want to risk having something I cared about only for someone to take it away from me. Again.
I found my purpose serving Damiano and being his right-hand man, but is that really all I want out of life?
Gemma’s brows pinch together as she waits for my answer.
She and I, we’re not so different after all. She’s been devoted to her family, neglecting her own wants in service of them.
And me… Well, I’ve devoted myself to Dem and his mission. I’ve even managed to convince myself I’ve found happiness doing that.
But I’ve been lying to myself.
I’m not happy.
Last time I fell hard for a woman, I lost her.
And I think that’s going to happen again.
Because I can’t have Gemma without blowing everything to pieces and going against my don’s will.
