Page 155 of Vicious Intentions
When I sent Vincent my wedding video, along with a few society pages announcing my marriage to his daughter, instead of retaliating, he flew back to Chicago to regroup. My spies tell me the only ones who didn’t board the plane back with him were Stella and Marcello, which is troubling. I’d sleep better if I knew where those two were hiding.
Nevertheless, two uninvited Romanos in my city isn’t exactly the war that was promised. And by the looks on the faces of every man sitting at my table, they are more than displeased with how things are progressing. They want a war, not a honeymoon period.
“Enough with the runarounds, young Donato. My men grow restless. And frankly, so do I. If Chicago doesn’t come to us, then I say we go to them,” Don Vitale utters, drawing murmurs of agreement around the table.
“If we leave New York, we will lose our home advantage,” I remind them. “Patience is a virtue for a reason, gentlemen. I’ve been patient for years. I’m sure you can wait a month or two.”
“A month?!” Don Rinaldi spits out in disbelief. “They’ll have an army if we give them that much time to prepare.”
“What army?” I chide. “Have we forgotten why I made Romano’s daughter my wife in the first place? No organization will follow them. The Outfit is on its own. And if they want to keep thriving while going to war with us, they’ll have to split their forces, half to fight us here, half to keep Chicago from falling apart. We don’t. I like those odds.”
“Are you sure about that?” Don Cavaliere interjects. “Your wife’s sister is married to a Petrov. The Bratva might overlook tradition and fight with Romano anyway.”
“The Bratva have their own wars,” Don Moretti interjects on my behalf. “Let’s not forget that even if Kirill Petrov did marry into the Romano family, his own family is still feuding with the London Firm, uncaring that its boss is his sister-in-law. Breathe easy, friends. The Pakhan will stay out of this fight. Business is business. Romano is not blood to him. Therefore, he won’t waste his men, and more importantly, his money, on such a war. Mikhail’s younger brother might fight for Romano, but he’ll be the only Bratva who does.”
My shoulders ease somewhat that Moretti came to my defense, but it still irks me that he refuses to meet my eyes. It’s a bad omen, if I ever saw one.
“Very well,” Don Vitale nods. “Even if the Outfit is all on their own, we can still make sure they don’t come to us at full force. Why haven’t you outed Vincent yet about hisbastardi?” the Old Fox asks with an accusing tone.
Yes, why haven’t I? I can’t tell them I haven’t pulled the trigger on that nuclear bomb because ever since my wife foundout I was the one she’d been texting for almost eighteen months, she refuses to talk to me.
My Anna already feels betrayed. Her mind and heart are currently at war with each other, and I don’t want to give them any more reason to hate me.
No. I can’t tell the world that Romano is in a polyamorous relationship. That would hurt my wife too much, and I’ve hurt her enough.
“Patience, Don Vitale. Let us not be quick with our attacks when the Outfit has yet to throw the first stone.”
“I’ll wait, young Donato. I’ll wait. As long as you remember we’re not doing this just to satisfyyourblood-for-blood vengeance,” he says defiantly, insinuating that my marriage to Anna could somehow make right what the Outfit did to my brother, Carlo, while he has to wait his turn to make them bleed.
“They buried our future. I buried their peace. Blood for blood? Hardly. This isn’t revenge. It’s only the down payment on a long-overdue debt. You will get your war, Old Fox. And I’ll be right in the trenches with you.”
Don Vitale doesn’t look happy with my reply, but he presses his lips together, refusing to add anything else.
I promised him revenge on the Outfit and the Irish, and I delivered on the latter. Vitale pushed the Irish out of our city and slaughtered as many as he could. His hands are still wet with their blood, and still the Camorra boss wants more. And the worst of it is that his bloodthirst is spreading to every head of family at my table.
“I think we’re done here for today, gentlemen. When I have more news for you, I’ll make sure to keep you all informed.”
Disgruntled murmurs rise as they push back from their chairs and leave my office. However, it’s the man who walks out the door first that troubles me most.Cazzo.
Moretti still hasn’t come to me with his grievances. He hasn’t so much as said a single word to me since I became Don. Or more importantly, since my father died. I always knew Moretti was old school, which has never been a problem before, but I can’t say the same thing now.
Our relationship has been severely impacted by me killing my father. In his eyes, my leadership is tainted. But that isn’t even the worst part. As far as Moretti is concerned, the trust is gone now. If I give him any more reason to believe I’m unworthy of my role, I have no doubt he’ll turn the other Dons against me, just like he helped me do to my father.Merda.
I just have to prove to him that I’m the same person he championed throughout all these years. I just wish he would come to me.
Or is he waiting for me to go to him?
That’s not happening. That would put his importance above my own, and I won’t allow that. That’s not how this hierarchy works. Moretti needs to fall in line and follow me, not the other way around.
I let out a long exhale as I rest my palms flat on the table, my head hanging low.
Problems. Problems. Problems.
All I see are more problems to be dealt with, both at work and at home, and right now I feel like I’m failing at both.
“You look tired,” Niccolò says with a clipped tone.
“Is that your polite way of saying I look like shit?” I half-joke, half-mock.
