Page 58 of Vicious Intentions
“I’m sure you said the same thing about Philadelphia,” I reply. “Look where that confidence got you. All you have left is this. New-fucking-Jersey.” I gesture vaguely around us. “This is your legacy, Old Fox. Or at least what remains of it.” My voice drops. “The real question you should be asking yourself is how long the Outfit continues toallowyou to keep it. And how long the Irish are willing to respect that allowance.”
I watch his jaw lock as he begins to breathe heavily through his nose, fighting to keep his control.
“You didn’t come here just to reminisce,” he says finally. “You came with a proposition. So say it plainly. I’m not in the mood for games.”
I let out a nefarious smile and say, “I’m here to offer you something the Outfit has denied you.”
He scoffs. “And what would that be?”
“Friendship.”
He laughs outright this time.”Friendship? What use do I have for friends like you? Your father is Romano’s bitch. You said so yourself.”
I don’t flinch. “He’s not the one sitting in front of you,” I say evenly. “Is he?”
Don Vitale’s bushy gray eyebrows lift again. “No,” he says at last. “He is not.”
The corners of his mouth twitch upward as he begins to read the vengeance in my eyes. I hold his gaze until he can see it clearly for himself—the hellfire that lives inside me, waiting to be unleashed on my enemies. Once he acknowledges that my need for vengeance mirrors his own, he leans back in his chair, ready to talk business.
“It won’t happen overnight,” I begin to explain. “But I have a plan. One that will take down the illustrious Outfit and reclaim what was taken from us.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You almost had me, boy. No one will ever take down Vincent Romano.”
“I will,” I reply flatly.
The certainty in my voice makes his expression falter. His brows draw together, torn between disbelief and something a lot more dangerous—hope.
“How?”
“All I need is time,” I tell him. “Time and patience. If you’re willing to grant me that, then I’ll share my plan when the moment is right. Today isn’t about details.” I lean forward again. “I came here to make one thing abundantly clear. TheCosa Nostraof the past has its days numbered. A new order is coming—one that will awaken the true beast that is theCosa Nostra. And when it does, I’ll need allies willing to stand beside me, not behind me.” My voice hardens. “Unlike my father, I have no use for yes-men. I want soldiers. Generals. Men ready to fight for the cause.” I pause, letting the severity of my proposal sink in. “So here is my question, Old Fox. Can I count on yourfriendship?”
Don Vitale exhales slowly, considering everything I just confided in him. When he finally speaks, his tone is measured.
“This isn’t something I can commit to on a whim, young Donato. What you’re suggesting is war. I’ll need to convene with the otherCamorrafamilies before anything is decided.”
“Of course,” I reply. I’d expected nothing less from him.
“It would help,” he adds, “if I knew your plan beforehand.”
I smile and say nothing, getting a quiet huff from him in return.
“I thought as much. Not today, then.”
“No,” I agree.
Don Vitale studies me once more, then glances over to Niccolò.
“For all his shortcomings, your father has been truly blessed. He was able to have four strong sons to carry on his name, while I only have my girls.”
“Do your daughters love you?” I ask, the question taking him aback somewhat.
“I believe so.” He smiles warmly as if picturing in his head all his daughters’ faces. “At least I’ve always tried to do right by them.”
“Then you’re the one who is blessed. Not my father.”
He studies me carefully and then nods in understanding. “Moretti was right. You do make one hell of an impression.”
“A good one, I hope.”
