Page 59 of Vicious Intentions
The corner of his lips lifts a smidge. “The best one, young Donato. The best one,” he repeats before nodding to his men, signaling them to return Niccolò’s small arsenal.
“We’ll speak again soon, Matteo.” And with that, Don Vitale turns to leave the restaurant with his men following him in silence. Only when he reaches the door does he turn to glance over at us again. “Tell me, Matteo, are you married?”
This time, I’m the one taken by surprise by such an unexpected question. Luckily, I manage to school my features in time before he notices it.
“I am not.”
“And how old are you?” My jaw ticks at the unnerving question, but I mask my irritation none the same.
“Twenty-four.” Don Vitale pauses, thinking long and hard before his attention moves to Niccolò.
“And your brother?”
“Twenty-two,” I reply, watching how Niccolò’s hands flex.
“Hmm. Maybe. I’ll have to give a long think about it first,” he mutters cryptically, looking awfully pleased all of a sudden.
Once he and his bodyguards leave, Niccolò pulls out the chair the Old Fox just vacated and sits across from me. He doesn’t say a word, but I know him well enough to read the tension in his jaw.
“You’re not happy with how that went,” I state evenly.
“Are you?”
I smile. “Yes.”
He frowns, rubbing at his chin. “You don’t look worried enough.”
“Because I’m not,” I reply. “Everything is falling into place.”
“I hope you’re right.”
I’m not offended that Niccolò still has his doubts. There are a lot of moving pieces with my plan, and if one of them deviates from course, it can all go terribly wrong.
However, if my plan is going to take root, the full weight of theCosa Nostrafollowing me blindly isn’t enough. I’ll need other powerful families to move with me.
The Outfit already has the Canadians, the Irish, the Firm, and even theBratva. Which means if I don’t start making moves now, soon there won’t be anyone left.
TheCamorrawas a good choice. TheCosa Nostrahas always maintained strong ties with our Neapolitan counterparts, and they, too, have suffered under the Outfit’s brand of justice in the past. That makes them not just a good fit, but the rightone. The Outfit may have strength in numbers, but hatred is an excellent motivator.
“Let’s go. We can talk better in the car,” I say, since I wouldn’t put it past the Old Fox to have bugs and cameras all around this restaurant just so he can eavesdrop on our conversation.
We walk out of the restaurant and into the car, settling in for the hour-long drive back to Manhattan. As we pull away, I can feel Niccolò’s tension from the passenger seat. He’s still uncertain about my plan, still spotting the kinks and fractures we might run into along the way.
Still, all I see is vengeance on the horizon, and it tastes so sweet I’m almost drunk on it. Everything will fall into place. It may take years, but vengeance will be mine. And more importantly, New York will belong to theCosa Nostraagain. Of that, I have no doubt.
“You’re thinking too hard, Nico. I can hear your thoughts from here,” I goad after a while.
“One of us needs to be thinking clearly,” he rebukes.
“And you think I’m not?”
Niccolò tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he frowns. “Carlo had a foolproof plan, too. Remember?”
My jaw ticks at the reminder. “I am not Carlo.”
“No, you’re not,” he says with a sullen frown. “Carlo had years to charm all the families into his pocket. He grew up knowing how to use them. How to bend them to his will. He never had reason to doubt their loyalty to him.”
“And you think they won’t be loyal to me.” It isn’t a question, it’s an affirmation.
