Page 7 of The Beast Who Broke Me
I need to tighten my hold on myself. Restrain the rage that should only be directed at one person. “What’s going on, Sammy, is that you were right,” I tell him, slow and careful. “You were fucking right.”
His eyes brighten. “You mean about—” Sammy cuts off when Vito nudges him.
I walk away before I say something I’ll regret, calling over my shoulder, “Bring the car around front, Vito. Now.”
Shuffles is still sitting under the portico and gives me a nod, chowing down on the breakfast sandwich Rosa made for him. “You finish that up and get,” I tell him as Vito pulls up. “I’m serious. This place is fucking radioactive right now.”
I get into the car without waiting for his response. He’s a survivor, Shuffles. He’ll get, and he’ll warn others, too. I don’t want any innocents getting caught up in this shit.
I tell Vito to drive around Midtown for a while as I stare out the window, and then I get out of the car and walk. Walking helps me think, plus I can get into places I can’t in the car, like the subway stations the Clemenza favored when he was on the run.
I tracked his movements closely for weeks before his cousin got iced, watching that proud little shit curl up in subway station corners or crawl under bushes in Central Park. Park Avenueroyalty, sleeping in the same places as the junkies and the runaways. I used to revel in it, seeing him brought so low. The Clemenza prince, living like a sewer rat.
I stop by three of my regulars for intel—Frankie J outside the Port Authority, Mags near Grand Central, and Pete Fingers who works the parking garages on East 43rd. None of them have seen or heard anything.
Whatever happened to Caligula, it didn’t leave a trace.
All the while I’ve been looking for him, I’ve been turning over all the other problems in the back of my mind. I need to get in touch with the Boss, give him a heads-up about the Bratva. But my brain snags on that moment again. The room at the Obelisk. Caligula Clemenza on his knees, performing for that Russian motherfucker like it was nothing, like he could switch off every part of himself that mattered and still come out the other side intact.
And I think about that savage, blinding rage that came over me when the Russian told me it had all been for nothing. So I killed him.
Why in the hell did you do that?Caligula had demanded.
I didn’t have an answer then, and I don’t now. WhydidI kill the Russian, when breaking down that arrogant asshole of a Clemenza had been my plan from the start? If I had an answer that made sense, Big Gee might even be satisfied. He hates the Bratva as much as anyone.
But I don’t know why I did it. And I’m out of time, anyway, my phone buzzing hard in my hand with an incoming call from the man himself. There’s only one reason Big Gee would be calling me this early. I guess he’s heard about the Russian.
I should’ve called him last night, but I was too eager to be balls-deep in the Clemenza. I let out a long breath and hit the answer button on the phone. “Hey, Boss, I—” I start.
“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, “and listen.”
CHAPTER 4
CALIGULA
“I’ve been lookingfor you for some time,” Luca D’Amato tells me.
“Then I’m glad to know I made it difficult for you.”
He chuckles. “It wasn’t all that difficult. Just inconvenient. The other Families get a little antsy when they think I have surveillance on them. So when you gave yourself over to Orsini, it complicated things. And yet—” He sweeps out his arm. “Here you are.”
“Here I am,” I agree.
My grandfather hated Luca D’Amato. Hated him so much, he was prepared to burn his whole kingdom down to get at the man, if that’s what it took.
I hate Luca D’Amato because he’s my Family’s enemy. But it doesn’t have the same fire as Nonno Lou’s hatred for him. And it certainly doesn’t have the eternal flame of Damiano Orsini’s hatred for my father.
And for me, presumably, now that I’ve escaped him.
The point is, I only hate Luca D’Amato in principle. So emotion doesn’t get in the way while I’m observing him now. I only know what the world knows about him, plus a few extra murders. I know he’s successfully moved his Family into legitimate business streams, while keeping the most lucrative of the less legal. I know he’s crazy in love with his husband, because you only have to see the man look at him to know that.
I also know, because my grandfather let it slip, that Luca D’Amato once tried to join the Clemenza Family. Nonno Lou would never have knowingly let a gay man into the ranks ofhisFamily, of course. But if he had, I wonder if he’d still be alive today.
And I wonder how far Luca D’Amato might have gone as a Clemenza, instead of a Morelli. He’s climbed a long way in a short time. To have accomplished what he has, he must have an iron will and a burning ambition. An ambition that, apparently, is not going to be satisfied until he’s completely obliterated his rivals.
D’Amato has been thinking to himself, his finger to his lips. Is he planning to kill me? Because if so, Iwilltry to run. I’m not going to meekly sit here and let him end me. But I’m not sensing that energy, and if he wanted to kill me, he wouldn’t have had Fontana release me from the chair.
He seems to come to a decision. “I’m sorry they drugged you,” he says, pulling aside his jacket to put his hands in his pockets. And to show me that he has a gun.
