Page 81 of The Breaker
“Where is your patriotism? A madman is letting our enemies terrorize our people and set our monuments ablaze and destroy the Eternal City, and you’re going to sit on your hands and keep them warm? I’m Emperor Constantine of the Roman Republic, and I order you to bear arms and fight with me.”
“Constantine—”
I raised my voice to a new volume, a baritone and an intensity I’d never reached before. “I’m not asking you.”
Everyone in the room stilled, Tommaso and his two henchmen who guarded him day and night.
I stared Tommaso down, knowing he was capable of more than he showed. He pretended to only care for power and money, but he wouldn’t have risked his neck for my brother if he were devoid of empathy. “You think it won’t affect you, but I promise his shadow will make its way to Sicily and you’ll never see the sun again. Once he realizes exactly how much Cosa Nostra is worth, he’ll gut you like a pig. Help me defeat him, and you’ll guarantee your perseverance. Either fight with me to protect your own skin or do it because it’s the right thing to do—or both.”
Tommaso took another step back, looked me over as he remained lost in thought. He rubbed the back of his neck as his eyes dropped before he returned his hand to his pocket. “All right.”
I kept my expression stoic, but inside, a burst of relief hit me.
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
We took the ferry across the channel that connected the southern tip of Italy to Sicily because it was harder to track than a fleet of private planes. It was also a lot easier to transfer everything we needed for the fight to come.
On the way, I made a call to Luca, the First Emperor of the Fifth Republic in France.
It was midnight when I called, so I imagined he was wide awake.
He answered. “Quite the shit show down there. I’ve been watching the news the way an old lady watches her favorite soap opera. Thought you were dead.”
“I’m not.”
“Rocco made it sound like you were.”
All the resentment I’d felt for Rocco disappeared the moment I knew he might not be alive long enough to see my face again. “Look, you owe me, and I’m calling in that favor.”
“I owe you? What the fuck did you just say to me?”
“We don’t have time to take a stroll down memory lane.”
“I delivered Vladimir on a fucking platter—debt paid.”
“One of your men decided to commit his crimes in my territory when he couldn’t do it in yours. You fixed your own fucking mess. Your little cult disrespected Pope Zephyrinus and the Vatican and God. That debt hasnotbeen paid. You owe me.”
Luca released an exaggerated sigh into the phone. “What the fuck do you want me to do? I can’t come in and put your city back together when I’m not the emperor. That’s your job, and I won’t do it for you.”
“My eyes are on Darius. I need you and your men to come in and control the gangs. They’ve all gone rogue, and I need them shoved back into their cages. It’s a fucking free-for-all, and it’s got to stop. Robbery, trafficking, drugs—it’s fucking pandemonium. And I need all those assholes who fired on my people dead. The police and military are handling it as best they can, but I’m sure some will fall through the cracks. I can’t be everywhere at once, so I need your help restoring order. Do whatever you’ve got to do to make it happen.”
Luca was quiet as he listened to my proposition. He was probably sitting in an armchair, slouched with his elbow propped on the armrest, his closed knuckles against his temple. “Fine. I can get there in twelve hours.” He hung up.
Tommaso sat in the back seat with me, against the opposite window. “Bringing in the big guns ... good.”
When we made it to Rome, the city was full of sirens. That wasn’t unusual on a normal day, but ambulances and police and firefighters were everywhere. The fire from the monument was so bad the entire sky was blacked out by smoke. Destruction from the attack was visible in every direction, lots of roads closed off as the military and police did their jobs.
I was disgusted by it all.
And there was graffiti all over the place ... not just on the sides of apartment buildings and alleyways, but the Colosseum, the Spanish Steps, everywhere. And strange people crowded all the streets. Not people riding their motorbikes to the grocery store or meeting friends. But drug dealers just waiting for customers to show up on some of the busy street corners. They were visible at every turn—like the entire city was on something. When Rocco had warned me how much the city had changed, I still hadn’t expected this.
I was dropped off at the hospital and checked in at the front desk. I feared the receptionist would tell me Rocco was in the morgue in the basement, but she gave me his room number in the ICU.
Thank god.
I took the elevator to the top floor and stopped outside his door. It was a private room and the door was open, so I could see him lying there, wires hooked up all over his body, his face beaten up so badly, he was almost unrecognizable. A doctor seemed to be in the room doing his rounds, so I waited outside until he was finished before I let myself in.
The TV was on in the corner, but it was muted. It showed the news.
