Page 28 of Captive Bride: Armani
I don’t share my women. I don’t share my wine. And I sure as hell don’t share my cigars.
“Give us the details, Clayton,” I say. “Rumors are rumors. But if you’ve got something more solid, it might be time for us to make a move. Go on the offensive.”
Since putting Clayton on our payroll, we’ve slowly given him increasing responsibilities when it comes to keeping an eye out for the family. He’s not afraid to fight but he’s also good with people, so over time he’s become our local and international liaison, so to speak. Each week I get a briefing from him on the goings-on around town, any updates from the crime families along the West and East Coasts, and news from abroad.
Ever since our flimsy truce with the Brunos was struck, Clayton’s constantly had his ear to the ground in Italy. Sergio Bruno may have signed a contract to end the war between his family and ours, but that didn’t guarantee that the rest of his network would leave us alone. Luckily, my family’s friendly contacts overseas are happy to keep Clayton informed. It’s probably that damn accent. It seems to win everybody over, especially women.
Resigned to the fact that he’s not getting a hit of my cigar, Clayton pours himself a scotch. He’s definitely brooding, but what else is new?
“The Italians are not happy with the truce between the families,” he starts.
“As expected,” Dante says. “Without the Brunos keeping us in check, we look like we’re primed to make a power grab. Even though I have no intention of doing that. I’m not interested in a bigger piece of the pie. Hell, I don’t want the pie at all.”
My brothers and I agreed, after our father was killed by the Brunos, that we all wanted out of the business. Yet it seems we’re constantly getting pulled back in. And this truce? I’m surprised the Brunos haven’t done something to break it already.
“But our enemies don’t know that,” I say. “And even if you tried to explain things nicely, tell them you want nothing more than to get out of the life entirely, they wouldn’t believe you.”
Clayton nods in agreement. “Everyone’s hackles are up. They’re suspicious. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for you to make your next move. They want to know what’s really driving the Bellantis’ insistence on settling the score. And there’s talk of retaliating—”
“Retaliating for what? We brokered apeacedeal,” Marco interjects.
“We cut off Sergio Bruno’s balls,” I explain between puffs of my cigar. “We made him look weak. Not only that, but it wasn’t a private matter. Every mob family stateside and abroad knows what happened. It’s embarrassing for the extended Bruno clan, getting bested like that.”
Marco slumps in his chair a little. He knows he’s at fault.
When he made his big bet—for the Brunos to agree to a ceasefire if Marco beat the Brunos’ driver in a circuit race—my brotheralsomade secret deals with the heads of a bunch of other crime families to join us in going to war with the Brunos if our enemies didn’t honor the terms of the agreement. And Italians do love to talk. Now the whole world knows what went down between the Bellantis and the Brunos. They know my family won.
And the Brunos aren’t just Napa-based. They’ve got branches in Sicily, mainland Italy, not to mention New York, Boston, and Chicago. Having their hands buried deep in the dirty underground of mafia life, the Bruno clans near and far must assume we’re trying to push them out of the game, one stronghold at a time. Which couldn’t be further from the truth.
Like I said, try telling them that.
Looking around the library, I’m certain that not a single man here wants to be involved in the filth that the Brunos enjoy rolling around in. Money laundering. Drug running. Selling stolen goods and illegal weapons and trafficking women. No. I’ve done some nefarious things in my life, and I don’t regret a single one of them, but even I don’t have the stomach for the types of crime that the Brunos get up to. Now, protecting my family? I’ll do that at any cost.
Marco makes an annoyed sound. “Okay, but what else? This isn’t news. There was talk coming out of Italy the minute the ink on that peace contract dried. It’s just talk.”
Clayton faces Marco. “Talk that’s escalating. Resentment that’s escalating. Suspicion and distrust that’s escalating. It’s like a pot ready to boil over.”
“We get it,” Marco says, exasperated. “The Brunos are used to having complete and total control, and one of their kingpins got knocked from his throne. They’re freaking out, sure. But we’re not going after them. We haven’t set a foot wrong, so why don’t they just fucking chill?”
Suddenly, Dante stalks over to Marco’s chair, towering over him. He looks furious.
“Are you fucking serious, little bro? You think the Brunos shouldchill? Sergio Bruno has more power in Sicily than we ever realized. Were you aware that the man is next in line to control the entire kingdom? He’s the next Don, and this truce reflects badly on his ability to maintain power and exert control. How can he rule the world when he can’t even control Napa?”
Dante barely raised his voice, but it’s obvious that this is one of the rare occasions where he’s lost his cool. And I don’t blame him. Not only are we fucked, but Marco’s copping an attitude during our time of crisis.
Dante glares. Marco scowls. Clayton pretends not to notice the brotherly bickering, which I appreciate. Shit is embarrassing. We need to get it together.
Taking a long draw from my cigar, I let the smoke out slowly and contemplate what Clayton is saying. Of course I was aware of the position Sergio Bruno is in—I’m the one who let Dante know. And I know he plans to take over Sicily one day.
“What’s your take on the situation, Armani?” Dante asks me.
I shrug. “Sounds to me like we’re good and fucked. Lucky for you, I already have a plan.”
“Let’s hear it, then,” Marco says, sounding skeptical.
My brothers are used to me having little input on our relations with the other mafia families unless there’s violence involved.
“I need every one of you to trust me,” I say. “That’s all I have to say about it for now.”
