Page 63 of Captive Rival: Armani
“I know what you meant,” Dante says. “But first,la prima bottiglia.”The first bottle.
He raises his glass and Marco gives a little huff of impatience but then raises his as well. Without much fanfare, we each go through our own tasting steps, more or less similar versions of sniff, swirl, sniff again, sip, swallow. The only real difference seems to be in speed and thoughtfulness. Marco drinks the fastest, Dante ponders the scent and flavor of the wine for the longest amount of time, and as for me, I’m somewhere in the middle.
“It’s a good blend. Really good,” I say. “No question.”
“Yeah, it’s great. So about the Bratva,” Marco says, pushing his empty glass away.
As Dante opens the second bottle, he says, “Armani, why don’t you recap the meeting you had in Morocco with our allies? Marco’s a little short on the details.”
He fills clean glasses for us, a bit heavier on the pour this time.
“There’s not much to add, honestly,” I start, and then I succinctly give them the rundown.
By the time I’m done, Dante has another full glass of Lili Grace number two in front of him.
“You sure you should be drinking like that when your daughter’s christening is in a few hours?” Marco says rudely.
“I’m celebrating,” Dante says dryly, followed by a healthy swallow of wine.
I’ve got the christening on my mind, too. It’s the first time since my wedding that we’ll all be together again as a family, and there’s no telling if the Brunos have something planned like they did with the bloody cake. Dante has arranged for plenty of security, of course, but I can’t help worrying that my niece’s christening might present itself as the perfect time for our enemies to strike.
“So. Lili Grace one or two?” Dante asks us, all seriousness.
“They’re both good. Maybe we should try the third before we pass judgment,” I say.
Marco lets out what sounds like a growl. “Why are we still talking about goddamn wine? Can we get back to the real problem? This shit with the Brunos isn’t a game.”
His tone irks me. My youngest brother has been extremely belligerent lately, which is out of character for him. Granted, he’s always been a little moody, but this is different.
Any time family business comes up nowadays, this petulant, bad-tempered version of him appears. As if Marco has any right to insert himself in the most critical Bellanti affairs after spending the last decade and a half as the black sheep; a notoriously hard-partying playboy-slash-race car driver who didn’t give a shit about our legacy. He’s settled down since marrying Karina, but that doesn’t mean he can sit here and talk to Dante like he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
“No. It’s not a game,” Dante says coolly. “But we can’t move against the Brunos or even begin to pull a plan together until we have more information about this alliance with the Bratva. The second we strike, they’ll counter. And if we strike too soon, or in the wrong place, or with the wrong kind of firepower, they’ll fucking take us out. For good. So do forgive me if I’m not in a hurry to show my ass.”
Marco slumps in his chair.
“I know it feels shitty to be sitting around twiddling your thumbs,” I tell him quietly. “But we’re not doing nothing. Even if that’s what it looks like to you.”
He looks away. I’m pretty sure he rolled his eyes in the process. “Guess we might as well try the third wine, then. Since that’s all we’re going to get done today.”
Dante nods. I don’t appreciate Marco’s passive-aggression, but I say nothing.
This time, Marco does the honors. Once we all have our wine, I take a sip and roll it around in my mouth. It’s easily the best of the three. But I don’t comment on it. My hackles are still up.
Here’s the thing about my little brother. He talks a big game, but he’s not really here to help me and Dante come up with solutions. He’d rather act like a brat because Dante dragged him into our family drama once again, meaning that Marco can’t keep his head in the sand right where he likes it. Honestly, I don’t know why Dante forced Marco to join us in the first place. But I do know this: we’ll end up talking in circles if I don’t pull rank and take charge.
Leaning back in my chair, I say, “I want to send someone inside. We can’t get the intel we need from where we’re at. And we don’t have time to keep trying to woo Bratva loyalists. Even Clayton is getting nowhere. The lead he had fell right off the map.”
Dante frowns. “So you want to plant another mole? Haven’t we had enough of that?”
“Think about it. If we can figure out what this alliance is based on, maybe we can eliminate whatever leverage or blackmail or bribe Sergio Bruno has offered the Russians,” I reason. “And if we act fast, it might not be too late to prevent the Bratva from joining the Brunos.”
Marco scoffs and I shoot him a withering look.
“Which is why we need someone who can play all sides seamlessly,” I go on. “Someone unassuming, who won’t draw suspicion.”
Dante nods. Finishing off my wine, I set the glass away from me and smooth my tie. The room grows quiet. I let my brothers think over what I’ve just said.
We’re all sick of dealing with the Brunos. But the addition of the Bratva makes our enemies practically invincible, and it guts me that I didn’t see it coming. I should have suspected that Sergio Bruno would stop at nothing in his attempt to keep control of Napa, and if word on the street is true, parts of Italy, too. He’s never been a man of honor. This kind of underhanded move was right in front of me all along. I guess the only real surprise is that he didn’t try to join forces with the Russians sooner.
