Page 74 of Gorgeous Villain (Marchetti Mafia)

Uncle Sonny draws closer to us. “According to our sources?—”

I speak over him. “You mean, thesourceswho accompanied him on this failed drive-by?”

My brother is already surrounding himself with rats—scums of the earth.

“I should be next in line,” Sonny huffs out. “Vinny isn’t responsible enough for the job. Too hotheaded.”

“We’ve already had this discussion,” my father warns him.

Sonny holds up a finger. “Look, I wouldn’t mind the Marchettis out of the picture either, but we need to act smarter?—”

I talk over him again. “Whoa, you’re as nuts as Vinny for saying that.” I whip my focus to Sonny. “The Marchettis willneverbe out of New York.”

Many men have tried.

All those men died.

I’m not putting my daughter’s life on the line because these dumb fucks have a hard-on aboutrunning the city.

“We need to kill the girl,” my father comments, dragging me away from my thoughts of strangling my uncle. “Vinny will stop creating problems if she’s no longer alive.”

Sonny violently shakes his head. “No matter what, Cristian wants to kill Vinny. So we either allow him to kill Vinny or we kill Cristian. If we kill Cristian, we need a fail-proof plan to get it done.”

“We’re not killing anyone,” I say. “We need to speak to Vinny first.”

“Sonny, I need to speak with my son.” My father jerks his head toward the doorway.

Sonny opens his mouth to argue, shuts it, and refuses to look at us as he leaves the room.

“Find your brother,” my father demands. “Now.”

My father’s demand is easier said than done.

Vinny has gone MIA after his fuckup.

I’ve had a man watching his house for a week and nothing.

My brother attempted to murder Cristian Marchetti and left us to deal with the aftermath.

Every day, I witness my father’s stress growing. Sonny and the others are on his ass, pressuring him to find Vinny and punish him. There’s even talk of banishing Vinny from the family.

The problem is, banishment doesn’t mean taking away his work badge and kicking him out. It means death.

“Antonio,” my gate guard, Vito, says through the phone, “the dance teacher is here, asking to speak with you.”

“Let her through.”

I hang up and check my calendar. Amara isn’t scheduled for a dance lesson today.

I leave my office and wait for Pippa at the front door. Her body is stiff as she walks toward me.

“Antonio”—her voice is shaky—“I need to talk to you.”

Fuck me.

I know what someone looks like when they’re about to ask for protection.

“Come on.” I motion for her to come inside.

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