Page 51 of Satin Empire

“Jasha’s not here. Nobody’s fucking here. We’re taking all the electronics, and once that shit gets cracked open, I’ll help comb through it for information. But right now, I’m doing a little extracurricular work.”

Saul takes a few visible deep breaths to calm himself down. “This shit is why Renzo and I don’t want you taking on more work, at least not until the war is officially done with. You get distracted too easy.”

“And you don’t have any fucking faith in me, bro.”

That surprises him. He takes another step back and one hand comes up to his chest like he’s checking himself for a wound. “That isn’t true,” he says, voice soft. “You’re my brother.”

“I’m not going to fucking whine about it, but you and Renzo only see me as a stupid fist you can send out to smash shit up whenever someone needs hurting. Don’t pretend like that isn’t true.”

Saul shakes his head, starting to get angry again. “You have properties to manage.”

“Only because they’re on my crew’s turf. Tell me I’m wrong. You, Gian, and Renzo all think the three of you are the brains of this operation and I’m just the devil-may-care asshole you send after the bad guys. Come on, convince me I’m full of shit, and I’ll drop this whole club thing right here and now.”

“You’re wrong,” Saul says quietly, but his expression says otherwise. Instead of anger, his eyes are concerned, and I can’t tell if he’s afraid that I might start pushing against the little box they’ve built for me, or if he’s only just now realizing the way he’s been treating me.

“I’m going to take a few more pictures for my wife, and when I’m done, I’ll head back to oversee the electronics. This mission has my full attention. You don’t have to worry about that. I’m a hammer, remember? All I know how to do is break shit.”

I don’t let him answer. I brush past him, taking pictures as I go. Saul means well but I’m too fired up to have a reasonable conversation about this shit right now, and I’m not even sure he has much to say. I’ve been holding onto those feelings for years, even all the way back before the war started, and it’s good that I finally got some of it off my chest—but I don’t want to drive a wedge down the family. I just want the respect I feel like I’ve earned.

And I’ll keep earning it. I won’t fuck up this mission. I’ll find Jasha Aslanov and I’ll kill him, because I care about the Famiglia as much as my brothers do, and I’ve bled enough for the war already. I want it over and behind me so I can focus on better things.

Only as I text my wife the pictures and go to check on the trucks, I catch Saul giving me a hard look while talking on the phone, and I have a bad feeling about what he’s saying.

Chapter 25

Alana

I’m feeling nervous and jittery as I lead Carlo to the front door. He grabs my hand before I can head inside and pulls me against him, running a thumb across my cheek, a tight smile on his lips.

“Relax,” he says softly. “It’ll be fine.”

“What if Orsino’s home?”

“Then we’ll shake hands and exchange pleasantries. It’s fine, baby. You might be afraid of him, but I’m definitely not.”

“I’m not afraid of him. I just—” What do I feel for my stepfather? Mostly a deep loathing. But he’s never hit me or done anything threatening—short of forcing me to marry Carlo, which wasn’t great, but seems to be working out okay now.

“It’s fine,” he repeats and takes my hand in his, squeezing it.

Which strangely gives me courage. All my life, I’ve gone through stuff like this all by myself. I love my mom, but she isn’t exactly the most nurturing woman in the world, and she’s never been good at making me feel better about basically anything. It feels really good to have a partner who’s able to provide even the teeniest, tiniest bit of comfort.

I knock on the door just to announce our arrival, but before I can barge inside, the door flies wide open and there’s Noah, beaming like he’s about to accept his Oscar.

“There you are!” he says and yanks me into a big, tight hug. “My favorite cousin!”

“What the hell are you doing here?” I hiss at him.

“Heard you were bringing the hubster,” he whispers, the little shit. “Had to show up.” Then, louder, he says, “And you must be Carlo.” Noah shoves me aside and introduces himself.

“Good to meet you,” Carlo says, looking very amused. Noah’s acting like a TV gameshow host, gesturing all over the place as he gives a little tour ending in the kitchen where my mother’s waiting with Niccolo.

The little guy launches himself at me as Mother introduces herself. Carlo shakes her hand and compliments the house; she flushes a little bit and thanks him profusely as if she had anything to do with it. This place is pure Orsino: ornate, lavish, a little absurd if I’m honest, although it still doesn’t compare to the Rossi mansion. I know Carlo’s about as impressed as a toddler with a big plate of broccoli.

“And who’s this big fella?” Carlo asks, getting down on a knee to be on Niccolo’s level. My little brother shies away, clinging onto my hand and stepping slightly behind me—I’ve never seen him this uncomfortable before in my life.

“Niccolo, meet Carlo. We’re married.”

“Hi,” Niccolo says.

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