Page 56 of Satin Empire

I shrug and don’t bother trying to argue, because I mostly agree. Although I honestly haven’t watched much of it to know for sure, just the stuff that was on TV when we were little kids. The stuff with the fighting and the cursing. Also, the boobs.

More of our guys show up, a few of the trusted Capos, and I’m suddenly very aware that Dante isn’t here anymore—he was Renzo’s best friend and we fought the Russians together all the damn time. But he’s dead now, like so many of the others in our family, and even if we catch Jasha and make him pay for everything he did, it won’t bring them back.

I try not to fall into a melancholy mood, and I fight off boredom by throwing myself into the task at hand. There are new numbers we don’t have in our system, pictures of places that might be important, texts with references to addresses we don’t have tagged as belonging to the Russians. There’s a lot of data, and even with a bunch of people gathering shit up, it’s really slow moving.

Around ten that night, a few ideas start to coalesce. They’re only guesses, but they’re the best guesses we’ve gotten in a while, and I take what we found over to Renzo. He’s in his office looking exhausted.

“We found a network of safe houses we didn’t know about,” I tell him, laying it all out. “I’ll have the guys go check each one as discreetly as possible, but we won’t raid them. It’s better if Jasha doesn’t know we know about them.”

“Smart move,” Renzo agrees and leans back in his chair. “What else?”

“Names and numbers, shit we’re running down, people that might be connected to the Bratva who could potentially flip and help out. They have some property in Jersey, a couple buildings in Camden that look abandoned, a row home in Kensington, some businesses in West Philly, but nothing I can definitely point to and say that’s where he’s hiding. Just more leads to run down.”

“It’s a good start though. Now that we have Orsino playing nicely, we have a lot of manpower to keep an eye on all these places. I’ll have the whole city swarming with Italian soldiers.”

“It’s our best bet.” Jasha’s been slippery as hell all this time, running things from behind the scenes, and this is by far the closest I’ve ever felt to him, aside from that near miss at the warehouse. The noose is tightening, and it’s only a matter of time before we catch his neck and squeeze.

Renzo tells me to keep at it and I leave him there. In the hall, I stop short when I spot my little sister coming toward me, a mischievous smile on her face. Stefania’s only partially involved in Famiglia affairs—Renzo has tried to keep her as isolated from the illegal stuff as possible, but she’s still our damn sister.

“How’s the war coming along?” she asks casually, trapping me before I can get away.

“You know Renzo doesn’t want me talking with you about that.”

“Come on, big bro.” She punches my arm, grinning. “Whatcha got for me?”

I glare at her, very aware that she’s only a little younger than my wife. “I’ve got nothing.”

She sighs, shaking her head, but she’s smiling and she had to know I wasn’t going to talk. “How about you bring that new girl of yours over here some more? I want to spend some time with her.”

“I can do that.” I squint at her, a little skeptical. “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch, you soft-brained idiot. I’m friends with all the other wives, so why not Alana too?”

I shrug casually and slip past her before she can block my way again. “You usually have an ulterior motive.”

“I’m insulted,” she says with mock horror. “How dare you.”

“How about I bring you over to the coffee shop where Alana works? That’s safe, neutral ground.”

“Coffee sounds good to me. Nice chatting, bro.” She punches my arm again and stalks away. I glare after her but head back to work, choosing to believe that Stefania simply wants to be friendly with my wife, and not that she’s trying to find something out about the war she shouldn’t know.

When I get back into the office, ready to start running through more of the phones, Saul’s sitting back in his chair. The place is empty, and I look around before dropping down across from him. “Where’d everyone go?” I ask.

Saul stares at me. I go still, wondering what the fuck that look’s for. He’s glaring like he wants to get up and strangle me to death, which is an expression I am intimately familiar with on his face. Saul’s always been the serious brother—we used to call him the Hero, short for Gym Class Hero, because he always worked twice as hard and took everything twice as serious. When Dad wanted to stir shit up, he always went to Saul first, because my second-oldest brother could be relied upon to be a total fucking prick.

He’s calmed down over the years. I love him to death but I wish he’d find some way to relax. The wife’s helping—I think Molly balances him out and gives him a purpose that isn’t just giving everyone around him shit for not being perfect. I’d take a bullet for that man, but I also wish he’d start smoking weed or doing yoga or anything to take the damn edge off.

“I got a call earlier. I didn’t feel like dealing with it because we’re busy, but I heard you’re making inquiries about that warehouse.”

I rub my face because I can’t believe he’s pulling this shit now. “You know I’m moving forward with my club idea.”

“Yes, I understand that, but you don’t have to practically scream to the whole city that we’re on Jasha’s fucking trail.”

“Bro, he always knows that. You think he’s not aware?”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re trying to end this war and you’re acting like it’s no big deal.”

Anger flares in my chest. I shove back from the table. “We both know that’s not true.” I lean forward, getting in his face. “Who the fuck’s been on the front lines all this time?”

---