Page 14 of Mafia Star

“What do you make of all this?”

Carmine looks back at the now turned off monitor as he answers.

“Luigi is covering for us. But why hasn’t he told Uncle Sal or Uncle Massi that the feds are pressuring him?”

“I don’t think he’s told Uncle Sal or Papa because he’s still violating the omertà.”

Uncle Salvatore is the oldest, then Papa— Massimo —then Auntie Paola, Carmine’s mom. We consider Papa the most relaxed of the three of them. Auntie Paola— the woman should have been both don and consigliere. There isn’t a more loyal person to a family than my aunt. And that’s saying something considering how her father fucked up her life by making her marry Carmine’s dad.

She and Uncle Cesare were like oil and a match for eighteen years. Now that they have separate lives, they’re practically besties. Papa and Uncle Salvatore defended her against their father and Uncle Cesare’s. They couldn’t stop the marriage edict, but they helped. For that, they have her unwavering loyalty. She’s like a mom to all my siblings and other cousins.

She’s in politics, and she’s cutthroat. I seriously believe she’s the deadliest person in our family. Cross one of us, and she will never forgive. If Luigi should fear anyone, it’s Auntie Paola. She’s trusted him to watch out for Carmine, her only child. If she believes the man ever endangered Carmine— or any of us —she’ll demand her pound of flesh. She won’t let any of us go easy on him. The only thing going for Luigi is that if she learns he broke the omertà for our sake, she won’t let Papa or Uncle Salvatore touch him without having to live with her disapproval. She may be their baby sister, but her opinion means the world to them.

Carmine frowns.

“Do we give him a hint that he needs to talk to Uncle Sal before we do?”

“Yeah. But he better not let it slip. I’m not in the mood for Uncle Sal’s temper.”

Carmine scoffs.

“You aren’t?”

I cock an eyebrow. Carmine’s plot to fuck over the bratva nearly got one wife killed. Uncle Salvatore doled out Carmine’s, Gabriele’s, and Luca’s punishments personally. Something he has never done before, but he was that enraged. Then he exiled them to Sicily for six months. He needed that long to cool off.

He looks down at where my phone is on the counter that’s built into the van. It’s where we have all the receivers and monitors.

“Call him. Get him over here.”

It doesn’t take long for Luigi to get to us. He knows before he climbs into the van that we’ve been running surveillance. He’s worked in this van before. His expression is wary to say the least. Carmine and I stare at him for a couple minutes before he sighs and unloads everything to us.

Then it’s a trip to Uncle Salvatore’s for him to repeat the entire story about how the feds thought they could intimidate him by threatening to tell his wife who he is and have their kids taken away. The woman’s Cosa Nostra on all sides of her family since they were all in Sicily. His wife took the kids on vacation to Switzerland, which has no extradition treaty with the U.S.

Uncle Salvatore is the woman’s godfather in truth. Luigi got a slap on the wrist because he didn’t come forward to tell any of us. But Uncle Salvatore didn’t punish him for breaking the oath since half of what he told the NYPD— and therefore the feds —was bullshit. What he said benefits us if the Grassos and Rizzos lose their markets. We can take them.

I may have tied up two loose ends this week, but I’m still restless. I took out a lot of my frustration on Shapiro by beating him senseless. But now that there’s no reason for my anger at Luigi, thus no outlet for anything, I’m back to where I was earlier this week.

Craving a woman I shouldn’t want.

Chapter Four

Beth

I’m clenching my jaw to keep from snapping at the movers. I don’t know how much clearer I have to be about which sofa goes in which room as we stage the model home. I’ve only said it like sixty trillion times, motherfuckers. I told them as they loaded the truck at the warehouse. I told them before they opened the truck door at the Manhattan high rise. I told them as they brought the first two pieces inside. How is this so fucking complicated?

I know I tend to be a frustrated perfectionist— today is proving that —but my job is to make everything just right, so properties sell for more millions than they’re worth. The decorating is truly the bow on wrapping. I work really fucking hard as an interior designer to create functional spaces where people can envision themselves living or working. I want the furniture placed to emphasize that. Is that so fucking hard? Really?

It’s not entirely these guys’ fault. It’s actually barely their fault. I’m frustrated with myself. Sexually and mentally. I haven’t gone back to the club because I can’t move past thinking about Marco. I now associate him with the place, and it’s a major turnoff. What we shared— I don’t know what that was. It was a jumble of emotions that I both want to repeat and avoid at all costs. I have never had a man steal so much of my damn focus. I’ve had crushes before. I’ve been in lust before. I’ve even been in love a couple times. But I’ve always been able to set those thoughts and emotions aside for school or work. I can’t with him, and I’m pissed at myself because of that.

“Ms. Russo, that’s the last piece. Is it where you want it?”

“Thanks, John. It looks great.” –ish.

I’ll fix a few things, but the heavy stuff is where they should be. I hand over the check and watch the guys file out of the residential loft on the Upper East Side. As I look around, I realize I wouldn’t mind if this place was mine. I don’t think that about all the spaces I design. But this one has massive windows that let in a ton of light. Their angles allow for a cross breeze you can’t get in most places in the city. The rooms flow well, but you can close off each one. It’s open concept until you don’t want it to be. Sometimes it’s wonderful to fill a home with cooking smells. Other times, they’re too pungent. You can shut kitchen doors here, and I’m jealous.

I turn at the sound of male voices, stunned to see both Marco and Matteo Mancinelli walk through the door. Matteo smiles, and I force one in return. But Marco stares at me, and I feel naked. He knows exactly what I look like without clothes, making me feel even more vulnerable.

“Hi, Liz. What’re you doing up here?”

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