Page 106 of Forced Vows

Wrapped up tight like they are, not a single molecule of their DNA is transferring to us or the trunk we transported them in.

We have two men with us, but it's me and Salvatore doing the heavy lifting. This is our responsibility. Our men stand at alert by the car.

I slam the trunk. "The woman something special to you?"

Not that she can be permanent. Like me, Salvatore will marry for the good of la famiglia. But he sounded plenty pissed at Pietro in the car on the way here because he drugged her.

"I want her."

"You want women. You have women. You don't kidnap and lock them up in your penthouse."

"I didn't kidnap her."

"Pietro was acting on your orders." I understand skirting the fine line, but facts are facts. "Aunt Ilaria will put salt in your coffee if she finds out."

Or worse. My aunt's every bit as intelligent as my mother. And devious. You do not want to get on the bad side of the women in my family.

Róise is going to fit right in.

"You amused at the idea of mamma salting my coffee?" Salvatore asks.

I shrug, not about to admit it was thinking about my too young fiancée that put the look on my face. "She's more likely to bring burned lasagna by for your dinner and sit there watching while you choke it down anyway."

My cousin grimaces. "Sounds about right."

One side of the double backdoor opens, cutting off our conversation.

Chapter 35: MICELI

The godfather lives in a 20,000 square foot mansion in Brooklyn. When he bought it back in the day, he also bought the surrounding houses.

He promptly tore them down before installing a high brick wall and planting fast growing arborvitaes that now tower twice the height of the wall.

He's the fucking godfather of the entire Cosa Nostra in America and probably the only man in New York who could get the planning permissions, but he got them.

And the house is as secluded as any can be in this borough. There is no line of site from the outside, unless you've got a drone. But he's got anti-drone technology installed by our people, so I know it works.

Someone could put cameras in the trees. Unlikely though. He's our godfather. Not only does he have powerful law enforcement on his payroll, but his property is continuously swept on a random schedule by quadrant for bugs and cameras.

Are we still taking a risk dumping bodies on the drive in the crowded borough of Brooklyn?

Yes. We're also making a statement.

The Genovese fear no one.

Two Lucchese soldiers come outside, weapons drawn, but pointing downward. I lean back against the car and pull out my phone, my thumb sliding over the screen to turn on the recording feature.

Then I open a game and start crushing candy.

"We're here to see Don Caruso." I don't bother to look at the two Lucchese men. "He knows why we're here."

Sev called the godfather and told him what happened and what to expect. My brother refused to talk terms over the phone and informed Don Caruso I am the Genovese representative in this matter.

Salvatore's phone rings. He curses, but doesn't answer. He doesn't greet the soldiers either.

Our silent stance is clear. We are waiting for the godfather.

This time Salvatore's phone buzzes. It's not on silent, but the buzz is low enough the two soldiers won't hear it unless they get closer to us.

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