Page 55 of Bianchi

Chapter 33

Romeo

The bleak weather from this morning is gone, replaced with a brightness that has a lightness in my step when I stride into Massimo’s office. Who the fuck am I? Streams of sunlight flood through the window as I cross the room to stand in front of the window, stuffing my hands into my slacks.

Although my mood is better than it has been for a long time—thanks to Aurora—I can’t seem to ease the niggling feeling in the pit of my stomach. There was something wrong with her at breakfast. Should I have let her go to Manhattan? Probably not. Will I do anything she asks of me? Within reason, yes.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve come to know her in ways I never thought possible. Sure, there are intimate and physical ways to get to know a person, but I know her down to her core. From the little moods she gets into when her mind isn’t communicating with her hand as she sketches. Or the way she likes to take a long bath when she’s had a particularly hard day remembering her mother. To her favorite breakfast being fruit because she likes to kick her day off with something sweet, but she wants the balance of being ‘healthy’.

Cristo, I know her better than I know my cousin.

In the reflection of the window, I see Massimo talking to Aldo, their heads bent over the screen of his laptop, deep in conversation. Neither of them acknowledges me, which is to be expected, given our current circumstances. There are three shipments due next week, each scheduled a day apart, and there will likely be another attack because we’re no closer to finding Francesco. But this time, we’ll be prepared.

We’re in a better position now, even if we don’t know exactly where Francesco is. Daniele and Leonardo are out, keeping eyes on Elio Morretti because I’m not convinced he isn’t somehow involved in this. We’ll have confirmation either way soon. I tune back into the conversation, turning to face the room.

Massimo leans back in his chair and taps his finger against the edge of the desk. “And the dummy shipments have been arranged? For an hour before the actual ones are due in?”

Aldo has been at this longer than Massimo has been alive. If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t know how Aldo puts up with him. There’s only so much of Massimo and his unpredictability that I can take. There’s a hint of frustration in Aldo’s tone when he replies, “Yes, Massimo.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Massimo nods. The squeak of his chair echoes around the room as he leans forward. “I know I don’t need to tell you just how important this is, Aldo. If we fuck it up, that could be it.”

Massimo is right to be pressing Aldo on this. We shouldn’t have lost anyone in the first place, but we can take steps to make sure we don’t lose more. In the next week, all of our shipments will be preceded by a dummy shipment under an umbrella company. Our men will be waiting in the containers. We’ll have more stationed around the docks, and we’ve upped our protection nearly tenfold. Whoever is trying to take us out won’t stand a chance.

Aldo straightens, inclining his head to Massimo. His shoulders look tense and there’s a slight tick in his jaw. If I wasn’t watching him so closely, I’d have missed it. The stress of it all is starting to get to everyone.

“I’ll make sure everything goes without a hitch,” he confirms.

Picking up a pile of files from Massimo’s desk, Aldo strides from the room. I amble my way over to take a seat, silently observing Massimo. He leans back in his chair, heaving out a sigh. It’s a sound I’m familiar with. Being a leader in this business means you have the weight of the world on your shoulders and lost lives on your conscience as everybody waits for your next instruction. At times, it can be draining. He looks exhausted, with dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and the muscles in his face drawn from a lack of sleep.

I scrub a hand over my mouth before setting it on my thigh and resting my ankle on my knee. “Have you heard from Leonardo?”

He lifts his phone and looks at the screen. Scrolling through the notifications, he replies, “Yeah. He said he’ll call us tonight with a proper update, but it’s looking promising.”

“Good.”

My focus shifts to the shelves behind Massimo. They’re filled with trinkets his father and our grandfather collected over the years. Our grandfather, for a long time, had gone between Sicily and America, but as his health declined, he started to delegate to his son—my father—and his son-in-law—Massimo’s father. At the forefront of what we do, preserving our grandfather's legacy is paramount.

Returning my attention to Massimo, I remind him, “Protecting everything our family has worked for should be our main priority and guide us in everything we do.”

Massimo bangs his fist on the table, erupting out of his seat and pressing a hand to his forehead. “Christ, Romeo, this is my fucking family too. I know exactly what our grandfather sacrificed to make sure we were always on top. Don’t sit there and act like I’ve done anything that would have you questioning where my fucking head is.”

Grinding my teeth, I force myself to remain calm. It’ll do us no good to get into an argument. And he’s right. I didn’t need to remind him because, although we’ve all been working around the clock, Massimo has pushed himself further and harder. Anything to protect the family.

He collapses back into his chair; the fight having left him. “I apologize. This whole situation is frustrating. It’s nearly been a month and we’re no further forward. I’m fucking tired, man.”

Exhaling heavily, I say, “We haven’t ruled out the fact that someone in your house could have been feeding Francesco information.”

Massimo stares at me blankly, running his tongue over his teeth before he replies, “I don’t think anyone has.”

“Have you had Aldo do a sweep?”

“Yeah, and nothing turned up.”

Nodding, I look out the window as I run through possible scenarios. “They could have removed it. Nothing’s happened since the night of the restaurant attack, so it’s plausible.”

When the only sound that can be heard is our breathing and that of a phone ringing somewhere in the house, I sit forward, needing Massimo to hear what I’m about to say. “If all roads lead to it being one of your men behind this in any capacity, I, and the rest of your men, need you to not hesitate. I don’t care if all they did was feed them the information without realizing what they would use it for. An enemy is an enemy, even when they mask themselves as a friend.”

We stare at each other, a silent war waging in our locked gazes. He wants to argue the fact, but he knows I’m right. There have been many times in history where an enemy has taken out a rival by befriending them. Nobody is truly ever on your side.

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