Page 19 of Bianchi

Romeo

Daniele navigates the car through the back streets until we reach the highway. Every mile has been fraught with tension and the storm raging inside of me has only grown. I have no desire to dampen it out. After all, it’s going to fuel me for days. We may not have any information—aside from Francesco’s signature on the bomb—but heads will roll for what has happened tonight.

That’s the one thing I can guarantee.

We have an enemy trying to extinguish us, and yet we’re no closer to finding him than we were before I arrived in the States. Massimo is certain that Francesco is behind this and although the evidence—Francesco's signature—points to that being the case, I just don’t understand why.

He was part of the family.

Could someone have set him up?

It’s no use speculating on the why right now, we need to find him and put a stop to these attacks. I blow out a breath, refocusing my thoughts. Tonight, they got close. Too close. We need to get ahead of them, figure out what their next move will be before they make it. If we don’t, then there will only be more bloodshed.

My mind replays the events of the evening.

Nothing looked out of the ordinary.

The shooters waited until we were seated in the restaurant and seemed to know where we were sitting. They very easily could have taken us out while we walked in. There would have been a lot fewer casualties if they had.

Very few people knew we were going to that specific restaurant tonight, let alone the finer details of our seating arrangements. In fact, the only people that knew who our reservation was for were me, Daniele, Massimo, and his men.

Do we have a rat?

Fuck. It’s the only explanation for all the attacks and certainly for tonight’s. Somebody must have told Francesco about our plans for the evening for him to have that much detail. If he was following us, he wouldn’t have known as much as he did, or have time to infiltrate the staff.

But why would he risk Aurora’s life?

Was she telling the truth about him not coming for her?

Is she the rat? As soon as the question forms, I dismiss it. She has no way of communicating with the outside world. And she could have been killed. I stare blankly at the scenery as it passes us by in a blur. The ghost of her, hidden underneath the table with fear cloaking her like a blanket, haunts me.

Aurora’s soft voice penetrates the fog in my mind. Her fingers brush over my arm as she murmurs, “You’re bleeding.” Her concern for me is laughable, but it makes my chest tighten, nonetheless.

As the adrenaline wears off, the throbbing ache from the gunshot wound makes itself known. I flex my fingers and reply, “It’s nothing, just a graze. I’ll survive.” It’s not like this is the first time I’ve taken a bullet.

Daniele’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “Are you injured badly?”

Daniele and I grew up together when my family moved back to Sicily. He’s more like a brother to me than an employee, but for a man in his position, he worries about me more than he should. If I die, I die, and there’s nothing either of us can do about it.

Aurora sighs heavily when I respond to him in Italian. “I’m fine. But if it makes you feel better, have Doc ready for when we arrive.”

The final thirty minutes of the drive back to Massimo’s are filled with a tense silence. It’s the kind that sucks the air out of the space and allows my mind to focus on the fury that’s twisting inside of me.

We come to a stop at the bottom of the steps outside the house, and I issue a command to Daniele to take Aurora to my room before jumping out of the car, taking the steps two at a time. Bursting through the door, it swings open, banging against the wall and nearly knocking Aldo over. If there wasn’t a mist of rage swallowing me whole, I’d ask if he was okay. Instead, I roar, “Where is Massimo?”

Aldo’s brow furrows before he steps aside and drops his head, pointing toward the back of the house. “He’s in the kitchen.”

I stalk in the direction of the kitchen, my fists clenching and unclenching as I close the distance. The sound of voices and radio chatter fill the air. There’s a level of comfort to the noise that reminds me of home, but right now it’s doing little to dampen my ire.

Massimo is seated at the kitchen table with a spoonful of what looks like gnocchi alla sorrentina raised to his lips. The spoon clangs to the bowl, splashing the sauce onto his black shirt. When he sees me, he pushes back from the table, his chair clattering to the floor. His brows reach for his hairline. “Holy shit. What happened?”

“You’ve got a fucking rat, is what the fuck happened, cousin.” I sneer. “Mark my words, Massimo, I’ll kill every single one of your men to find out who it is. And when I do, I’ll skin the topo, before I hang him from the tree by the front gate as a warning to anyone else that thinks it’s a smart idea to betray us.”

Holding up his hands, Massimo approaches me timidly. “Come, Romeo, we’ll have a drink and you can tell me exactly what’s happened.” He turns to Alma, his chef, and instructs, “Bring us two glasses and the whisky.”

There’s a pounding in my ears and when he gets close enough, I fist the front of his shirt, moving forward until his back hits the wall. He doesn’t fight my hold. The only sign of his frustration is in the narrowing of his eyes.

Tightening my hold on him, I bare my teeth and spit, “I don’t need to sit down and have a drink, Massimo. What I need is to find the person who is in communication with the man who just tried to kill me. No amount of talking will stop me from finding him. So, you either cooperate, or I’ll be inclined to believe that you're involved.”

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