Page 20 of Depths of Hunger

Paolo’s deep voice slices through the room. “Do you know who’s behind it?”

I’ve always liked Paolo; only he bothers to acknowledge my existence. But his question hangs heavy, and Renzo’s eyes narrow.

“We’re working on it,” Renzo says, calm but unyielding.

“So, no,” Paolo presses. “You don’t know.”

Renzo’s gaze sharpens. “Do you, Paolo? Is there something you’d like to share?”

Paolo holds his ground, though his cheeks flush

“I don’t know any more than you do.”

Renzo’s smile is cold and predatory, and I fight a shiver travelingup my torso. Renzo wipes his expression. “Then it’s a good thing I have excellent night vision. Whoever’s behind this will pay.”

I lock my knees to keep from falling due to the frightening tone in my husband’s voice, and I don’t breathe. If Paolo pushes any harder, Renzo will end him right here. But Renzo pivots back to the room, shifting the conversation.

“I’ve reached out to the ‘Ndrangheta to assure them I didn’t kill Russo. They believe me, and our meeting is still on for next week. The Albanians, Moroccans, and even the Hell’s Angels are making moves, and it’s in everyone’s interest that we present a united front.”

A derisive snort echoes from a few seats away. Renzo zeroes in on Big Tony. “Is there something you wish to say?”

Tony’s jaw clenches. “We’ve been handling the Albanians just fine. We don’t need the ‘Ndrangheta.”

Renzo’s smile is chilling as he moves to stand behind Tony. His hand comes down with a hard smack on the back of the chair, and Tony jolts. “You’re right. We don’t need them. But they want us. Better to keep them close than make them enemies, don’t you think?” Renzo’s hands now land on Tony’s shoulders, and the tension is palpable.

Color drains from Tony’s face and sweat beads on his brow. Renzo’s grip tightens imperceptibly, and for a moment, I swear I see the faint outline of fangs behind his lips. I blink, and the mirage is gone, but the unease lingers. I really must be buckling under the stress of the situation. I need to get a grip.

Renzo finally releases Tony and resumes his place at the head of the table. Tony slumps, visibly shaken, and I can’t help but feel a surge of dread. Renzo’s control is absolute, but the cracks are showing, and every man in the room knows it.

“What happens if you go to jail?” Colucci asks bluntly. “Who takes over?”

Renzo points to me without hesitation. “She does. Mia will manage everything.” There’s a murmur of discontent, but no one dares voice it openly. “If you have questions, now’s the time.” Renzo glances my way.Gattina.I swear I hear him speak but I don’t see hislips move. I bite the inside of my cheek trying to calm my thoughts. My mind is racing. I must be losing it. I have to keep it together.

I step forward slowly under the weight of every gaze. This wasn’t the plan; Renzo was supposed to handle this. But here I am, center stage. I take a deep breath and speak clearly. “Does anyone know who killed Russo? Because if you do, now’s the time to mention it.”

The men exchange uneasy glances, but no one speaks. It’s unsettling—like they’re all in on some secret that I’m not privy to.

“Has to be the Albanians trying to stir up trouble,” Big Tony finally mutters.

“No way,” Bobby counters. “They’d just shoot Renzo, not frame him.”

Luigi, who’s been quiet until now, speaks up. “The fact that none of us have heard anything is the real problem. It means something bigger is going on.”

I nod. “I agree. There’s something bigger at play, and we will find out what. In the meantime, if Renzo goes to prison, I will run this family. I am a Giordano, and you all know of my family’s history. I have an MBA from Columbia, I know how to run a business. If I take over, nothing changes. Renzo still runs things through me. And. We. Show. No. Weakness.”

Bobby leans forward, his voice laced with defiance. “And if we don’t like it?”

I don’t hesitate and shrug nonchalantly. “Then it won’t go well for you.” My voice is steady, but my hands clench so hard that my fingernails dig into my palms. “Renzo and I will tolerate no dissent.”

I let my gaze linger on the empty chair as a reminder. It’s all bravado, but it’s all I have. They respect Renzo because he’s ruthless and has proven himself time and again. I must do the same.

“Fine,” Giuseppe grumbles. “For now. But if Renzo goes down for good, we’ll have to reconsider.”

The others nod, and I release a pent-up breath quietly. I’ve done my part, held my own, and didn’t embarrass anyone. I step back, letting Renzo take the lead again.

“Now, down to business,” Renzo says, turning to Colucci. “How’s the deal with the cartels?”

Carmine shifts uncomfortably. “Dead until this mess is sorted. They don’t want the extra heat.”

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