Page 58 of Depths of Hunger

Palma’s gaze sharpens, his lips thinning into a displeased line. “You are not a religious man?”

I can sense how much this matters to him, and it disgusts me. So many inla famigliaare like this—slaughter, maim, and destroy all week, then kneel in prayer on Sunday, clutching their rosaries as if it absolves their sins. It’s the kind of hypocrisy that’s woven into the fabric of the Church itself. I have to bite back a sarcastic retort. “I’ve found that my main religion has nothing to do with the Church. I worship at the gates of something else entirely.” I flash him a smile, sharp and cold.

Palma frowns, then bursts out laughing, his laughter ringing through the cavernous space, bouncing off the ancient stone like a mocking echo. “I, too, like to worship at those gates. Alas, the young pretty ones aren’t as interested as they once were. But your wife, she is beautiful. Congratulations.”

His words are bullshit, every syllable oozing with falsehood. His mistress is a model for a worldwide cosmetics company, and I don’t even like hearing him speak of Mia. The urge to claw that smirk off his face burns in my chest, but I force myself to stay calm. “Thank you,but we didn’t come here to discuss religion,” I remind him, my voice taut with restraint.

“No,” he agrees, his expression darkening. “We came to discuss how you want to work for us.”

Tension spikes around me. Nico and Luca go rigid. Over the layers of incense that hang thick in the air, I can smell the anger of my brothers and the sharp tang of Luigi’s fear. It distracts me, but I push it aside, keeping my focus on Palma. “No, we came to discuss how we can mutually benefit by establishing a truce.”

Palma scratches his chin, and I watch as his men subtly shift, their movements deliberate, hands inching closer to their weapons. Nico and Luca breathe hard, their senses on high alert. A simmering threat hangs in the air like a spark waiting to ignite. I ready myself, fingers itching to draw my gun. It would be so much easier to attack him with my full strength, to rip him apart the way I could, but the need to keep my true nature hidden forces me to play by human rules. Sometimes the secrecy chafes.

“A truce,” Palma muses skeptically. “Now why would we want a truce? We’re not really fighting, eh?”

My patience thins, and I fight the urge to snap. “Salvatore, you and I, we’re always at war. At this point, it makes sense to offer a truce so we can focus on driving out the outsiders. We can always return to our war later.”

Palma’s frown deepens, his brow furrowing as if the concept itself is foreign to him. “I’m an old man. I’m not used to these new ideas—making peace with one group to fight the next. In my day, we fought everyone and won. I don’t see why we need a truce. I think we continue as we are, maybe give each other a wider berth, yes?”

The tension is thick, each of Palma’s men poised and ready, mirroring the posture of my own men. If we don’t get on the same page soon, this could turn into a bloodbath. “Salvatore, let’s be clear. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t see some merit in establishing a truce. Your people in Toronto want this. So, let’s talk candidly about what that looks like, or we walk away.”

Palma grunts, a sound of frustration as his shoulders slumpslightly. I hear his heart rate spike when I mention Toronto, the flare of anger pulsing through him. So, it’s not him pushing for this deal; it’s Toronto. That’s valuable information.

“Say we have this truce, what does that get us, eh?” Palma’s voice is strained, like he’s still grappling with the idea.

I bite back a sigh, keeping my tone level. “A truce means you can concentrate on driving out the Moroccans, and I can keep the Albanians at bay without splitting our resources. It ensures neither of us have to fight on two fronts.”

Palma tilts his head, studying me with a shrewd, calculating gaze. “And how will I be able to trust you, eh? How do I know you won’t rob my shipments or attack when I’m occupied with the Moroccans?”

“The same way I’ll trust you not to take advantage when I’m dealing with the Albanians,” I reply evenly as I point to my chest, then to his. “It’s a two-way street. We give each other room and stay out of each other’s business. That’s all this is.”

Palma scrutinizes my face, searching for weakness. “I want in on your deal with the cartel.”

And there it is—the real reason he’s here. Palma needs to show Toronto he’s still in the game, still relevant. I feel Nico’s silent warning in my mind.

Colucci will shit himself if you mess with his deal.

The cartel wants this deal to happen with the ‘Ndrangheta. They need it. Colucci knows that.I shoot back. Mia had given me the idea of how to make this work without getting ourselves cut out of the deal. Her mind is sharp and brilliant in ways that still catch me off guard.

“We want a cut of everything coming in. We’ll let you bring it through our territory, but we want our cut,” Palma demands in a hard voice.

“No,” I say firmly, my patience wearing thin. “You’ll get two shipments a year for your people, but you guarantee safe passage for the rest. If anything goes missing or gets damaged, it’s on you. You’ll owe us, and more importantly, you’ll owe the cartel, and they won’t be pleased.”

Palma’s eyes narrow, calculating. “Five shipments.”

“Three,” I counter without hesitation. “One every four months. Take it or leave it. We’ll help you with the Moroccans if you need it, but you pull out of Rome. We know you’ve been making moves there.”

Palma starts to bluster, his face flushing with anger, but I hold my ground, refusing to be swayed. Finally, he lets out a long breath and extends his hand, the weight of the deal pushing down his shoulders. “Fine,” he says, his voice gruff. “We have a deal.” We shake, and he stands abruptly, his excitement palpable. His heart rate escalates, his emotions a mix of victory and relief. He has no idea that I’m already planning how to take over the rest of his territory. Not today, not tomorrow, but down the line.

I’m always playing the long game.

“I’ll tell my people. You tell yours, and we’ll work out the details,” I say, my tone final.

Palma nods, satisfied. “It is done in the presence of God. He will watch over us, eh?”

I say nothing, merely stare after Palma as he strides down the aisle, his men trailing behind him, their footsteps echoing like a death march. He’s riding high, thinking he’s won. And in a way, so am I. The deal works in our favor. Rome will be ours soon, and everything else will fall into place.

Once Palma and his men are gone, we begin to move toward the doors of the church. Luigi sidles up beside me, his expression tight, nerves etched across his face. “The deal is done?”

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