Page 43 of Enforcer's Obsession

The Genovese did too, since they’d no doubt found pieces of their men scattered around the city by now.

They’d be pissed but would have no doubt that the Morettis were not to be fucked with.

“Do you have a reservation, sir?” the maître d’ asked when Enzo and I approached the restaurant.

“He’s with us. I’ll take him to our table,” a man who was standing in a suit near the maître d’s stand said.

The untrained eye would think he was a doorman, maybe security, but I knew exactly who and what he was. The Genevose main enforcer, a man would kill every man, woman, and child in this restaurant and not lose a moment’s sleep.

He looked at me and lifted an arm, then gestured toward two dark wood-paneled doors.

I walked in front of him, not liking to put my back to anybody, but having a point to prove.

Both Enzo and I knew this was just a show. Federico’s way of flaunting his power.

I let him have it, secure in the fact that it was the last fucking thing he was going to get from me.

“That way,” the enforcer said.

I started to walk, paying no attention to the patrons enjoying their midmorning meal.

No, I was laser focused on the two dark wood double doors at the end of the hallway.

By the time I reached them, I was completely in the zone and ready to play this out.

Federico was sitting behind a huge round table, his pale gray suit and cream tie pristine on this thin, almost gaunt figure. “Nico. Sit.”

I fucking hated being told what to do, but I complied because I knew this game.

Federico was hoping to goad me into acting irrationally.

The way he spoken to me, even summoning me for this fucking meeting, was all a part of that. But I’d keep the reins on my emotions, even though I’d love nothing more than to drown the smug bastard in the broccoli soup in front of him.

“I started without you,” he said, nodding at his plate.

“Well, you are a growing boy,” I said.

“I wish,” he said on a laugh that seemed incongruently hardy for his small frame.

It was funny, but I couldn’t remember a time that I’d encountered Federico that he hadn’t been eating, and I’d decided it was a nervous tick.

He was new to leadership, having stepped in a year ago after his uncle died without a son to take over the family.

There had been a brief but very, very ugly power struggle, and Federico had come out on top. Now he needed to expand to cement his leadership.

“Did you receive my gift?” I asked as he lifted the spoon into his mouth.

Federico let his spoonclankinto the bowl without drinking the soup, then met my eyes.

The sound of the silver hitting the delicate porcelain still rang in the room, making the moment seem to stretch that much longer.

Then, finally, the little weasel smiled.

“Who wraps a head in wrapping paper you fucking sicko?” he said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I responded.

He looked offended. “My place isn’t fucking bugged, Nico,” he said.

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