Page 108 of Sweet Prison

“You’re doing this because I did better than you at school?” I stare at him, flabbergasted.

“At everything!” he yells, eyes bulging from his head. “For years, all I heard was how much better you were. How easily you caught on about the Family finances. And business dealings, how those came so effortlessly to you. And let’s not forget the loyalty of our men. All anyone could ever talk about was what a perfect leader you’d be once your time came. You! When it should have been me!”

The casual posture he greeted me with is now gone. Pacing left and right in front of the mausoleum door, he waves his hand in the air like a lunatic. I wouldn’t bet against the fact the safety on the gun in his other hand is off. In his fit, he might shoot his foot just as easily as killing me. But there’s a more serious danger, and that’s the possibility of a stray bullet finding its way through the door. And I can’t let that happen. I need to weigh the risks, assess my options, and figure out how to get past him and inside.

“My great-grandfather was one of the founding members of Cosa Nostra in the States,” he continues his hysterical rambling. “That’s the Canali legacy! By right, my father should have beenmade don! But this Family had denied him twice his due. First when they picked your old man, and then again, when Nuncio was chosen. It became clear that you, undoubtedly, would succeed him. There was no way we could allow a pleb to take what’s meant to be ours, again.”

“We?”

An evil smirk pulls at his lips. “It was my father’s idea to seize the exceptional opportunity of you being arrested. A few strategically dropped threats and the greasing of several palms later, and you were locked up, where you belonged. After my father died, I simply carried on what he had started.”

“Then, why help me? All those years, you aided and abetted as I ran our business. Why the fuck would you do that?”

“You?” He stops pacing and hits himself in the chest with his fist. “I was helping myself! Left to his own devices, Nuncio would have ruined the Family. There would have been nothing left for me to take over!”

I throw another glance at the mausoleum entrance and cautiously reach behind my back. God only knows what might happen to Zahara if I’m incapacitated or dead, but I need to try something. If I can just keep the son of a bitch talking, I might be able to pull out my gun without him noticing.

“So what?” I ask. “You backed my ass, letting me run things from behind bars while you bided your time for an opportune moment, soyoucould take over?”

“Something like that. Laying the groundwork took some time and a fair bit of effort. I had to convince Leone to have Nuncio assassinated first. With him in charge, he could name me underboss, paving the way for my eventual takeover. Due to his health conditions, that wouldn’t have taken long. I just neededto get you out of the picture before that happened. Too bad the idiots I hired failed.”

The two assholes who jumped me after I got back from Nuncio’s funeral.

This fucking guy!

“And you really screwed me by having Nera take the reins, effectively putting a muzzle on Leone. With her in the know, I had to wait to take her out, otherwise, things would look too suspicious. Once she asserted herself as the official leader, that was my chance. I still can’t fucking believe the Sicilians failed, all because of that long-haired beast of hers!”

He’s spewing bullshit like a fucking geyser, and I can’t help but think he’s lost his goddamned mind.

“I took another crack at it,” he continues, “getting Armando to ambush her. I figured, pinning her murder on him would be a piece of cake. But that good-for-nothing junkie couldn’t put a bullet in her head even when I practically delivered it to him on a platter. And then, it cost me three million more to off his fucking ass before he could start singing. Three! That’s what I had to pay that greedy De Santi to take the job. Not the usual two. That’s a premium rate, Spada, and all because he needed to sneak past his own people to get inside. And for what? Just to take out the trash?”

“You’re sick,” I spit out, shifting my hand closer to the gun tucked into my waistband.

“No. I’m just driven to make sure I get what I deserve.” He lifts his weapon, aiming at my head. “Do you think I’m stupid? Turn around so I can see and lose the piece. Then, get inside.”

Fuck.

His gun is aimed at me the entire time as I pull out my Glock and toss it on the grass. If he thinks I can’t kill him with my bare hands, he has another thing coming.

I approach the mausoleum and pause at the threshold, but he prods my back with the barrel of his gun. As soon as I step inside the tomb, my eyes frantically search for Zahara. The space is cramped and stifling, shrouded in shadows. Aside from the faint glare of the overhead lantern outside the door, the only light is from a strip of wall washer that illuminates the names of those who are now at rest. It takes a moment for my vision to adjust, but finally, I see her. A small huddled form wedged between two sarcophagi on the floor.

“Jesus, baby.” My feet are already moving to her when an earsplitting boom echoes off the walls.

“Take another step, and the next bullet, I’ll put in her head.”

The sound of a gunshot is still ringing in my ears as my eyes bounce between Massimo and Salvo, trying to decide what the fuck I should do now.

When Salvo dragged me in here, he bound my hands with rope and pushed me between the two stone coffins. It took me over twenty minutes to wiggle the scissors from inside my pouch and slice through the bonds. An atavistic instinct must have had me hanging on to my trusty travel bag that has all my sewing essentials—including my favorite pair of fabric scissors—when Salvo forced me out of his Porsche upon our arrival. Once heripped the pouch out of my grip and threw it on the floor so he could tie my hands, I remembered what was contained there.

“You have me now,” Massimo says as he turns around, positioning himself directly between me and Salvo. Shielding me with his body from the nutcase blocking the exit. “You don’t need Zahara anymore. She’s in no way involved, so let her go.”

“Of course she’s involved!” Salvo snarls. “She’s yet another thing you took away from me! She was perfect! A nice, cultured Italian woman. Obedient. And loyal. Once I realized what she was doing for you, how much trust you’d placed in her, I knew I had to have her. Just as everything else you considered to be yours. But she fucking rejected me. Because ofyou! Like everyone else, she chose you. And for that, she has to die, too.”

Oh God, he’s completely bonkers! Desperately, I look around the room, as if an answer to how we get out of this will magically present itself. Maybe if there were someone else here who could save us from this madman. But there’s no one. We’re on our own.

“Zahara didn’t choose me,” Massimo says. He’s standing motionless at the center of the mausoleum. “I threatened her. I told her I’d kill her sister if she didn’t agree to be with me. I love her and couldn’t bear the thought of her belonging to anyone else. And she hates me for it.”

Salvo cocks his head while his focus shifts to me. “Is that true, Zara?”

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