Page 33 of Wicked Rivals

Throwing a tantrum wouldn’t change anything about his situation, but at least he’d mustered enough physical strength to make it look somewhat convincing.

On his way out, with all his blustering and fuming, Capaldo almost crashed into Tony. My second-in-command narrowly avoided bowling the man over before stepping into the room and pulling the door shut behind him.

“Do you think he's behind the threat?” Tony asked.

I’d already considered it.

Capaldo needed this wedding to happen. No better match existed for Benedetta, especially not since her father’s life became shorter by the day. And who knew, maybe the old man had grown a conscience as he drew so close to his death.

I pushed the doctor aside and went to the bar to pour myself three fingers of whiskey. I threw it back in one long swallow, hoping to take the edge off the pain.

“No, I don't think he has anything to do with it.”

Tony clasped his hands in front of himself.

“So then who could it be?”

“I don't know. Not a clue at this point.”

Noting the smooth aftertaste lingering on my tongue, I eyed the whiskey bottle again, a thirty-four-year aged Macallan, but then decided against having another.

“The Commission?” he asked.

“It goes against everything the Commission stands for, but it wouldn't be the first time they’ve broken their own rules. No, seems like there’s another player involved, which would make more sense in the long run.

“Suspecting the Commission is the obvious reaction. But not mine, if you can believe it. Part of me wonders if this is a power grab from a smaller outfit trying to play with the big boys. Find out who else Capaldo considered for Benedetta before me.”

Tony nodded but didn’t move to leave right away.

“Is there something else, Tony?”

“Yes, sir. Bruce called a few minutes ago.”

“And?”

“The cops got a tail on the shooter but called it off after he put two of ’em down. Whoever this guy is, he’s reckless enough to brand himself a cop killer, Stef. He’s going to bring more attention down on us than we can afford right now.”

I poured myself that second glass after all.

“Fuck.”

CHAPTER 7

VAL

I blocked out most of the ride to Stefano’s house, my mind reeling and distant, only able to hold on to enough awareness to keep myself physically between my son and his father.

At the moment, it seemed like keeping them apart kept Enzo away from the life I had tried so hard to protect him from, like one last barrier.

Such a stupid thought.

At the back of my mind, though, I took in all the flashing lights and police sirens as they chased us, and I felt the jolting high-speed chase as Stefano’s man maneuvered us through the streets of Brooklyn.

I knew enough about Stefano’s life to understand he had become a competent mafia boss, at the very least. The telling signs were right there in plain sight.

Signs like his confident mentions about the precinct’s beat cops who probably made it to Con Amore first. And how little he or his man behind the wheel worried about getting away from the police by being faster and smarter on the road.

We pulled into a narrow alley to wait them out for several minutes, and it felt like a damn eternity, but that was when my rational mind returned bit by bit.

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