Page 7 of Vito

Gilly's staff is thoroughly vetted; however, trust in anyone isn't automatic or absolute in our world. And given the question of how Aiken's attackers got in and out, they'll be interviewed and scrutinized even more rigorously.

"Any luck getting into Aiken's office?" I turn onto the freeway to take the quickest route to my penthouse.

"Still sealed tight." Massimo growls in frustration. "Gus said it's like a sealed panic room with blast-proof walls and door. The lock is a keypad, and he claims he doesn't have the code."

I frown. "Claims?"

"He's holding out on me for something. I can tell."

Massimo's sixth sense: he's a bloodhound for when someone is lying.

"Does he know who Ed is?" I ask.

"Says no; I really think he's lying about that, or at least not telling what he suspects."

"You want me to have a go at him?"

Even though I strictly follow the required neutrality, like with Aiken, I have an easy repertoire with Gus. Neither of them ever made me want to slam a screwdriver into their head or cut their balls off with a dull, rusty knife, so we have a special relationship in that regard.

"That might not hurt," Massimo decides.

"Let me grab two hours of sleep."

"I imagine Gus will still be here."

I slide on some sunglasses as the morning sun glares off the Bay when I turn toward my penthouse. "Did you call Creed? Tell him and Triple S to stay away for now?"

Triple S—AKA Sweet Spanish Sophie. We're family now, so she has to live with the nickname just like my father does withBabbo.

"This doesn't have anything to do with Creed or the past threat to Sophie, but yes, I did call him so he's aware. They're secure," Massimo reassures me.

Creed, our baby brother, decided at an early age that the mafioso life wasn't what he wanted. He runs and controls our empire's legitimate arm—the corporate, civilian arm—and has consolidated all our bars, restaurants, hotels, and construction projects under Santoro Ventures Inc. He doesn't cross the line into the criminal world operations and rarely frequents Gilly's. But with what happened with Sophie a few months ago, Creed isextraprotective and possessive of her, so anything out-of-the-ordinary in our world will raise his alarms. Them being out of the city right now eases some of my own tension.

"Creed said they'll extend their honeymoon in Croatia, then head to Italy. There's a plot of land near the Amalfi coast that's coming up for sale, and he'll kill two birds with one stone."

I pull into my secure underground parking. "Thanks for the update, brother. Keep me posted if any details are discovered."

I scan my surroundings before leaving my car, then stride to the elevator that goes straight to my penthouse.

"Will do, Vito. You do likewise. Get your two hours of beauty sleep." I can hear the smirk in Massimo's voice as he hangs up.

I catch my reflection in the mirror as the elevator whisks upward to my penthouse and rub my palm over my scruff. I look like hell, but two hours of sleep will have to do.

Minus the broken tables, chairs, and dead body, Gilly's isn't much different from when I was here a few hours ago. Blood still pools on the floor; the wall still has a dent. The place smells like a distillery mixed with a vat of blood. It's not an unappealing smell to me, but it's certainly not everyone's cup of tea.

Gus is sweeping up broken glass. He's short and built like a brick shithouse, with a crooked nose that was broken multiple times in the boxing ring. He has a hoarse, raspy voice that sounds like he's smoked two packs a day, but he's never smoked. His voice sounds that way because of damage to his vocal cords from a boxing match where the opponent ended up getting banned from the ring. That man ended up dead in the gutter. I suspect it was Gus, even though he was investigated and cleared. A killer recognizes the killer in another, though—it's probably why he and I get along.

He turns as I stand in the doorway. His face is haggard and worn. He inclines his head to me. "Vito."

"Why isn't there a clean team here?" I ask, referring to professionals who know how to get rid of blood and evidence so thoroughly you'd never know anyone died.

"I'll call one in soon." He shrugs. "I wanted to do some of it myself."

As I walk deeper into the barroom, my boots crunch on the broken glass he hasn't swept up yet. "Would you have stayed last night if you knew Aiken was in trouble?"

His green eyes fly to mine, and he scowls, probably thinking I'm being a dick. "Of course."

"Then there's your answer, Gus." I can guess what's ravaging his consciousness. "Save the guilt for when it's warranted."

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