Page 120 of Devil's Tulip

“I want it done now, tonight. Call the meeting, Rafael.” I need to witness Aldo’s suffering before this day ends. I need him to understand, in exquisite detail, exactly what happens to men who touch what belongs to me.

Wordlessly, Rafael takes out his phone and types rapidly. Seconds later, my own phone pings with the notification as his message appears on thecommissioneplatform—a group that includes me and my brothers.

Don Moretti:EMERGENCY JUDGEMENT MEETING. Thirty minutes. My place.

Not everybody will attend physically because members of thecommissioneinclude high-ranking mafia officials from all over the country: Chicago, Texas, Boston, and beyond. But those near the city—my brothers and I—will confront the accused face-to-face.

Rafael’s phone begins to buzz continuously as acknowledgments flood in, and I pace impatiently. If it were up to me, I’d have called the meeting for right the fuck now, damn whatever else the others might be doing. Nothing can be more important than this.

Thirty minutes feels like thirty hours. Even when the members of thecommissionestart arriving one after the other, time refuses to accelerate.

My brothers arrive first—Romero, then Maximo—both visibly surprised to see me already present; I’m never early to these gatherings. Then comes the fifth most powerful don of NYC, the man who controls the Bronx—Luca Marino, head of the Marino family.

And last, the accused himself.

Aldo fucking Cabello.

The bastard struts in, oozing confidence and arrogance, probably hasn’t the slightest clue why he’s been summoned. He even winks at me, grinning jovially, and suspicion narrows my eyes. He’s up to something.

Gianna.

My heart hammers with an unrecognizable emotion that unsettles my being. I turn away discreetly and reach for my phone, desperate to check the cameras, to reassure myself that my wife is safe and secure at home where nobody can get to her. But before I can, Rafael calls the meeting to start.

I turn back with a suppressed sigh of frustration, following the others into the large conference room next to Rafael’s living room. The knot in my gut tightens with each step.Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong.

“Aldo Cabello,” Rafael begins once everyone is seated and the video conference connecting the out-of-state members flickers to life. “You might be wondering why you were summoned to a meeting with thecommissione.I’ll spare you the suspense. It’s because a crime you committed has come to the limelight, and we cannot keep it hidden anymore as it affects the syndicate as a whole. We–”

“Wait.” Aldo rises to his feet, that insufferable smugness still plastered across his face. “I think I know what crime you’re referring to.” He pauses, dragging it out. Then, his grin widens. “And I’d like to cut a deal with you. Because I have something you’ll be very,verypleased to see.”

35

GIANNA

I jolt upright on the bed, heart jackknifing as my eyes dart around the room. My brows pull together in confusion when I realize where I am—I’m back in my bedroom at Michael’s house.

What the actual hell? Was all that just some sick, fever dream, after all?

I turn my head towards the door too quickly, and a sharp, searing pain shoots through my neck. Wincing, I reach up, my fingertips grazing the telltale pinprick marks on my flesh where Aunt Marie had jabbed the needle and pumped me full of God knows what.

It’s not a dream.

A second wave of pain crashes through my skull, a migraine already making itself at home. I groan, pressing my palm against my temple, trying to quell the hammering pain while swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. But as I do, my gaze collides with cold, unblinking eyes, and my heart launches itself into my throat.

“Michael!” I blow out a breath, relief rushing through me—until I take in his body language.

He’s sitting in the shadows by my study desk at the far end of the room, his silhouette rigid and menacing. No lights are on, but those blue eyes glitter with something lethal in the darkness. I’ve seen Michael angry, I’ve seen him cold, but this… this is something else entirely. “I–I didn’t see you there,” I stammer, my mouth suddenly bone dry.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled together. “How did it happen, Gianna?” His voice is soft, terrifyingly soft, like the whisper of a blade before it cuts.

My heart gallops wildly, sinking straight down to my asshole, and I battle the crazy diarrhea trying to push itself through as ice-cold fear grips me. Did Uncle Aldo go through with his psychotic schemes while I was passed out? “How did what happen?” I ask, biting my lip nervously and wrapping my hands together to hide the trembling.

He gets to his feet, and only then do I notice what looks like photos in his hands. When he’s close enough, he flings them at me, and they all scatter at my feet, face up.

My lips part in silent horror as every drop of blood drain from my face in a dizzying rush.

They’re photos of me.Damning photos.

Photos of me sprawled across a bed in nothing but my underwear—the same pair of underwear I’m wearing right now. A strange man is beside me, arm draped over my waist in an intimate hold. Nausea surges up my throat, and I slap my hand over my mouth to keep from vomiting.

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