Page 51 of Sin City Obsession

“Don,” Rocco corrected, his voice hard. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “We aren’t here for a social call. This is a formality. My father is out of commission, like it or not. Effective immediately,Iam the head of this family, and you will respect me as such or there will be consequences.”

Alessa watched the other man’s Adam’s apple bob with a hard swallow. Someone behind a camera rustled, shifting papers or fabric just loudly enough for the sound to carry.

The Capo inclined his head. “My apologies, Don Cavallo,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

No one spoke as Rocco drew a breath. “You had something to say?”

The man straightened and squared his shoulders. “With respect, there are individuals in this room who shouldn’t be.”

Alessa felt her brows climb up her forehead. She knew damn well she was his biggest sticking point—she’d seen more than one of them sizing her up. And she highly doubted any of the men would question Emanuele’s presence.

Rocco shifted his weight and folded his arms over his chest. “There is no one in this room who shouldn’t be.” His words were a challenge. He was going to force his subordinate to say all the incriminating words or drop it.

The Capo clenched his fists, his nostrils flaring with a sharp breath. His dark eyes snapped to her and his brow pinched in a flash of a glare.

“Actually,” Rocco suddenly said, gesturing as if a thought had occurred to him and effortlessly recapturing the room’s attention, “you might be right. There might beseveralpeople in this room who don’t belong. Should we parse that out?”

At this declaration, all the men exchanged wary glances.

Ugo, already standing forward, raised his arm, palm up, in an uncertain gesture. “I don’t follow, sir?”

Rocco raised his chin. “Twenty-four hours ago, my father—your boss—was shot down and nearly slain in a humiliatingly public and ultimately failed assassination attempt. The goddamnpolicewere called and the motherfucker who pulled the trigger was able to take his own life before we could get hands on him.”

Grumbles of frustrated dissatisfaction rolled through the room.

“Over the course of the afternoon,” Rocco continued, motioning then briefly to the monitor in front of him, “every single man on this screen reached out to me, directly, with words of sympathy and support. Our fuckingrivalshave offered to pound the streets and help us squeeze out whoever ordered the hit.” He paused. “No offense, Vito.”

A filtered chuckle drifted through. “None taken.”

Alessamade a conscious effort to hold herself still. She knew Rocco’s words were true—she’d been with him when those calls had come in—but she also knew Rocco was skeptical at best of the other boss’s strange willingness to help. The Cavallos didn’t have any real allegiance to the other area families. Yesterday’s incident had triggered a temporary truce at most.

Rocco continued once more. “Ugo sat with me in the hospital for several hours, even took a turn standing over Father’s bedside.” He nodded toward theconsigliere.

Ugo nodded back.

Rocco’s voice hardened again. “Where the fuck were all of you?” He pointed out, to the group at large. “Onetext, from Enzo, and not even a goddamn word from all the rest of you? Yeah, it was Sunday, but if you’re gonna stand here and tell me you needed to take a day with your thumbs up your fucking asses, I will personally see to it that you never walk again.” His voice hitched, almost imperceptibly, on the end of his words—on the threat he probably would have reworded if he’d thought it through.

Two of the men shuffled back a step as though he were about to strike that very instant.

Tino dropped to his knees. “I-I’m so very sorry, sir! I didn’t think—”

“Shut up, Tino,” Rocco snapped. “You know I don’t mean you. You’re in this meeting as a courtesy for lending us your office. Play deaf.”

“Yes, sir, of course, sir.”

Excuses poured forward on top of each other then. How they thought they could be of better service organizing amanhunt for the assassin, or the money behind the assassin. How they hadn’t wanted to bother Rocco during such a tumultuous time. How they thought the four of them could act as pseudo-leadership, for a singular day, to keep the rest of the family from faltering.

It might have been believable if the man doing most of the talking weren’t sweating so badly.

Finally, Rocco held up a hand and the tirade of words stumbled to a stop. “I will speak to each of you, individually. You established yourselves under my father’s reign, and while I respect that, I won’t be moving forward with blinders. If you want to keep your authority and the luxury that’s come alongside it, you’ll need to prove to mewecan work together just as seamlessly. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Don,” the group chorused.

Rocco let out a breath. “None of this is how we planned to do things originally, but it iswhatwe planned to do. Everything moves forward. The family will survive.”

In the moment of silence that followed, the voice identified as Vito spoke up again. “I am reassured. I’ll be in touch.” His window blinked out, and the remaining two expanded to eat up the space.

Another, more distorted, voice spoke next. “I believe in houses cleaning their own messes,” he said, “but I can assure you this did not come from me. I enjoyed negotiating with your father too much to have him cut down. Best of luck, Rocco.” Then that box blinked out, and the third was all that remained.

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