Page 72 of Hateful Vows
Only the people around this table knew about the garden.
He straightens in his chair, turns the phone upside down on the table. “Nothing to worry about. The Manchester mogul you met at the gala is very demanding.”
“No talking shop at the dinner table, boy,” my mother quips before she insists on serving everyone yet another plate of the pasta salad Irina cooked. Everyone declines. I haven’t hiredanother cook yet, and my wife’s good at many things but cooking isn’t one of them.
Her phone pings with a notification.
“I’m sorry Mariella, we’ll have to cut this wonderful evening short.” Then to me, she says, “Signore Casio has just booked another flight to Ireland,dorogoy. He’ll be there tonight and stay over the weekend.”
My blood sings with the promise of retribution. Casio has been a capo for years. He’s a quiet man, with two sons who work hard and a wife we barely see at functions. He’s kept to himself but never raised any suspicion. Which in itself is suspicious. Especially after what happened with Popov. No one is that fucking clean or perfect. He has no debts, no gambling addiction; he doesn’t smoke, he barely even drinks.
Tino and I exchange a look. My second-in-command looks like he knows something I don’t. Or maybe I’m reading into things that aren’t there. Paranoia spreads like a disease in my brain.
No one likes to kill a man who’s been nothing but loyal, but these trips make no fucking sense unless he’s playing against us.
“Prepare the jet, we leave in an hour.”
“I’m coming with you,” Irina says as she stands like she’s about to pack an overnight bag.
“Absolutely not. You’re to act like the queen that you are in my place.”
“Your men hate me. I’ll be more valuable at your side.”
“No. This is non-negotiable. Tino will come with me as my right-hand man. I’ll take five other men with us. Lorenzo, the capos trust you,” I tell my underboss. “If anything goes to shit, protect Irina.” He nods and our merry party springs into action, my mother retiring quickly to her room.
Irina follows me inside the mansion that we have turned into a HQ of sorts. She’s about to argue when I whirl around,stepping into her space until our chests touch. Holding her throat, I whisper into her ear.
“Don’t be difficult,vipera. Me giving you the key to the castle is a power play, and you know it. If someone makes their opinion known and they disagree, kill them. I have no use for dissidence and no patience for disobedience. Besides, it’s just one night. You can live without me for that long, can’t you?”
She fumes and my smile grows. It’s so easy to rile her up. She’s always so ready to fight. Which confirms it’s a good idea to leave her behind to take care of business for twenty-four hours.
My underboss knows her well, the security of this place respects her. And she’s trigger-happy, which anyone who voices their disagreement with any of my or her decisions will find out soon enough.
In just an hour, Tino, the five soldiers and I are at the airport, getting into our private jet.
“Something on your mind,fratello?” Tino asks mid-way through the short flight to Dublin.
I let silence settle between us, zoned in on his body language but my best friend is relaxed. He doesn’t break my stare. Then, he shakes his head, chuckles and withdraws his phone from his pocket. Opening the text app, he hands it to me.
“I met someone, Dante.” My lips pull into a grimace and I take the phone, going through sweet nothings and Tino’s bad attempts at flirting. “She’s so fucking talented. She studies piano at the Royal Academy of Music. And so pretty it hurts to look at her sometimes.”
My friend blushes and I whistle low.
“Who is she?”
“Ilia’s sister.”
I bark out a laugh. “He’s gonna kill you.”
“We’ve only talked,” he retorts. Then with a whimsical look of someone falling in love, he says, “She makes me feel so… light. And a little stupid, too.”
“You’re always stupid.”
“Fuck off!”
I hand him his phone back. The exchange eases the anxiety inside my chest, but it reminds me that we’re on a goose chase, the ghost that wants me dead five steps ahead of us.
“You know it’s probably not Casio, right?” Tino asks.
