Page 73 of Hateful Vows
“Yeah. But whatever he’s doing in Ireland, it has to stop. Moore’s not gonna tolerate an Italian coming into his territory that many times much longer.”
Speaking of the Irish mob boss, I dial his number, one I have never used before today. He answers on the first ring as though he was just waiting for my call.
“If you land in Dublin, motherfucker, you’re dead and I’ll send your corpse to your wife in little pieces.”
“I knew you were obsessed with me, Cian, but this is a lot, even for you.”
“Don’t bring your shit here, Dante. I know someone wants to kill you and I won’t put my people in danger,” he seethes.
I sober. I know how he feels. The responsibility of our title means we need to make sure we protect the people who can’t protect themselves and even if Cian and I never liked each other, we see eye to eye on this.
“One of my men has been coming to Dublin regularly for years, Cian. And I know you protected him, otherwise the bastard would be dead already,” I tell him, my voice more deadly, the threat barely hidden beneath the calm of my words.
Silence meets my declaration and I know I hit true. When Irina first realised Casio was coming and going out of Dublin for the good part of the last three years, I only focused on the betrayal. But Cian made a mistake by revealing he knows exactlywhere I am. If he’s watching me, there’s absolutely no way that he didn’t know a man from the Cosa Nostra was entering his territory and for that man to come out alive.
“You need to be gone by ten pm this evening. Not a second later or I swear the bullet with your name on it will end in between your eyes.”
He hangs up.
The bastard knows more than he lets on. Why else would he allow me passage and not ask for anything in return? When I get my answers, we’ll be even. And I don’t like not knowing what I’m walking into.
Irina’s sharing Casio’s location in real time with a tracker on his phone. The red dot on my screen moves at a steady pace until it stops just outside of the city limits, in what looks like a quiet suburb.
The men are on high alert as we drive to Casio’s location, shoulders bunched up to their ears.
Casio’s travels started three years ago. By then, my father and I were busy expanding our real estate business, buying people out of their cheap and decrepit flats to convert the buildings into high-profits rental spaces and commercial malls. Casio wasn’t anywhere near the most important part of our business, focused on small protection deals in London.
“It doesn’t make sense, Tino,” I tell him. “We’ve had feuds with every other syndicate but since our established peace with the Russians ten years ago and our move to go legal, there hasn’t been anything remotely close to assassination attempts. And Casio… Fuck, if that man bested my father, it’s not even funny how ridiculous it’s gonna sound to our men.”
“Did Francisco get any news?”
“No, the kids’ phones have gone silent and they’re all busy with training. Even the girls are enrolling now,” I tell him withpride. Even before Irina, I’ve always resented the way my father and his regime kept women down.
“Did you think they wouldn’t with the wife you have?”
I smile. Irina would hate being a role model. Maybe that’s why she’s gonna make such a great one.
“We’re here.”
We park in front of a small town house. The evening has set in and light filters through the windows, exposing a simple interior with a large TV on the wall and cases of books behind a black leather couch. I frown.
I didn’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t that.
The five men establish a perimeter around Tino and I as we walk the three steps that separate the street from the porch. Their gazes are alert, screening the street and shadows. We’re conspicuous as fuck but I don’t really care. I want this business over with so I can be back with Aleksei and Irina as soon as possible. And Cian’s clock is ticking.
I knock heavily on the door, a cold sweat dripping down my back. Everyone by my side is tense, eyeing the street like he expects the people in this small town to jump us at any moment.
A toddler with dark locks, no older than three, opens the door. I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“We’re here to see your father, can you call him?”
“Papà,” she yells, then says in Italian, “Two weird men are at the door for you.”
Casio rounds the corner and blanches when he sees us. “Don Ventura.”
His lower lip trembles and he bows. The manfuckingbows.
We enter his second home and I make it quick. There’s no reason to prolong this ridiculous trip. I’m spitting mad, not only at Casio for leading a double life and cheating on his Italian wife, but because this is another dead-end. I’m nowhere near finding who’s after me and who killed my father and my men are goingantsy. They want answers. I want answers. And once again, I come back empty handed. The pressure and failure close in on me like the lid of a coffin.
