Page 166 of Wounded King
"You take him," I tell Enrico. "Quietly. Don't let it blow back on us."
"Done," Enrico says with a wolfish grin. "Been looking fora new project."
"It needs to be tight," Toni adds. "Controlled. We can't look like we're gutting the family to take control. We're removing a cancer. That's the message."
The elevator dings. I already know who it is before he steps through the door.
Raffael.
He's sharper than I remember. Instead of leather, he's wearing a tailored suit. The cold confidence is still there, and his eyes scan the room like he's already calculating the risks.
I raise my glass, but I don't smile. "Raffael."
"Marcello," he says, stepping into the room like he owns it, not waiting for an invitation before lowering himself into the leather chair across from me. Then he tips his head toward the others. "Toni. Enrico."
"Didn't expect to see you here," Toni says, his tone cool, watchful. "Thought you were keeping a low profile."
"I was," Raffael replies. "But things change."
"Convenient timing," Enrico mutters, swirling the ice in his glass without looking at him.
Raffael doesn't take the bait. He meets Enrico's eyes and shrugs, calm as ever. Too calm. Like he knows we're circling him but isn't worried about the bite. I study him for a moment. "You're a capo now. That makes you one of us. Which means you play by the rules.Our rules."
"Of course," Raffael says without hesitation. His tone is smooth, respectful, but not submissive.
Toni leans forward, clasping his hands. "We're cleaning house. Anyone with ties to the Venezuelans is on borrowed time."
Raffael lifts a brow. "Anyone in particular?"
"Edoardo's name keeps coming up," Enrico says, too casually.
There's a pause. A beat too long. But Raffael doesn't blink. "He's a snake. Always has been. Just not many people brave enough to say it."
Good answer. Clean. Public. But we're not just listening to the words; every man in this room is watching how he says them. Looking for a tell.
I lean back slightly in my chair. "What about Donna Margarita?"
That's the real test.
Something shifts behind his eyes. It's barely there, but I see it. Like a spark behind glass—there, then gone. "I guess you know that she is my…mother." He pronounces mother the way one might say cancer.
"That's the rumor," Toni states carefully.
"She's missing." Raffael looks from one of us to the other. Unafraid, unflinching, and just as unreadable.
"Not a big loss in my book,"Enrico baits.
We let the silence stretch, like a wire pulled tight between us. Raffael meets it head-on, still, unbothered. Either he's got nerves of steel, or he's been playing a long game in a much darker room than we realized.
I tap my glass against the table once, just enough to break the quiet.
No one speaks.
Then Raffael leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. "You're all focused on cleaning house," he says in a low voice. "I'm wondering who built the tunnel they crawled through in the first place."
Interesting question. I study him for another long beat. Calculating where he stands. He doesn't seem to be here for vengeance. Nor does he seem concerned that hismotheris missing.
He's here to position himself.
