Page 69 of My Dark Ever After
Merda, well, Guinevere had mentioned her sister had terrible taste in men. And poor decision-making, if she’d gotten involved with an Albanian gangster and then abruptly dropped him for an Italian mafioso. The Stone girls were not big on self-preservation, clearly.
“But you are sure she was with an Italian?” I asked, thinking of the cross necklace Gemma had supposedly given the stranger who’d tried to kidnap Guinevere on the top of the bell tower.
“Very. I followed her the day before she died,” Dren admitted, then scowled at my look of suspicion. “Only to try to speak with her. There was no closure.”
Beside me, Carmine hid a laugh behind a very fake bout of coughing.
Dren’s scowl deepened, and an angry flush burned his pugnacious face. “She ducked into an Italian restaurant by the harbor that is often frequented by the Grecos.”
“Did you see her leave?”
“No, she stayed very late, and I decided it was over. The next day, she collapsed in the street dead.” There was misery in his voice, as if he missed her despite their end.
The magic of the Stone family, perhaps.
“In what context did you receive the photo of Guinevere and myself?”
“A member of the Greco family who escaped persecution after you set the Italian dogs on them came forward to offer it as a bargaining chip so we would not kill him.” Drita’s smile was vampiric. “It did not work, of course. But he assured us that the Grecos were still on top and had recruited the Pietra family to work against you and claim the north. They planned to use the girl against you.”
“To kill her,” I corrected. “They came after her in Florence during the San Lorenzo festival.”
“No, Alessio Greco told me they were going to take her. She was worth more alive than dead because they could use her as leverage against you.”
“They tried to take her in Michigan, which is why I brought her back to Italia. Another attempt was made to kidnap her in Impruneta just last weekend,” I admitted.
Drita frowned. “Impruneta could not have been the Grecos. I killed Alessio myself.”
“There are other Grecos,” Dren pointed out.
But ... “No,” I said, looking at Rezo, who nodded. “Alessio and his cousin, Ricardo, were the only two higher-ups left in the organization after Sansone Pucci incarcerated the rest without parole. Ricardo was last seen belly-up in Lago di Como.”
Where Renzo had left him two weeks ago, after I had killed him myself in the basement of Trattoria Umberto.He was the last of thescuttling bottom-feeders in the clan who had escaped Pucci’s police net and whom I had had to put in the ground myself.
“So not the Grecos,” Drita allowed. “But still someone under the power of this Venetian and the Pietras. After I killed Alessio, they reached out about meeting face to face.”
“Why?”
“To take over operations in Livorno and the rest of the north from you.”
Fury burned like banked coals in my belly. “I am stillcapo dei capi.”
“Yes, but”—Drita’s grin was wicked—“you have to admit, their plan is good. After all, do you know where your woman is at this very moment? They know what you were willing to sacrifice to save your mother and sisters from certain death. It is fair to surmise you might do something drastic like give up your kingdom for a girl. Obviously, they do not know you as well as I do. You wouldn’t give up a penny to save somezuskë.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as electric panic sparked through my blood. “What do you know, Drita?”
“Nothing,” she said with a little shrug, but her gaze slid to Carmine, who was watching her with something like mounting dread. “Maybe next time you think to dip your wick in another woman, Carmine, you will remember today.”
“Call Philippe,” I said calmly to Martina even though my blood was acidic with rage. When I addressed Drita, it was through a smile like a knife wound cut into my face. “You know, Drita, we have always had an amicable, mutually beneficial relationship. I would hate to see that change over a lover’s tiff.”
“There’s no reason it should,” she agreed. “You understand, they might not even have her yet. I gave you a heads-up. Which, I think you’ll find, means that I conformed to our agreement.”
“Philippe isn’t answering,” Martina murmured. “Guinevere isn’t either.”
I raised a brow at the Albanian gangster. “Not enough of one, it seems. A shame. Carmine always complimented you on your legs.”
“Wha—”
The gun I held against my thigh under the table recoiled hard into my grip, spitting the bullet directly across from me and into Drita’s thigh.
