Page 11 of Shadows of Steel
“You didn’t come to Palermo to trade clever words,” Ricci finally says, leaning forward. “So, let’s not waste time. An alliance between our families would strengthen both our positions. But alliances… need binding.”
“Marriage,” I say, the word dropping from my mouth like a lead weight. “The age-old solution to every problem in this life of ours. Practical. Effective. Predictable.” My tone is laced with dry humour, but my eyes remain cold.
Ricci gives a slight nod. “And yet, neither of us has daughters.”
“True,” I agree with a lazy shrug. “And unless someone’s been keeping secrets, I doubt either of our sons has suddenly developed an interest in men. So, where does that leave us?”
He chuckles, a low sound that’s more acknowledgment than humour. “At an impasse, it seems.”
I let the corner of my mouth lift, a faint smirk that I know will needle him just enough. “Not necessarily. There’s always the Chicago Outfit. They have daughters. Nieces. Pretty bloodlines with just enough fire to make them worth the trouble.”
Ricci’s expression darkens, his gaze narrowing. “The Morettis are… complicated.”
“Complicated is a matter of perspective,” I counter smoothly, my voice softening into something almost coaxing. “What I see is opportunity. Their reach in the States, combined with your strength in Sicily and my control in Naples? It’s atrifecta that no one could touch. And isn’t that what we all want? To be untouchable?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, his silence thick with unspoken thoughts. I let him stew, my fingers tapping again, a tick designed to irritate him just enough to nudge him into action.
A knock at the door interrupts, and one of Ricci’s men steps in to whisper in his ear. Whatever he hears, it shifts something in him.
“A situation,” Ricci says, standing abruptly. “A young woman has been brought to the police station. They say she’s… causing a stir.”
I rise to my feet. “Interesting,” I murmur, my voice smooth. “Perhaps I should come along. After all, alliances aren’t just forged at tables. Sometimes, they’re found in the most unexpected places.”
He doesn’t refuse. But I catch a flicker of annoyance in his eyes, brief but telling. It’s there and gone, buried beneath layers of composure, but I notice.
I always do.
As we leave his office, my men nod to me, stationed at the door alongside Ricci’s guards. The unspoken hierarchy plays out in every glance and gesture, a silent acknowledgment of power. When we step outside, my driver opens the door for me. I slide into the backseat of the car. Mario, my second-in-command is already there, a cigarette perched between his fingers, the smoke curling lazily toward the cracked window. His dark eyes narrow as he glances at me, his face etched with a perpetual sneer.
“That was quick.” He mutters.
“Ricci’s attention was needed elsewhere.” I reply, fastening the button on my jacket. “There’s a situation at the police station. Something that pulled him away.”
Mario exhales sharply, shaking his head. “A situation? That’s one way to put it.” His tone is blunt, impatient, never one for pleasantries. “So, are we finished here? Is the deal set?”
I recline against the leather seat, gaze fixed ahead. “Not yet. Ricci and I explored possibilities, but there’s no union to be had, he has sons, not daughters. Same as us.”
Mario smirks, tapping the edge of his cigarette against the crystal ashtray embedded in the car door. “Convenient. So, what now? The Chicago Outfit enters the equation? That family isn’t lacking in daughters.”
I glance his way. “It’s a consideration. Michael Moretti is already manoeuvring behind the scenes. Ricci prefers an alliance directly with us, but without a marriageable link, the most viable path may be through the Outfit. Stronger, perhaps, but undeniably more complex.”
Mario tilts his head, his grin sharp. “Complicated is a polite way to put it. They’re volatile, all of them. And I’m guessing Ricci isn’t thrilled about tying his bloodline to Chicago, even indirectly.”
“He’s pragmatic.” I say. “But he’s also Sicilian. Tradition runs deep. He’ll fucking bend if it secures his sons’ legacy.”
Mario snorts. “Pragmatic. Sure. You’d think a man who built an empire like his wouldn’t need to stoop to marriage deals to keep it standing.”
I level him with a cool, unwavering gaze. “That is what sets men like Ricci apart from the rest. He understands the weight of stability, how bloodlines fortify trust, how lineage cements loyalty. You, of all people, should recognize that.”
Mario’s grin falters, just slightly, though his eyes remain sharp. “I understand, Dante. I simply don’t like the prospect of entangling our future with Chicago’s disorder. You know their reputation.”
I shift forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “We’ll deal with the Outfit when the time comes. For now, we’ve got other problems.”
He raises an eyebrow. “The station?”
“One of our men was supposedly involved in the altercation,” I say, my voice hardening. “Ricci’s people are handling it, but I want eyes on the situation myself. We go there now.”
Mario crushes his cigarette into the ashtray, his lips curling into a dark smile. “Of course. Can’t have Ricci thinking we’re the kind of men who can’t handle our own.”
