Page 50 of Angel
Chapter Fifteen - Angelo
“No. It’s not.”
I was startled at the sound of my brother’s voice.
“It’s not too late,” he said. “Time doesn’t matter, Pops. Moretti will eventually find out we know about the crime he committed. And what then? We’ll look weak for not responding. For all we know, he wants Paige Bianchi because he realizes she saw too much. I say, we send him a message. Now. Don’t wait, because, as you said, he’s gaining power here in the States. Who knows what he will do next?”
Wow. Good old Dominic stepped up for a cause.
“I don’t know,” Pops grumbled.
That was something he rarely said. Our father had it all together. He had an answer for every situation.
“What on earth is going on? I can hear your conversation on the other side of the house!”
My mother glided into the room, her long and flowing floral dress wafting about her like a cloud. Her dark hair was twisted up on the top of her head, not a strand out of place. Always beautiful. Always put together. I’d never known another version of her.
“Sorry Mom,” Dominic said. “We were just…”
“I know what you were doing. Like I said, I heard everything… And I agree with Dominic.”
My heart did a little hopeful flip. Mom never got involved in these matters. Her move to take a vocal stand with Dominic and me gave us a better chance.
“Dominic put it perfectly,” she said directly to Pops. “Moretti is clever. I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s a cruel bastard, just like his father.”
“Don’t say that,” my father gruffly replied.
She turned her face and peered sideways at him, silently questioning. “Have you forgotten about everything the Moretti’s did in Sicily?”
He shifted in his seat. “No.”
I exchanged a quick glance with Dominic, but he betrayed nothing.
I knew a bit about the Moretti family past. They were a bad-to-the-bone organized crime family, virtually the top of the food chain in Italy and, had been making moves to have a stronger presence in America. My mother’s family operated on par, and sometimes in league, with them.
But the two families had their difficulties. No one in our family talked about it, but I had heard whisperings that one or more of Mom’s relatives had been victims of the Moretti’s greed and desperation to rise through the power ranks.
“Don’t even say that I’m biased because of my uncles,” she added. “I’m not. ‘The Pistol’ is dangerous. He needs to be taken care of.”
Pops lifted his palms up. “I understand, but we need to think of our own first.”
“I am,” she persisted. “The first thing I always think about is my children.”
“Digging around in the past like this is only going to open up other wounds. It won’t be the only issue to manage.”
“Fine. I’ll speak with Mario. He will have something to say about this, I’m sure.”
This was a step in the right direction. Mario was Pops’ consiglieri, his advisor. Pops only went to him when he was serious about making a decision.
This time, when I caught Dominic’s eye he winked at me.
“I need to think carefully about this,” Pops said pensively, almost as if to himself. He rubbed his chin and stared at the coffee table.
“How soon, do you think?”
“Give me a few days. Be patient. We cannot afford to be hasty about this. Just ask your mother.”
Her lips pursed. “Yes. We need to be smart about how we approach the Moretti’s.”
