Page 98 of Of Murder and Matrimony

“So, what business did you want to discuss?” I asked, tearing a braided roll in half and spreading butter on it.

“Let’s start with pleasantries before moving to business.” DiSanto reached for his goblet and sipped his wine leisurely. “How is your family?”

“They’re well,” I replied, frustrated at his lack of urgency when he’d demanded a same-day meeting.

DiSanto nodded and began cutting his roast. “Everybody has recovered from the incident at the church?”

“For the most part,” I answered vaguely. The reminder spiked my blood pressure, and I felt the familiar tightening in my chest. I grabbed my wine and took a gulp.

“Good. And your sisters?”

“Bianca is an amazing mother to Ilaria.” I smiled, thinking of how my youngest sister doted on my niece. “And Coletta lives here in New York. You may have had the chance to meet her. She married into the Agro family.”

“Ah, yes,” his brows drew together. “Perhaps I’ve seen her on occasion.”

I found it unlikely a man as shrewd as I suspected of DiSanto wouldn’t know every man operating under him and their families, but there was no reason for him to pretend he didn’t know who my sister was. Maybe he was terrible at remembering faces.

“I heard you recently agreed to a truce with the Russians,” he said, shifting the conversation. Finally.

“Yes, I met with the Zolotovs, and we’re working on keeping the peace.” I left out Olesya’s kidnapping on the off-chance he wouldn’t already know. We made quick work of dinner as we conversed at length.

When DiSanto finished the food on his plate, he drank the last of his wine and wiped his mouth on a napkin that likely cost more than my boxer briefs with the separate ball pouch. He watched me thoughtfully.

“It seems like you have Chicago well in hand,” he said at length.

I set my fork on my empty plate. “I like to think so. It’s been a learning curve since my father’s injury.”

“I’d say dodging bullets, rescuing your wife, and stopping a war you didn’t start speak to your ability.”

So he had heard about Olesya.

He stood, and I followed. “Let’s have drinks in my office.”

“Lead the way.”

DiSanto guided me down the grand hall to the other side of the house and through carved double doors. Unlike the rest of the house, his office was dark and cozy, but not modern. He poured two tumblers of whiskey, handed me one of the crystal glasses, then sat in a plush, oversized wingback chair. I took the matching seat beside him, sniffing and sipping the expensive spirit.

“I have some information you’ll find useful.” DiSanto dispensed with the pleasantries. “Regarding the problems you’ve had in the last year.”

My eyes narrowed as I assessed the man next to me. His demeanor was deceptive; the pleasant host was a façade for the ruthless leader underneath. “And what do you want in exchange? An alliance?”

DiSanto chuckled humorlessly. “Nothing so easy, I’m afraid. A favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“Whatever I choose to ask,” he answered mildly.

“No deal.” I set my glass on the small table between our chairs and stood. “I have no patience for your games. If you’re going to be cryptic, this meeting is over.”

DiSanto’s voice turned frigid, and he snapped, “Sit down, Neretti.”

His eyes looked like pure obsidian in the low light of his office, making him seem every bit the Devil Saint Don of New York as those who feared and respected him referred to him. His swarthy skin tone only added to his piratical appearance. I found my ass back in my seat.

“A few months ago, I found somebody who didn’t belong in my city,” he began. “I think you may be looking for him.”

He was going to make me ask, so I took the bait and bit out, “Who?”

“Luca Neretti.”

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