“I thought being capo here and staying far away from Casal would keep her safe. Turns out, that’s not the case. He ordered a hit on Martina.”
A dark cloud passes over his expression. “When?” he bites out.
“Last month. She managed to get away with the help of that woman you saw by the pool.”
Napoletano flicks his gaze to Ras. “The one you asked me to run through the system a few days ago. Valentina Garzolo.”
“Yes,” I say. “She gave us enough information to confirm Sal was the one behind it.” I summarize our knowledge of what happened, and by the time I’m done, a thoughtful silence blankets the room.
“Staying on the sidelines is no longer an option after this escalation,” I say. “I’m ready to take back what should have always belonged to me.”
Napoletano reaches for the ashtray on my desk and puts out his cigarette. “You’ve decided to trust me then.”
“We know you’re not a forgiving man,” Ras says.
We wait for him to voice his commitment. Without Napoletano, this will be much harder.
“I’m thirty-two this year,” he says finally, flicking a piece of lint of his leg. “My mother died when I was fifteen. Sometimes I tell myself it’s time to move on. I can’t even remember what it felt like to be loved by her. But I remember the burning rage when I saw her body and the vow I made to make him pay.”
“I know the feeling well,” I say.
He holds my gaze and nods. “It’s time for a change. I’ll help you.”
The tension in the room eases.
I pass him the folder containing details about our security at the compound. He flips through it. “I’ll audit your set up here and give Ras a list of suggestions,” he says before slipping the folder under his arm. “When I return to Naples, I can start planting seeds. You’ll need to give them time to grow.”
“Not just time. We need to give them fertilizer,” I say. “I need to demonstrate to the families that I can lead us better than Sal.”
“You can’t do that when you’re his work horse,” Napoletano says. “The flow of money from Ibiza needs to stop.”
“If we stop paying, he’ll tell his suppliers to stop delivering the goods,” Ras says. “Our revenue will be cut in half overnight.”
We’ll still have the legitimate businesses-restaurants, hotels, clubs-but they need customers. And those will dry up as soon as word gets around that drugs on Ibiza are suddenly hard to come by.
There’s only one thing we can do. “We need to find a new supplier. Cut Sal out completely.”
“That would spell the beginning of his end,” Napoletano says. “If his suppliers find out he can’t control his wealthiest capo, they’ll lose confidence. It’s only a matter of time before they abandon him and agree to work directly with you.”
“We have to find the right partner,” I mutter. “Sal is too well connected with the Moroccans and the Algerians. They won’t turn on him until I prove my power. I have to go further. The Colombians? But why would they take a bet on me, especially when I only need their supply until Sal’s suppliers turn on him? No, I need a temporary solution.”
“You have one sitting by your pool,” Napoletano says. “The Garzolo’s primary business is cocaine.”
Foreboding slithers down my spine.
“You can go through the Americans,” he says while my pulse grows louder in my ears. “Ask them for a few shipments to tide you over. They’ll agree because you have something they want.”
“Valentina,” Ras says.
Her name feels all wrong coming out of his mouth. How am I supposed to trade the entirety of her away when I don’t even like hearing anyone but me utter her name?
But I can’t find a flaw in Napoletano’s suggestion. It works, and it’s clean. Sending her to her father will get me what I need to checkmate Sal, and once I’m don, I’ll have a multitude of ways to make Garzolo pay for what he did to Martina.
It’s a clear path to everything I’ve ever wanted.
Nearly everything.
I rise from my seat. “If her father wants her back, he’ll find a way to get us everything we need.”
From the moment I discovered who Ale Romero really was, I knew there was a good chance I’d have to use her as leverage, and yet that knowledge does nothing to ease the weight I feel as I leave my office.
It’s the perfect plan. So simple that on paper it seems nearly too easy, but somehow, it feels like the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
My feet carry me to Valentina’s room. I don’t know why I’m going to her. I doubt that sharing the news I intend to break my promise is going to soften the blow, but for some reason, I want to anyway. We’ve spent the entire time we’ve known each other lying to one another. The truth won’t be sweet, but at least it’ll be real.
I take the key to her room out of my pocket and insert it into the lock. She’ll cry when I tell her what I plan to do to her. Cazzo. Her tears make me feel like the world’s most wretched man.
When I step inside, she’s not there. The shower is running in the bathroom, and steam is slowly seeping from beneath the door. I walk over to the window she hates so much. There are a few sailboats on the water, but there’s barely any wind, and they’re moving slowly. I watch them sail for a long while, and still, the shower runs. What is she doing in there?
Another few minutes pass, and I decide to check on her. For all I know, she’s trying to drown herself. The thought propels me into the bathroom.
I see her silhouette through the matted glass and move closer.
Ah, there she is.
My mouth goes dry when I realize what she’s doing.
She’s pressed against one of the shower’s walls, her legs spread wide, one hand on the safety bar, and the other holding the showerhead to her pussy. Her eyes are squeezed shut. I watch as her lips part on a moan that gets swallowed up by the sound of the running water.
Every drop of blood inside my body rushes to my cock. I feel light-headed. It has nothing to do with the oppressive heat inside this tiny room, and everything to do with her. Her abdomen contracts, and she claws at the wall as her orgasm nears.
When her mouth moves, I can’t hear her, but I read her lips.
It’s my name she moans.
An inhuman growl tears its way up my throat. I’ve never wanted a woman more in my entire godforsaken life.
She hears it. Her eyes spring open, and she registers me standing right there. I try to breathe, but I can’t. It’s like the last bit of oxygen inside the room has disappeared.
Instead of stopping, she drops her head back and finishes herself off before me, her hooded gaze steady on me.
“Merda,” I breathe.
She trembles against the wall while I try to get my fingers to properly work. I’ve never hated button-up shirts before, but I do right now.
My eyes are greedy. They trail over her heavy breasts, the dip of her waist, the thickness of her thighs… Fuck me.
“Why are you here?” she mouths.