He walks around to look at the screen just in time for the car to park in front of the house. The door opens.
Ras swears. “It’s the Pirozzis. Nelo and Vito.”
“What the fuck.”
“They have to be here on Sal’s orders. It’s the only reason the guard would let them pass.” Ras’s phone rings, and he picks it up. “Speak.”
Not two seconds later, Ras hangs up. “The guard just confirmed it.”
“Tell Martina’s driver not to come back until we tell him it’s clear,” I say as I grab my gun from the desk drawer and check to make sure it’s loaded. “I’m going to go greet them. Stay here unless you think I need backup.”
As I walk to the front door, the bell rings. It’s a good sign they used it instead of barging in. I tuck the gun in the front of my slacks and button up my jacket. I don’t know what they’re here for, but I’d prefer not to start a war today. We’re not ready for it yet. I need to buy us time, which means appeasing whatever this is.
They’re standing on the other side of the door wearing two shit-eating grins.
“Ciao, cugino. We were afraid you might not be here today,” Vito says.
“My car’s right there,” I say, pointing to the Mercedes they parked beside. “Did you think I went for a long walk to contemplate the scenery or something?”
Nelo steps over the threshold. His cologne is layered on so thick my eyes nearly start to water.
“You’ve got plenty to contemplate these days,” Vito says as he runs a hand over his gelled hair.
“Same as always. The business doesn’t run itself.”
“Is Martina here?” he asks as he passes me.
Ice drips into my bloodstream. Why the fuck are they asking about my sister? “No.”
We enter the living room, where Nelo immediately goes to the bar to pour himself a drink, and Vito follows the smells coming from the kitchen. The cook is making our lunch in there.
“Is that spezzatino di manzo?” Vito exclaims with exaggerated glee. “Smells better than the one my mamma makes.”
I stop behind him and gesture to the cook she should leave. Her eyes turn to saucers, but she manages to give Vito a tight smile. “It is. Almost ready. Just need to let it simmer for another five minutes.”
“Take a break, Angela,” I tell her, and she doesn’t hesitate to take off her apron and disappear through the back door.
“I think we’ll stay for lunch,” Vito says, slapping me on the chest as he walks back into the living room. My fists clench. I force them open.
They make themselves comfortable on the couch. Nelo is nursing what looks like a double shot of whiskey while he studies the chandelier above his head. “That’s a gorgeous piece.”
I take a seat in the armchair. “It’s from Murano.”
“Stunning work. My glassware is from there. The don recommended me the same workshop he got all of his own glassware from.”
Vito props his ankle on his knee and grins. “The don’s a real generous guy.”
“He really is. Isn’t he, Damiano? Look at all of this.” Nelo spreads his arms. “He gave all of this to you.”
I don’t bother correcting him. Sal didn’t give me anything. I grew the initial investment Ras’s father gave me into a fortune, and it was only after I proved myself that Sal insisted on giving me more capital to deploy. I did him a favor taking his money and growing it year after year.
“Why are you here?” I ask. Even my patience isn’t infinite.
Nelo takes a sip of his drink. “Remember what happened to me at Revolvr? You know, it really wasn’t that big a deal.” He lifts his hand up and shows me the scab. “It’s nearly healed. I was ready to move on and forget about it, but somehow it got back to the don-”
“I wonder how that happened.”
“No idea. I suppose he’s got eyes everywhere.”
There’s no doubt in my mind Nelo told him himself. These two are the don’s eyes on Ibiza.
“He wasn’t happy,” Vito says with a shrug. “He said when someone insults us, it’s the same as if they were insulting him.”
“And Sal doesn’t like to be disrespected,” Nelo adds.
They’re taking their sweet time spitting it out. “What do you want?”
The preemptively triumphant glint in Nelo’s eyes puts me on high alert. “I’ve had some time to reflect on all the fun I’ve had, and I think I’ve had enough for a few lifetimes,” he says. “I’m ready to settle down. The don approved of the idea. He suggested Martina might make me a good wife.”
My fingers dig so hard into the wooden armrests, I feel my fingernails splint. Red fills my vision. How dare he suggest such a vile thing?
Sal’s still trying to get my sister under his thumb. Does he think I’ll just hand her to them after their kidnapping attempt failed? He’s living in fantasy land. Martina will never be Nelo’s wife. I’ll rip his throat out before I let this asshole have her.
Whatever the two of them see play out across my face makes them sit up straighter. Vito makes a subtle movement of his hand, bringing it closer to the gun tucked behind his back. My own gun burns against my abdomen.
“She’s your cousin,” I grit out. “Even for you, that’s sick.”
“We’re related by our great-great-grandmother,” he says as he places his empty glass on the coffee table. “C’mon. You know that barely counts.”
“Martina’s not looking for a husband.”
“Why not? She’s almost nineteen.”
“Single,” Vito says.
“And beautiful,” Nelo adds. “I could see her warming my-”
If he finishes that sentence, I’ll rip out his tongue.
CRASH.
Vito jerks in his seat. “What was that?” he asks, looking toward the stairs.
Nelo arches a brow at me. “Is there someone else here?”
It must have come from Vale’s room. I grit my teeth. What the hell is she doing in there?
“I thought you said Martina wasn’t home,” Nelo says, looking at me as he moves toward the stairs.