Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Most of them are giving me hard stares, and in that moment, I realize something. Dad’s outnumbered. His Capos and their soldiers want to fight. They lost friends and revenue in that attack, and they don’t want to sit back and let it go unpunished. The Famiglia wants to show strength, while Dad wants to retreat and hide away.
“If the girl can really give us those bastards, we have to take her up on it,” Uncle Alvino says, standing up. He gestures around him. “You know how everyone feels, Don Rinaldo. You know we respect your wisdom and will back you in any choice you make. But those two Irish fucks murdered my guys. I want revenge.”
“I know how you feel, Alvino, but they won’t be the last to die if we go fight for the Rossis in a conflict that doesn’t involve us.”
His words hit blank stares. Even Uncle Sanzio and Uncle Gasparo back away from him. Dad looks small all of a sudden, lost under the pressure of his own men to do what’s right, to make the hard choice. They want strength, and even if Dad’s right in keeping his head down like the Milano Famiglia, they don’t care.
“How can we be sure you’ll follow through with your offer?” Uncle Alvino asks.
“I swear, if you agree, I’ll make sure they’re brought to you as quickly as possible.”
His eyebrows raise. “You have them already?” When I don’t answer, he turns to my father. “Don Rinaldo, please. I beg of you, please, accept this proposition.”
More men call out in support. Uncle Sanzio looks grim. “Rocco, I think it’s time,” he says.
Dad stares murder at me. I know what he’s thinking. And he’s absolutely right.
I did this on purpose.
I didn’t approach him in private first. I didn’t give him time to come up with arguments and reasons. I ambushed him here, in front of his men, because I knew this would happen. He can’t risk looking like a coward. He can’t turn his back on the revenge his Capos and his soldiers desperately need. I put my father in a shitty position to get what I want.
“Alright, Allegra Rossi,” he says, spitting out the name like it’s shit on his tongue. I nearly whither under his hateful stare. “If you can produce the Irishmen, I accept your terms.”
I pull out my phone and send Gian a text. Bring him in.
“There’s one small complication,” I say as the bowler throws a strike. Each clattering pin feels like a gunshot to my nerves. “One of the two shooters is already dead. He was killed when Gian and Carlo tried to capture him.”
Uncle Sanzio steps forward. “You already have the other one? How didn’t we know about this?”
“They kept it quiet,” I tell him.
Dad steps away from me. His hands are shaking. We kept it quiet to back him into a corner. He knows it. I stare back at him, keeping my face straight, betraying nothing.
Even though this kills me.
Gian enters in through the front. Dante comes behind him, dragging a man tied up by a rope around his neck. The Irishman’s hands are bound in front of him. He’s wearing dirty clothes and no shoes. His face is covered with a blindfold. Gian yanks it off when he’s presented to the Capos.
“That’s him,” Uncle Alvino says, real malice dripping from his words. “That’s the Irish fuck that killed my boys.” He moves forward and accepts the rope from Gian.
“We’re glad you’re joining us, Don Rinaldo,” Gian says with respect and reverence.
My father’s face is white. His hands twist into fists. “It seems like you’re getting your alliance after all,” he says through his teeth. Behind him, the bowling ball rolls into the pins, and Uncle Alvino kicks the Irishman onto the floor, and the other Capos join in, the older man savagely and viciously beating their prisoner into an ugly pulp.
I turn my back and try not to hear the man’s screams of pain. Gian takes my hand and we leave the bowling alley together.
Chapter 41
Allegra
Iaccept a steaming mug of coffee from Tara, the woman who works the morning shift in the Rossi mansion’s kitchen. The older cook pats my shoulder. “Want anything else, dear? I can make you a scramble if you like?”
“No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”
She gives me a sympathetic nod and heads back to the island. I remain alone at the table, staring out the window at the back garden. I think I can see my bush among all the wildflowers, or maybe that someone else’s bush, I can’t really tell. They’re all the same. But it’s comforting knowing that I have a little piece in this garden.
“You did well.” Renzo’s standing next to the table. He hesitates for a second before lowering himself down into the chair opposite. Black bags hang under his eyes and his hair’s scruffy. “I just got off the phone with your father.”