Chapter 493 I Have Earned It
Enzo’s expression twisted. “You really are an arrogant bastard.”
“I have earned it.”
“You think you have what it takes to fight a war on two fronts?” Enzo drawled.
“That’s my problem,” Massimo said. “Worry about keeping the rest of your family alive. Get your carcass away from my premises.” He turned away then.
Marco remained where he was, broad shoulders squared, making sure the Vitales understood to leave quietly. The Genovese men held their positions behind him.
Massimo walked several steps before instinct made him look up. His eyes caught Carol. She stood on the top-floor balcony overlooking the courtyard, one hand gripping the railing,. Her face was pale with anger and fear. “Ah fuck!” he sighed and started to walk back in. He was going to have it, he really was going to have it.
He hadn’t even gotten to the steps yet when Carol appeared on the landing. Massimo stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked up at her.
The alarm had stopped blaring, but the house still carried its echo. She stood above him, hair loose around her shoulders, one hand on the banister.
Massimo exhaled. “Carol, I don’t want to hear it.”
“I don’t care.”
Naturally.
He should have known better than to try. Carol had never obeyed him. That had always been one of the reasons he wanted her. It was also, unfortunately, one of the reasons she gave him headaches that no amount of whiskey could cure. “See,” he said, starting up the stairs, “this is why we always have a problem.”
“We have a problem because men in this house think love means standing in front of bullets.”
Massimo stopped halfway up. He looked at her. The Don wanted to dismiss the conversation. The man beneath him wanted, foolishly, to go to her, place a hand at the side of her face, and tell her that he was tired too. Tired of wars. Tired of deaths.
Tenderness had always been harder for him than war.
“What would you have me do?” he demanded. “What would you have had Luca do?”
Carol came down two steps, anger flashing in her eyes. “Not everything has to be handled with blood.”
“Blood is usually the first language people understand.”
“Then learn another fucking language!”
His mouth tightened. She was not just angry. She was terrified.
“Bianca’s dead,” Carol said. “Now someone else has to die too. Who is it going to be? Who?”
Massimo said nothing.
“My sons? You?” Carol was afraid this famiglia would take every person she loved.
“Oh, I thought that last option would please you.”
Carol’s eyes flashed. “Immensely!”
They both knew it was false. Massimo didn’t even have the energy to respond.
“Fix this without a fight, Massimo,” Carol went on. Her voice had lowered now, but the anger had not left it.
Massimo looked up at her from the steps. “They want Luca. They want my son.”
“And you think I want you to hand him over to them?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Massimo…” She stopped, inhaled sharply, and for one second looked as if she was praying for patience from a God who had clearly stopped taking calls from the Genovese mansion. “I ask you again,” she said slowly, “do you have shit for brains?”
Carol sucked in another breath, visibly filing her irritation away. “I am not saying Bianca didn’t deserve to die. But Enzo is not unreasonable,” she continued. “He is grieving. He is furious. He brought his daughter here because he wants someone to blame. So give him the real person to blame.”
“Luca killed her.”
“After everything she did,” Carol snapped back. “After she attacked this family. After she helped set fire to the tiniest bit of peace you people have. Let him know everything his daughter did,” she said.
“We have tried.”
“Stop giving him scraps. Try harder.”
His brows lifted slightly. She stepped down another stair. He could see the fear under her anger. The way her hands trembled.
“Give him all the information,” she said. “Evidence. And when he doesn’t stand down,” she cut in, “then at least you will know you tried to stop this like a man with a functional brain and not a proud bastard. And it would have bought you some more time. A calm head can fix this, Massimo…I don’t care how much bragging you did out there, you know you cannot fight two wars.”
“We don’t have to,” Marco said from behind them.
Both of them turned. Marco stood at the entrance to the hall.
Massimo turned fully to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“I just spoke to Luca,” Marco said. “Turns out he did think ahead. “But he cannot give me the details over the phone,” Marco added. “He says we will have to trust him.”
“Well then,” Massimo said, as if the matter had been settled, “it’s settled.” He glanced at Carol. “You happy now? Your son fixed it.”
Carol inhaled heavily. She was deciding whether to answer with words or violence. Massimo did not wait to find out. He walked past her. She turned to Marco. “You trust Luca to be level headed.”
Marco’s mouth twitched. There were a great many ways to describe Luciano Genovese. Level headed was not always the first term to come to mind. But Marco knew Luca better than most. Knew the madness, yes. Knew the temper, the pride, the mercilessness. But he also knew the man beneath it—the one who loved with both hands closed around the throat of the world, daring it to take anything from him.
“Yes, Ma,” Marco said. “I do. He has too much to lose if he isn’t.”
She reached for him. “Let’s get you back in bed. You shouldn’t be moving around so much.”
“Ma, I really am very fine.” Marco sighed. “I feel great. I have all this pent-up energy and I have nowhere to put it.”
“You have a bed. Put it there.”
“Ma—”
“Just humour me, okay. Please.”
“Okay, Ma,” he answered reluctantly.
(Brought to you by Jennifer Willard 3/3)