chapter 12
1210 Words
Chapter 12.
——♣——
Angelo had just arrived at the meeting in his black shirt and pants. If it were someone else who showed up this late, he would have him butchered immediately. But he was the Don and therefore an exemption, even though he rarely arrived late.
The meeting was being held in the back room of a restaurant in Palermo's old quarter.
And it was perfect.
No cameras. No outside staff. Safe and secured.
But even though it was ‘safe and secured’, Angelo still had a gun tucked into the pocket of his pants.
He couldn't afford to lose his guard. Especially when it seemed like someone was after ICorvi.
Signaling for a few of his men to wait out, he sat at the head of the table, and around him were his captains. Six men, each responsible for a different operation, a different territory, a different vein of the empire he had inherited, expanded and bled for.
Vito sat to his immediate right, thick arms folded. While Matteo Mancini, his consigliere, sat to his left with a leather folder open in front of him.
"The Catania shipment," Angelo said, breaking the silence.
Matteo opened the folder. "It was intercepted Thursday night. Clean sweep of the cargo, the vehicle and two of our men." He paused. "The men were found. The cargo wasn't."
Angelo sighed. At least his men were okay. "Any casualties?"
"Non-fatal. But they were precise." Matteo slid a photograph across the table. "They were subdued, but not killed. Whoever did this didn't want bodies. They just wanted the shipment and no noise."
Angelo studied the photograph, his mind racing.
Non-fatal.
No noise.
No bodies.
Clean sweep.
He set the photograph down, tapping his fingers on the table.
Who could be behind it? Being the largest clan in Italy, it'd be a bit tricky to lay a finger on who may be behind it.
Or could it be…
"The Red Devils. I suspect them," one of his captains offered from the far end of the table, completing Angelo's thought.
But somehow, even though the man had perfectly said what he had in mind, he surprisingly found himself saying..
"No.” His voice came out flatly.
The captain hesitated. "Boss, with respect, I'm sure they have motive—"
"The Red Devils make noise," Angelo said, without raising his voice. "They always have. Aggression is their signature, and they leave something behind to make sure you know it was them."
*Just like they did to mama.*
He looked at the photograph again.
"This was surgical. This was someone who didn't want to be identified. It was too clean," He leaned back in his chair. "That rules out the Red Devils entirely."
Silence filled the table for a brief moment.
Matteo's pen moved slowly across a notepad. "So… it's a new player?"
"Or an old one, one we haven't been looking at closely enough." Angelo replied.
He didn't say more than that even though he suspected another mafia family besides the Romano's.
But he couldn't say it. Not here.
Not with a theory that was still more instinct than evidence.
But that was the thing. The instinct was loud, consistent and it had been slowly building up for weeks now.
He couldn't name it yet, but the silent pressure at the edges of his empire, the precise and soundless attacks that left no fingerprints and no obvious motive…
Someone was moving.
Someone who was patient and had been watching them long enough to understand their patterns.
And that, he didn't like.
Not one bit.
"Double the security on the northern routes," he said, closing the meeting. "I want eyes on every transfer from here until further notice. Nothing moves without confirmation from Amedeo's team first." He rose from the chair, buttoning his jacket. "And if anyone finds anything that looks like a thread, any thread at all, you bring it to me before you pull it."
His captains rose, heads bowing in agreement and respect as they cleared the room.
Angelo stood there for a moment after they'd gone, alone in the quiet with his hands linked behind his back and his eyes on the photograph still lying on the table.
He picked up the photograph, folded it, put it in his inside pocket, and left.
Whoever was behind it was surgical, precise and invisible.
But not for too long, because he'd catch them. And when he does….
He'll make them burn.
——♣——
Eventually, Angelo arrived back at the estate which was surprisingly quiet when he returned.
It was past midnight and the estate was only lit by the low perimeter lighting that ran along the pathways.
With his security team moving around him, he stepped inside, handed off his jacket and loosened his tie.
After that, Angelo moved through the entrance hall toward the staircase.
And it wasn't until he was three steps up that he noticed it.
At the far end of the east corridor, stood the library with lights on.
He paused and checked his watch out of habit. Twelve forty-seven.
“Who the hell is in there by this time?”
Certainly couldn't be his brothers. He knew them too well.
Descending the steps and walking toward it, he reached the door and pushed it open slowly.
The library was almost empty, except for the lights that were still on and the strong womanly scent that made him realize who was in without having to see her.
Millicent.
But of course, there was no Millicent in sight. Just the indent in the cushion where someone had been sitting for a long time, and on the armrest, a book.
It was no surprise she had been in the library. Ariel had told him about seeing her in it a couple of times.
And though he wanted to keep watch of her movement, the idea of her being comfortable in his home didn't sit well with him.
First his bed, now his library.
And speaking of bed, he'd need to address that very soon.
Angelo crossed the room and reached past the lamp, switching it off.
Then he stood in the dark for a moment, inhaling her scent. One he'd very much like to get out of his mind.
He turned and walked back toward the door, thinking about just how ironic the situation was. The scent he wished to never perceive again was once the scent that he couldn't do without for a day.
How naive he had been, breathing in the scent of a lady who had already made up her mind to betray him. Breathing in the scent of someone he thought he knew but actually knew nothing about.
He had been 21, young, foolish and in love. He had true love. Or believed he had.
And that love, that trust, it had cost him a lot.
At the end of the day, it left him for dead, bleeding in a lonely alley with a knife running through his chest and a scar mark that he now carried there for life.
He survived though. He had to.
But since then, he built his walls stronger than before.
And never would he trust a Romano again.
- Writer
