“Nothing yet,” I reply, keeping my voice deliberately low. “Your timing is perfect.”
Dom strides past me with that casual confidence that only men who think they’re immune to danger can pull off. He engulfs Rico in a bear hug, slapping him on the shoulder like they’re old friends catching up after a fishing trip instead of representatives of rival crime families with enough bad blood between them to fill the Allegheny.
“Rico! Holy shit!” Dom’s laugh booms across the manicured lawn. “When’d you get in from New York?”
Rico tolerates Dom’s physical contact with surprising grace. A courtesy he wouldn’t extend to me.
“Right now, as a matter of fact,” Rico answers, his voice carrying that distinctive blend of Brooklyn streets and Manhattan privilege. His eyes slide past Dom and lock onto mine. The hatred in those eyes burns as brightly as it did when we were children.
Rico LaRiccia. Son of my father’s sister, Arianna Bavga LaRiccia.
A beautiful woman I have no memory of.
The woman whose blood ties our families together in the most complicated of ways.
The woman whose infidelity sparked a war.
My aunt Arianna was killed by Rico’s father, Luca LaRiccia, after he discovered she was having an affair with her driver.
Both parties met the same fate—three bullets to the chest.
Arianna’s death ignited a conflict between the LaRiccia Crime Family of New York and our smaller Bavga operation in Pittsburgh.
A war we couldn’t win but didn’t entirely lose.
My father, Salvatore, eventually had to concede that Arianna violated family loyalty. He was forced to accept the uneasy truce that followed, despite the fact that his sister’s blood had been spilled.
Even back then, the LaRiccia family had three times our numbers, ten times our connections, and a New York City foothold that gave them access to ports, politicians, and power our Pittsburgh operation could only dream of.
We were outmatched in every conceivable way.
But my father negotiated terms that kept us alive, though permanently in the LaRiccias’ shadow. That shadow has fallenacross my entire life, with the LaRiccias demanding tribute, respect, and occasional non-negotiable favors that my father couldn’t refuse.
For twenty-seven years, my father has carefully maintained this peace, knowing that one wrong move could restart a conflict we cannot survive.
Twenty-seven years of swallowing pride.
Twenty-seven years of strategic submission.
Twenty-seven years of staying alive by staying in line.
And now Rico is here, on our property, unannounced.
Why.
“Giovanni,” Rico says my name like it’s something stuck between his teeth. “Long time.”
I nod slightly. “Rico.”
Dom, aware of the bad blood between Rico and me, but always willing to defuse a situation, claps Rico on the shoulder again. “Man, you should’ve called! We would’ve had something set up for you. Got some girls from town or something.”
Rico’s eyes never leave mine. “Don’t worry, Dom. I brought my own.”
“Why are you here?” I ask, keeping my voice even.
Ricky sidles up beside me, sensing the rising tension. “So, uh, yeah. What brings you to our neck of the woods, Rico?”
Rico finally breaks eye contact with me to glance at Ricky. “It’s a party.” Those eyes meet mine again. “Didn’t your father tell you?”