“Fuck, no. I don’t give a shit about him. My problem isyou. You disobeyed a direct order, Orsini. What did you think was gonna happen to you when I found out?”
Pretty much this, actually. But I’m not stupid enough to say that. “I bought him because it was the only thing Icoulddo.” I’ve been working on this story, but I’m not sure how convincing it’ll be. Still, I need to try. “The Bratva had a lock on him. Did Seb tell you that?”
He just looks at me for a second, and I wish like hell I could take back what I just said. Because I see at once it wasn’t Seb who told him. So now I’ve gotten usbothin hot water with the Boss.
“Come on, Boss,” I say, hoping to bring his attention back to me, “I’ve done everything you’ve asked, every time. I haven’t touched the Clemenzas, and I’m not gonna kill this one. But you can’t blame me for taking what little scraps of justice are left on the table for me. For my father.”
Big Gee’s silence stretches, thick and grim. He sips my coffee from my cup, studying me over the rim. Then: “You’re gonna have to show him off.”
“What?”
“You heard me. You’re going to have to take him out somewhere public. Soon. Stamp out any rumors that you iced him. Because if D’Amato hears about this, there’ll be hell to pay. So you let everyone know that the Clemenza heir is still breathing—and thatyou’restill following my orders. You hear me?”
“Where am I supposed to take him to prove all that?”
“The fucking opera. Tomorrow night. D’Amato will be there with all his cronies. Some charity thing he insisted we all attend. I’ll send over some tickets.”
It’s true, Luca D’Amato has beenencouragingall the Families to attend shit like that, make donations, play nice with the city. But I hate the fucking opera as much as Big Gee does, and I don’t want to drag the Clemenza around just to show everyone that I’m behaving myself.
The Boss must see something in my face, because he stabs a finger at me again. “You’re on a short leash, Orsini. You so much as twitch, I’ll yank it hard enough to break your fucking neck.”
I’ve wondered sometimes what would happen if Big Gee tried to throw down with me. He has a rep built on good honest bone-breaking, just like mine. But the truth is, he hasn’t been involved in the grunt work for a long time. He works out at a boxing gym downtown, where his bodyguards all let him punch their lights out to feed his ego.
It’s making him soft. Soft in the middle and soft in the fists.
Me, I’m more like Seb. I’ve got no aspirations. I like where I am, and I like that I don’t have to lead a crew. I’m no good at that shit. I’ve got one talent, and I get to exercise it regularly.
So I just nod my head and tell the Boss what he wants to hear. That I’ll show up and parade my prize around like a show pony, make sure the Giulianos stay in good standing with the New York Commission—and Luca D’Amato.
“And one more thing,” he says on the way out. “I don’t like the way that old bitch of yours looks at me.”
“What, Rosa? She looks at me the same damn way. What do you want me to do about it, take her eyes out?”
He brays with laughter. “Make a good match for that driver of yours then, eh?” He shakes his head, still chuckling hard enough that he doesn’t notice I’m not laughing along. “Anyway. You tell her to watch herself.”
Big Gee leaves. I go down to the kitchen to find Rosa, who’s scrubbing already-clean countertops and pursing those lips again. “That man has no business giving you orders in your ownhouse,” she mutters under her breath, as soon as she knows I’m in hearing distance.
There’s no love lost between Rosa and the Giuliano Dons. Still, I can’t have her disrespecting the Family.
“You mind your damn manners around the Boss,” I tell her. “And call Lorenzo Benedetti. Get him over here this afternoon. Tell him I need a rush job.”
She scrubs harder and purses those lips until they disappear, but she nods.
I go back upstairs to the viewing room to check in on my property. Part of me wants to leave him down there alone in the dark for the rest of this year, let that flame flicker and die. But I’ve been given instructions by my Boss, instructions I have to follow.
The Clemenza has curled up on the bed. Spent. Small.
Vulnerable.
But Clemenzas are never really vulnerable. I need to remember that.
CHAPTER 19
DAMIANO
Lorenzo Benedetti arrivesthat afternoon armed with the weapons of his trade: measuring tape, fabric swatches, and the supreme confidence of a man who’s dressed billionaires with more money than taste for four decades.
“Mr. Orsini.” He gives a respectful bow as Rosa shows him into the great room. “You said this was urgent?”