Page 90 of Cartel Devil

“He wouldn’t dare. Sending that would understandably freak you out, but your dad and uncles know he wouldn’t touch you. He definitely wouldn’t send anyone after Toria. They wouldn’t survive her. If they did, they wouldn’t survive Alejandro. Hurting her, let alone killing her, would send Nicolò on a rampage. I wouldn’t put it past Sera to seek her revenge too. She can be as sweet as her pastries, but I know she can have an edge to her.”

He isn’t dismissive of my concerns. Rather he reassures me. My family has too, but it wasn’t by much. Sending me down to NYC means Francesco has something on my family or offered some major incentive. The Sicilian don loves to remind everyone of his position. He’s flashy and arrogant. You wouldn’t pick my dad out of a lineup if you didn’t know he’s a Mafioso. He looks like a football dad without the dad bod.

I look at my family, hoping they can shed more light on the situation. I’m positive they know more than I do. I got briefed enough to do the job, but I don’t know half of what goes on behind Uncle Tommaso’s closed office door. Emilio’s remained quiet, and he’s the one I wish would speak up the most.

He’s Salvatore’s nephew, of sorts. His dad, Domenico, is Salvatore’s adopted second cousin. Domenico’s sons, Emilio and Matteo, have always been more like Salvatore’s nephews than cousins. No one knew Domenico was adopted until the man was in his late forties. He’s Salvatore’s younger brother’s best friend. They all grew up together.

Emilio made some seriously horrendous choices when he was a teenager. They were only mildly better in his twenties. Salvatore basically banished him to New Jersey to oversee minor operations there. He’s still family and invited to major events and holidays, but he generally stayed away.

Whatever happened between him and Luca, the underboss and Salvatore’s oldest nephew, has been a secret only they kept. The tension’s apparently eased over the past couple years since Emilio decided to make amends. But he hasn’t earned Salvatore’s full forgiveness. Some deal was made with Uncle Tommaso, and he moved up to Boston to serve my family. He’s observant and astute, but he speaks only when spoken to.

“Emilio?”

Hopefully, that’s enough of a prompt to draw him in. I’ve learned that asking questions makes him shut down. But if I make statements that can elicit a response, then he’ll chat.

“I don’t know what’s going on between Uncle Salvatore and Don Francesco. I’m not privy to that.”

Better than nothing. It surprised me when he first moved up to Boston that he still refers to the NYC don as uncle. I got the impression the family ties were so frayed he wouldn’t be welcome to use that term. In that family, it’s what all my generation has called Salvatore regardless of whether they’re biologically his nephew or niece. All of my generation in NYC was raised like my generation in Boston. We’re more like siblings than cousins or family friends.

“Emilio, would Salvatore tell you anything if you asked for Tre’s sake?”

Emilio shrugs in response to Joaquin’s question. I sense it irritates Joaquin, but they’ve known each other longer than I’ve known either of them. I don’t know their history, but I’m certain they have one. Emilio received all the same training as the rest of the Mancinelli men, so he went on missions until everything fell apart. I’m sure that means he’s faced off against Joaquin before.

“Could you ask?” Joaquin’s tone conveys he shouldn’t have to ask the obvious.

“Sure.”

“Maybe sooner, rather than later.”

Joaquin’s stare is intense. Emilio must feel like it’s boring into him, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Where would you like me to take it, Joaquin? Out in the hall where anyone could hear me? In here or the bathroom where Tricia can hear it? I get it.”

Emilio doesn’t snap at Joaquin, but he’s annoyed. His mutinous glare screams he doesn’t take orders from my boyfriend. I look at Rocco or Dante, waiting for one of them to intervene or tell Emilio what he should do. Neither of them reacts.

Do they want Emilio to stand on his own two feet against Joaquin? Like it would cut off his balls if they stepped in?

Or do they not care that Joaquin’s pressuring Emilio?

I don’t know, but it brings the conversation to a halt.

“The doctor said I can go for a walk. Joaquin, will you take me? The guys can have the room.”

“Are you sure you’re up to, chiquita? I meant he should talk to his uncle today. I didn’t mean right this minute.”

“I’d like to stretch my legs.”

Joaquin appears skeptical, but he hands me the robe a nurse left this morning. He helps me get it on over my IV lines. I adjust my gown, and the guys look away as I attempt not to flash anyone. Joaquin walks around to the opposite side of the bed to help me up. He keeps one of my hands in his, and his other arm wraps around me, ensuring I can balance. I’m not that wobbly, but he’s worried, and I won’t turn down an opportunity for him to hold me.

“Five minutes.”

Joaquin’s gaze locks with mine, but I know he’s giving the others a heads up. He wraps his arm around my waist, and I grab my IV pole. He walks me to the door and opens it. Once we’re outside the room, he holds my hand instead. He doesn’t want to let go, but he wants to be sure I can walk around on my own. I’m slow, but that’s to give Emilio time to talk to Salvatore.

“Are you angry that I didn’t tell you this sooner?”

Joaquin offers me a soft smile before he answers, keeping his voice low. There’s no one else in the hallway, but we don’t need any of this to carry.

“No. It’s family business. You know I won’t tell you most things that go on that aren’t about my legit businesses. I don’t love you keeping things from me that involve your safety, but I get why you hesitated.”