Page 102 of The Hidden Heir

The bruises on my face are fresh. They’ll heal quickly, but for now, I take them as marks of my failure.

“Mr. Petrucci, welcome,” Johnny Mancini says as soon as the elevator doors slide open. He gives me a tired half smile. “How are you holding up?”

“How do you think I’m holding up?”

“Yeah, it was a dumb question,” he replies.

We shake hands, and he nods to the security guard—his cue to go back downstairs. They need all of their key men on the ground floor. No one else is allowed to come in.

“Getting any closer to finding her?” Johnny asks.

We’re headed through a spacious and brightly lit hallway of the Vandenberg Wing. At the end of it, behind smoky glass walls, is our meeting room . I see the men’s silhouettes, all of them—what’s left of them, anyway, gathered around the table.

“Not yet,” I reply. “But thank you for sparing some men of your own for the search.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Johnny replies. “And I know Carmine’s widow sent a few of her own, too.”

I nod. “Yes, she did. Good woman.”

“She won’t be attending today’s meeting, however. She sent Frankie Caruso. Do you remember him?”

“Carmine’s cousin.” I exhale sharply. That’s not good. It certainly won’t work in my favor, because Frankie bends like a reed in the wind.

“It’s not looking great in there; I’ll tell you that much. It’s why I came out to greet you,” Johnny says. “What happened at the gala changed everything, and not for the better.”

“Whatever is on the plate tonight, it will have to do.”

I enter the conference room with a scowl on my face, my shoulders squared. My biggest challenge will be to refrain from tearing Mauro Mancuso limb from limb. To my surprise, he didn’t come alone tonight. Caroline is by his side—and I wonder if he brought her with him to keep me from giving him what he deserves, or is the old fool ailing and finally ready to hand the reins over to his daughter?

The sour look on his face tells me it’s not going to be an easy meeting for any of us.

“Gentlemen,” I say, taking my seat.

The others offer a nod in an unsynchronized unison. The elder dons look tired and worn out, as if they’ve been through the wringer their whole lives, and they’re nearing the end. The younger ones seem miserable. Some show signs of fear. The Gamberetti massacre took its toll.

Caroline smiles. “I’m glad you could make it, given the circumstances.”

“I’d rather be somewhere else right about now, but I’ve got good people handling the situation,” I reply.

By now, it’s common knowledge that someone took my wife and nephew. They were all supposed to know. That was one of the main reasons behind the wretched operation to begin with. Now, I just need to confirm that it’s Mauro Mancuso’s disease-addled brain behind it.

“I’m sorry there are so few of us left,” I say. “I’m counting, what, twelve of us? Out of twenty-four. Someone did their job at the ballroom alright.”

Mauro Mancuso glares at me. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing, but now that you bring it up⁠—”

Joseph Romano interrupts, his voice heavy and loud. “The first order of business is the structure of our leadership organization.”

Joseph is one of the dinosaurs, having come up in Capelli’s crew before he branched out on his own. I used to have his full confidence, but something tells me that has changed.

“While the grieving families bury their loved ones and get their affairs in order, it will just be the twelve of us. One vote per family. A tiebreaker will be called in if necessary.”

“Who’s the tiebreaker?” I ask.

“Loretta Gamberetti,” he says. “Nicolo’s daughter. She has expressed an interest in taking over for him when the time is right, but she’d like to deal with the aftermath of that debacle first. For now, however, she’s still a phone call away. Is everyone in agreement?”

Hearing the Gamberetti name feels like a punch in the gut. Nicolo was my good friend. I’m Loretta’s godfather, and since Nicolo was killed, she hasn’t returned any of my calls. Losing my goddaughter’s confidence is a dark omen. She won’t break the tie in my favor, that much I suspect.