Page 10 of From Italy With Love

I stood, legs heavy, and followed him through the echoing hallway, the chill of the floor seeping through my shoes.

The deal was sealed. On paper, Giovanni’s future was secure, and so, supposedly, was mine. Even as I left, Madigan’s haunted eyes followed me. I remembered her trembling hands, the tear that slipped down her cheek when she thought no one was watching. I couldn’t stop the echo of Kelley’s words: I will kill her myself before I let scum like you put your hands on her. The threat was real, and I knew it—knew that my presence in her life had marked her, perhaps damned her.

Outside, Marco leaned against the car, tapping a nervous rhythm on the roof. I slid into the back seat, shutting my eyes, the engine’s low growl vibrating through the leather.

“How’d it go?” Marco asked, voice muffled by the tension thickening the air.

“We got the deal,” I said. But inside, a voice whispered... At what cost?

“That’s good, right?”

I opened my eyes, looking back at the Kelley house, sunlight glinting off cold glass, masking all the pain inside. I forced a nod, but my chest was tight with regret.

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s good.”

As the car rolled away, I stared at my reflection in the window, wondering if I’d ever see Madigan again, or if I even deserved to, as the ache in my chest refused to fade.

The deal was done, but what mattered most felt lost somewhere in the silence I’d left behind.

CHAPTER THREE

I called Giovanni from the hotel room an hour later, the city’s hum still in my ears, the deal’s weight heavy in my chest.

He picked up on the second ring. “Well?” he snapped, sharp as ever. Business before anything else.

“It’s done,” I said. “Twenty percent. Full access to the ports. First shipment can move in two weeks.” Twenty percent was more than just a number; it meant control over the flow of goods that could make or break our operation. With the docks open to us, every crate and container would be under our eyes, not theirs. This was leverage, survival, and power all rolled into one.

There was a pause, then a low whistle. “Twenty? Christ, Sal. I thought we’d be lucky to get twenty-five.” I could almost see his raised eyebrow, the grudging admiration beneath the skepticism.

“Kelley wanted to play hardball. I reminded him what happened when people played too hard.” I kept my tone even, but memories flickered—Kelley’s glare, the tension in that room, the shadow of past deals gone south.

“The Russian angle?”

“Among other things.” My mind flashed to what, exactly, those containers would hide—artifacts, electronics, sometimes things best left unnamed. Port access wasn’t just about money. It was the pulse of the whole empire.

Giovanni laughed, his voice crackling through the phone line, rough and familiar. “You always were better at this than me. When are you coming home?” The question was casual, but underneath it was the gravity of our world... family, duty, the unspoken things between us.

I looked out the window at the New York skyline, the glass and steel reflecting the gold of late afternoon. I remembered the way Giovanni used to pat my shoulder after a job well done, his pride always tempered by responsibility. There’d been times, after long nights, when he would cook eggs for us both, quiet moments when he looked over at me and nodded, just once, to say I had done right. Vegas was quieter, lonelier, but it was mine. The city lights here buzzed louder, but they never drowned out the distance I felt from my own blood.

“I’m not. I’m going to stay a few more days,” I said, shifting my weight. “I want to check in on Luc before I head back to Nevada.” I loved my family more than anything in this world. Would do anything for them, drop everything at a moment’s notice if they needed me, but even I needed something of my own, knowing I would never sit in Giovanni’s seat. That throne was his, and his alone. Besides, he had our cousin, Angelo Demarco, to watch his back, and Angelo was loyal to a fault. If I were needed, if things got serious, Gio knew he could call me and I’d be on the next plane out. But Vegas was my home now. Had been for years.

I owned a gentlemen’s club. A name that barely hinted at what it truly was. Velvet-lined booths glowed beneath amber light, soft jazz curling through the air, mixing with the faint scent of expensive cologne and aged whiskey. The club drew in businessmen, high rollers, celebrities—people who craved luxury and secrecy in equal measure. I gave them both the atmosphere to let down their guard, the entertainment to make them forget their worries, and above all, the kind of discretion money couldn’t be bought elsewhere. Sometimes, standing at the edge of the polished bar, I’d watch my guests lose themselves in the swirl of conversation and laughter, and I’d wonder how many of them were using the place as a mask, just like I was.

“Luc?” Giovanni’s voice sharpened slightly. “What’s wrong with Luc?”

“Nothing’s wrong. He’s got another exhibit coming up. You know how he gets before these things. He gets stressed and distracted. I figured I would make sure he’s not doing anything stupid.” The excuse slipped out with practiced ease, but a pang of guilt tugged at me as I thought about Luc’s anxiety, knowing my real reasons for staying had nothing to do with his upcoming exhibit. I pictured him hunched over his canvases, paint on his hands, oblivious to the world I moved in.

It was a good lie. Plausible. Our younger brother Luciano had always been the artist in the family, the one who somehow escaped the life we were all born into. He lived in a SoHo loft, painted abstract pieces that went for obscene amounts of money, and liked to pretend he didn’t know what his brothers did for a living. And yes, he got anxious before his shows. Sometimes he made questionable decisions when stressed. I cared about him. God, did I, but as I walked over to the bed and sat, the memory of his nervous energy felt distant, almost like someone else’s family.

But that wasn’t why I was staying. There was someone else, someone I couldn’t share with Giovanni, who kept me tethered to New York. Something had shifted during the meeting with Kelley, a current running beneath the surface, and I wasn’t leaving until I knew for sure.

“All right,” Giovanni said slowly. “Tell him I’m proud and expect him home for Christmas, and you have a safe flight back to Nevada.”

“Call if you need me for anything.”

“Sal?”

“Yeah?”