Page 7 of Damiano De Luca (The Five Syndicates)
On the other hand, the other syndicates had no warning. Not only had they not known he’d take over the De Luca syndicate, they hadn’t even known he existed. Damian had to unease them.
“It’s not crazy,” I offered Frankie. “If you know Damian, you wouldn’t think it’s crazy.”
I told him this because I might have been avoiding Damian, but he still deserved respect from other syndicate bosses. And Frankie deserved a warning, too. He let me live in Connecticut— Romano territory—without asking what I did there or invading my privacy. Granted, my last name probably helped convince him.
“Do you know something I don’t, sweetheart?” the pet name slithered out of his mouth, oozing with condescension.
I took no offense to it. Some would get irritated by his tone, and throwing people off balance had a tendency to make them talk. A subtle but effective method. It just wouldn’t work on me, no matter how much time out of the mafia had softened me. I didn’t respond to verbal provocation.
I nodded and deadpanned, “Yes.”
My eyes crawled the length of Frankie, cataloging his body language. I wondered if he helped me maintain my privacy in Connecticut out of the goodness of his heart or to gain favor with my family. I never knew if someone was helping me because they liked me or because they wanted me to think they liked me.
The Vitali family governed the Italian crime syndicates across the world after wars had caused massive loss of lives, drawn attention to the syndicates, and wiped out a few families. The underworld needed a neutral party to keep everyone above the line, and my ancestors had the connections and wealth to be elected. We gathered an army, more money than anyone could possibly spend, and networked in all branches of governments in all countries syndicates existed. So, it was very possible Frankie treated me well to gain my family’s favor. It was also very possible he didn’t give a flying fuck. He was a Romano, after all, and they were second only to the Vitali.
He pulled a cigar from his pocket and offered me one. “But you won’t say…”
I shook my head. “A cigar contains as much tobacco as an entire pack of cigarettes.”
Frankie shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He rolled the edges of the cigar over his lighter flame, warmed the cigar, and removed the band.
I studied his movements and elaborated, “No one knew Damian existed. The only way that happens is if Angelo gave orders within his syndicate to keep Damian a secret.” Sequestering Damian in Devils Ridge helped, too. Until he dethroned Angelo, Damian rarely stepped foot outside of Devils Ridge.
Frankie took a drag and puffed the smoke away from both our faces.
It still smelled, but I ignored it and continued, “No one bothered to keep tabs on the De Lucas, because Angelo didn’t hold a candle to the other syndicates and the De Luca syndicate is mostly straight-laced oil money. That negligence is on everyone.” I met Frankie’s weathered eyes past the smoke. “But have you ever wondered why Angelo gave the order to keep Damian a secret?”
He drew the cigar away from his lips and stared out at the crowd that had gathered in the church’s side lot. “He didn’t want us to know he had a potential successor.”
“Yes, but it’s one thing to have someone who can succeed you through lineage. It’s another thing entirely to have someone who others would want to succeed.”
“So, everyone in the De Luca syndicate wanted Damian to take over, which means Angelo’s either an asshole or Damian is that good… and we both know Angelo’s an asshole. He’s not right in the head either.”
Frankie underestimated Damian. Back in Devils Ridge, I’d always suspected Damian saw value in being an unknown entity.
“Have you considered the possibility it’s both those reasons?”
“Truthfully, I haven’t really talked to the boy.”
“The boy is nearing thirty, and he revitalized a failing syndicate in less time than it takes to become a dog trainer.” My tone slipped past my lips sharper than intended. I was being defensive when I was no longer supposed to care about Damian.
After his coup, Damian dredged his syndicate up from the trenches. No syndicate compared to the Romano syndicate, but the De Luca family now rivaled the Camerino, Andretti, and Rossi syndicates.
“You sound impressed. Maybe even a little indignant.” Frankie paused, his cigar hovering at the edge of his lips as he raised a brow. “Or perhaps like you care, Little Ren.”
Well, fuck.
I redirected, hoping he didn’t see through me, “Frankie, I like you. I chose your syndicate to lay roots in, and you’ve given me privacy. So, I’m offering you advice here as someone who has lived in Devils Ridge. As someone who has lived with Damiano De Luca for over a year. He’s not someone you should take lightly.”
“Noted, sweetheart.” He gave me a sweet smile, and given the morose setting, he looked almost at peace. “Just so you know, Renata, you’re not fooling me. Your eyes have been darting to him every other second. You don’t just sound like you care. You look like you care, too.”
His eyes scanned my face. Ten years ago, I never would have given anything away, but the civilian lifestyle didn’t give me much practice in concealing emotions. I needed to get my shit together if I wanted to survive this weekend.
Frankie shifted his gaze to Damian, who stared at me unapologetically from the opposite end of the lot. “The others don’t take well to him being here.”
I turned my body away, so I couldn’t see Damian in my line of sight anymore because Frankie was right. I had been staring. “By others, do you mean you?”
“No, I couldn’t care less if he’s here or not.” He stressed, “There are more important things in life to worry over than petty prejudices.”
