Amo nodded and blinked a few times. Luca stood and held out his hand. “Let’s check out your uncle’s new bike. It’s even faster than his last.”
Amo took Luca’s hand and beamed up at his father.
They looked so much alike, it filled my heart with ridiculous happiness. Luca had been worried he’d be too hard on a son, especially if he looked like him, but he needn’t have worried. He was strict toward Amo but never cruel. He wasn’t anything like his father.LUCAAfter we’d inspected Matteo’s new bike, Amo dashed off again, probably to bug his sister.
“I’m starving,” Matteo said. “Why don’t we go in and check if your little monsters left us any leftovers.”
We walked back up the driveway and entered the mansion. With her six years, Marcella looked remarkably like her mother, except for the black hair. She raced toward me the moment I entered, Amo hot on her heels.
She hugged my middle, peering up at me with a pout. “Amo hit me!”
My eyes flew toward my son. Amo glared at his sister. “She hit me first!”
“Because you took my doll and ripped its head off.”
I narrowed my eyes at my son. “You don’t ever raise your hand against your sister, understood?”
He gave a reluctant nod. I caught Marcella poking her tongue out at him and nudged her chin up with my finger. I was often too lenient with her, but it was hard to be strict when she looked at me with her mother’s eyes and face. “And you won’t hit your brother again.”
She flushed. “Okay.”
I turned back to Amo, who looked triumphantly at his sister. “Why did you rip the doll’s head off?”
His face scrunched up in disgust. “Marci made kissy noises and told me to kiss it.”
Matteo leaned in the doorway, chuckling.
“Why don’t you torture your uncle?” I suggested.
Amo didn’t need to be told twice, of course. With a battle cry, he stormed toward Matteo and latched on to his leg like a spider monkey. Marcella was close behind and started tugging at Matteo’s arm, trying to bring him to his knees.
“Mercy,” he moaned and went down. I rolled my eyes at his theatrical performance but my kids loved it. Matteo began tickling them and Amo dashed away, out of reach and hid behind me. I chuckled and tousled his hair. He pressed up to my leg. It seemed ridiculous that I’d ever thought I would be cruel to a son. I was stricter with him and I had to harden him, but I would never hurt him like our father had hurt Matteo and me.
Matteo got Marcella and began tickling her. “Help!” she called between laughs. Amo released me and flung himself back at Matteo to help his sister. My smile fell the second Amo reached for Matteo’s gun in the holster at his waist.
“No,” I growled sharply, and he snatched his hand back at once. Both Marcella and him watched me wide-eyed.
Matteo cleared his throat and pointed at his holster. “You won’t ever touch a gun without your father’s or my permission.”
They both nodded but still threw glances my way. Sighing, I walked over to them and tousled their hair, glad when they relaxed, my sharp tone forgotten. “Why don’t you find your mother?”
With a nod and a smile, they rushed off.
“I wouldn’t have let him touch my gun,” Matteo assured me as I straightened.
“I know,” I said. Eventually, Amo would learn to handle guns and knives, but under our supervision and not at three years old.
My cell rang. I didn’t recognize the number. I raised the phone to my ear. “Yes?”
“Luca,” said a male voice. “It’s been a while. It’s Fabiano.”
I almost dropped the fucking phone. “Fabiano Scuderi?” I motioned for Matteo to follow me outside and turned the speakerphone on.
“I am calling you in my Capo’s name.”
Matteo’s eyebrows shot up.
“Your Capo?” I repeated, still trying to process the news that this was Fabiano.
“Remo Falcone. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.” A hint of amusement rang in his voice.
I heard about him all right. Ever since he took over Las Vegas and most of the West, he was a nagging headache.
“You contacted us for negotiations regarding delivery routes for your drugs. I am his Enforcer, and I would like to come to New York for negotiations in Remo’s stead.”
Matteo shot me a look and mouthed Enforcer. It had been weeks since I’d sent Remo a message through a middleman. The Outfit was intercepting our drug deliveries, and Remo’s territory was our best option to find new delivery routes. I didn’t trust Remo one bit, but drugs were our main business and I needed to make decisions that helped the Famiglia despite my personal feelings toward Remo. Since working with Dante was out of the question that left only the fucking Camorra, even if I hated the thought.