She’s gone.
Shit!
When I asked her to stay, I should have been more convincing, but I never dreamed she’d leave in the middle of the night.
Was it me that drove her away? Or the fact that her family has a hit on her, and she doesn’t want to bring it to my door?
“Fuck, when did you see her last?” I yell at Matteo.
“She was with you. I assumed she stayed with you. I didn’t check on her last night, boss. I’m sorry. I fucked up.”
“It’s not entirely your fault, we miscommunicated,” I grumble.
It’s my fault. I should have never toyed with her emotions. I couldn’t stop at being happy. No. I had to push her, and I pushed her hard alright. I should have never dangled Carla in front of her. And I could have been more attentive to her after we had sex. I never make love—that’s too personal—and I won’t risk falling in love just to make a woman happy after sex.
“Well, tear her room apart, look for any clue that might lead us to her. I’m sure she went back to her family. And be on high alert in case her family sent a hitman.” Leave it to the Contis to be despicable and ruthless. “Her brother set her up because she has compassion for those girls and her best friend,” I add, growling. “She might know too much about them and they will assume she’s sided with us if they know she’s been living here.”
I’m worried. I never worry over women. Her life is in danger—in fact, we need to mobilize now. No more training, no more emotions. It was fun while it lasted, but I have to get back to being ‘Sal the fixer’ or she’ll never come out of this alive.
I wrestled with claiming her since I met her. I don’t need more responsibility. But I made her my responsibility, and now, she’s in a terrible situation because of me.
Granted, she came after me, but she doesn’t have the heart of a killer unless it’s necessary for her own survival. I knew that when she attacked me because she had me dead to rights.
The phone rings. It’s Dante. He’s concerned about the Albanians who showed up in another club last night and wants to send a message. I let him know about Francesca and tell him we need to prepare to head south. I’m not about to sit on the sidelines.
“We can’t fight on both fronts at the same time,” I inform him, telling him what he already knows.
After a moment, he asks, “Are you sure Francesca went south?”
“As sure as I can be. I told her about the hit her brother ordered. Knowing her the way I do, I bet she wants to strike first when they least expecting it.”
“Hm, you know her that well, little brother?” and the cockiness in his voice tells me he knows we’re something more.
Am I that transparent?
“Okay, no jokes about it, you know me, always the player and don’t worry, I never fall in love.”
Or have I let my guard down?
“Sometimes I think your heart is darker than mine and what our life would be like if not for this darkness casting shadows over our once pure souls.”
“True, but women have a way of getting to us nevertheless, eh?”
“Yes, so south it is. I’ll call Marchello and let him know. I’m coming too.”
“Brother, no, you need to stay and protect our territory,” I plead but he’s already hung up.
Granted he has men of his own, but Dante, being the don, has to be protected above all others. God knows I don’t want to be the head of the family. As it is, I have my hands full between Francesca and worrying about the Albanians.
Today the increasing pressure of being surrounded by my enemies is real. From the Albanians in the north, who are muscling in on our territory, to the Conti/Calabreses in the south, who have always been a pain in our ass. The squeeze is coming whether we like it or not it’s inevitable.
And now, Francesca is caught in the middle of our feud with her family.
There are no good avenues to negotiate alliances in the mafia world because it’s each family for themselves. Nowadays, we’re into so many different money-making ventures that it’s more and more likely to step on each other’s toes.
It’s not like we all use the same playbook, but we do primarily use the same methods to make our money. There are times we need each other to keep business moving and profitable, like the use of the same middlemen at times but we’ll never know. A middleman who opens his mouth is a dead man.
There are levels to each of these money-making endeavors and Dante over sees the entire operation. Who do we get the drugs from? Are they reliable? In the end, the final sales have to be accounted for because the drugs and money go through a few hands and any hand can take.