I snort in contempt. “Your men don’t give a shit about you.”
“I am the fucking don!” he whines petulantly.
“No, you are a fucking child,” I retort. “Just because you’re playing pretend doesn’t mean everyone else has to humor your delusions. In any case, I know they won’t make a move on me. Not when they know I have Renata.”
His eyes spark and I catch a glimpse of some secret that Drago’s been holding all these years. I decide to pull at that thread.
“She’s important, isn’t she?” I press. “More important than you, somehow.”
His eyes narrow. Even in his weakened state, he doesn’t like being compared to his sister. Even worse, he hates coming up short. “She’s a fucking useless whore.”
My fist snaps across the air. CRACK. Drago’s head falls limply to the side. I’m worried I’ve knocked him out completely, but then he coughs up some blood and blinks hard.
“I want answers,” I tell him. “Why is this marriage pact between Renata and Rokiades so important to both mafias?”
Drago looks at me wearily. When he says nothing, I sigh with exasperation. “Fine,” I sigh. “You don’t want to talk? Maybe a little waterboarding will help loosen your tongue.”
Drago’s eyes spark with panic as they widen. “No! No… not that…”
“Donovan!” I call. “Get me a towel and a bucket of water. We’re going to have a little—”
“Wait!” Drago all but screams. “Wait, just… what do you want to know?”
Jesus. He hasn’t even seen the fucking water. “Pussy” doesn’t even begin to do it justice.
“Let’s start simply. When did the alliance between you and Rokiades begin?”
“A… a few months ago,” he spills. “Rokiades approached me.”
“The Greek approached you?”
“Yes,” Drago hisses. “I told you, the Lombardi name—”
“Spare me,” I interrupt. “What was his plan?”
“He wanted to unite our families,” Drago says grudgingly. “He wanted Renata.”
“Hmm. What aren’t you telling me?” I ask, leaning in a little. “And I’d think twice before you decide to lie. We’ve got an endless supply of water here, believe it or not.”
Drago snarls for a moment before his courage gives way. “Because… because of her mother.”
I freeze. “The fuck did you just say?”
“Her mother,” Drago repeats through gritted teeth. “Isabella Mariani.”
“Mariani,” I repeat under my breath, trying to place the name. “Mariani, Mariani…”
Then realization dawns.
The Marianis were big players in New York decades ago. Long before the Clan showed up on the scene. Long before the Lombardis rose to power. They were small-time, but well respected across the city. The patriarch of the family was known for helping struggling Italian immigrants. He was also known for being content with his lot, happy with the family’s pull, their power, and their territories. Which is the only reason I’ve allowed them to coexist with the clan in New York these past two decades.
They’ve never craved power before. So why now? And where does Rokiades come into all this?
“The day the Clan stormed the house, my father was getting married,” Drago tells me, as if I’ve forgotten. “The woman he was marrying was Isabella Mariani.”
I frown. “Renata was five years old at the time. What’s this got to do with her?”
“Yeah, and?” Drago asks. “My father stuck his cock in the Mariani bitch long before they got married. She made him wait. Or she needed to be convinced, maybe; I don’t know the whole fucking story. But I do know that, when she got pregnant, my father insisted the baby live under his roof. Five years later, the demanding bitch finally agreed to marry him.”