I’m starting to see the bigger picture. It was all about power. Giorgio Lombardi knocked up the daughter of a rival so he’d have a bargaining chip. A way to coerce an alliance with the Marianis. To force them into the game.
The details surrounding Renata’s conception are extremely vague, not to mention troubling, but I doubt I’ll find answers by interrogating the pathetic fuck in front of me.
“Except that he never got the chance to tie the knot,” Drago sneers, a twinkle of malice in his eyes. “Because your beasts descended on the house before he had even left to the church.”
“I’m familiar with that part of the story,” I reply dryly. “So Rokiades is trying to rally Lombardi and Mariani men under his control. Interesting.”
“They would be under my control, too.”
I want to laugh, but instead I bite my tongue and decide to let him keep believing in that particular fantasy—if only for a little bit longer. “I understand why the Lombardis would agree to this. You have everything to gain and nothing to lose. But why would the Marianis?”
Drago curls his upper lip at me. “Why do you think? Isabella Mariani died the same day my father did,” he snarls. “At the hands of your men.”
“My men don’t kill women or children.”
“How noble,” he mocks. “Except that she was found bleeding out in one of the rooms upstairs. You think that was a coincidence?”
Fuck. That can’t be right. My heart is thudding in my chest, but I keep my expression neutral.
“So that’s why Rokiades has his sights set on Renata,” I say. “She isn’t just a Lombardi. She’s a Mariani, too. She is more important than you are.”
“I told you want you wanted. Will you let me go now?”
Frowning, I leave him in his cell as he screams obscenities at my back.
“If he keeps yelling, feel free to shut him up,” I tell Donovan on my way out. “By any means necessary.”
* * *
I leave the mansion and make my way to the dock, where my personal yacht floats serenely by the water’s edge. I climb aboard, feeling my tendons tense with renewed anxiety, and go down to the lower deck.
Up top, everything is gilded, refined, luxurious. The lower interiors are nothing but austere and functional practicality.
But that’s exactly the point. A vessel that hides more sinister secrets.
I ignore the door on my right, though I do shiver a little as I pass it. When we first brought Renata here, I had a plan that involved the room behind that door. A quick route to breaking her spirit.
Now, things have changed. The purpose of that room has shifted, become more straightforward. But that will come later.
I keep walking past it, straight to the dark red door that stays locked at all times. I have the only key. I unlock it and slip inside. Immediately, I’m hit by the smell of metal and oil. The cache here is tiny compared to the weapons vault I have in Manhattan. But it holds everything I need to do my job. Not to mention that the whole boat is rigged to detonate at the slightest sign of forced entry. Which means any cops who decide to snoop on my property will never be able to procure evidence. Nothing to pin on me. Just another precaution in the life of a don.
I’m picking out my weapons of choice when I hear the distinct sounds of footsteps on the top deck, just above my head. Then they start thunking down the stairs—towards me.
No one else has permission to be aboard. Whoever’s here most definitely does not work for me.
Drago swore his men were coming for him. Is this the first sign of that assault? Or maybe they’re here for Renata.
Raising a gun, I step out of the door and prepare to shoot.