Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Which puts me in a fucked position.
Chapter 31
Elena
I’m still not used to seeing Simon behind Dad’s desk. I mean, at this point, it should be totally natural—but I still remember when my older brother was a little kid running around the street causing mayhem with all the soldiers and driving my parents crazy.
Now he’s the don with a wife on the verge of giving birth and a terrible war bubbling over.
At least the office is mostly the same. Simon made some changes—swapped out old photos, got rid of some ugly antiques, put in a new carpet—but mostly it’s got the same feel. Lots of leather-bound books. A fancy drink cart and expensive liquors in crystal decanters. Everything designed to exude power and wealth.
Davide’s lurking near the drink cart while Dad’s sitting on a couch against the far wall. I’m in a chair closest to Simon’s desk, while Simon’s sitting back with his legs crossed, hands folded together in front of his face, looking thoughtful.
“And you’re saying Brody came up with this plan?” he asks, glancing over at Dad. I don’t bother looking at him. I know what he’s thinking already: he probably hates this.
“It’s simple. Get Santoro alone in a room with the cops and let nature take its course.”
Simon grunts, shaking his head. “What evidence do the cops have on Santoro? I mean, lots of speculation, but actual facts?”
“We have evidence.” Davide’s voice is low and neutral. He’s also trying not to look at Dad. “I have plenty of fucking evidence that I’d happily turn over.”
“You boys want to use the police to settle your scores?” Dad does not sound happy about that. Old-school mafia dons would never hand over another don to the police. Except the old school is dying out, and I’d rather win by any means necessary, even if that means giving up ancient ideas about honor among thieves or whatever.
“I haven’t said what I’ll decide.” Simon stares at Dad, his expression hard. We all know what that means: he’s the don, not Dad, and he gets to choose what the Famiglia does these days.
“The police are not our friends. They are not our allies. They cannot be trusted.” Dad shifts and tries to cross a leg, grunts in frustration, and gives up. His wounds still bother him, but he’s been serious about staying sober and going to physical therapy, and both are helping him. “I understand that the Quinns have deeper connections than most, but the police only care for themselves and nobody else.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Simon looks like he wishes Dad weren’t around for this and I can’t blame him. “How are you going to get Santoro alone?” he asks me.
“Brody’s working on that. I don’t know the details.”
“And you think this cop’s going to go for it? If we provide the evidence?”
“Captain Kennedy’s a corrupt piece of shit, but I’m pretty sure he knows taking down a kingpin like Santoro will be good for his career.”
Dad stands up abruptly. His face is twisted in pain. “I won’t be a part of this,” he announces and turns to the door. “It’s foolish to use the police in such a manner. Luciano Santoro will see through it. Mark my words.” He storms out, slamming the door in his wake.
Nobody speaks at first. We’re all staring after our father, and I know what my brothers are thinking. He cares about Santoro still, even after all these wars, all this trauma, all this pain. I don’t get it but I’ve long since accepted that when it comes to Dad and Santoro, nothing makes sense.
“If Brody can do it, I’m interested,” Simon finally says. “Whatever gets Santoro off the streets and ends this war.”
“Brody did mention something.” I clear my throat, sitting up straight. “He thinks we might need to use Dad. You know, to get Santoro to show up.”
Simon laughs. He sounds bitter and gestures at the door. “Seriously? You think Dad’s going to have any part in this?”
“I know. I told Brody that already. But he was insistent. If we can get Dad to broker this meeting, he thinks Santoro will actually show.” I shrug, feeling helpless. I don’t fully understand where Brody’s going with this, but I trust him. “Besides, Dad kind of owes us, since he was such a prick last year.”
Davide laughs, low and throaty. “That’s a goddamn understatement.”
“I’ll talk to him.” Simon rubs his face with both hands. “God, I really hoped we could just kill a whole bunch of those bastards and end this fast.”
Instead, it’s been a war of attrition. Every hit we make, Santoro hits right back. Matty’s the most recent high-profile death, but there have been others. A Capo two months ago, more soldiers than I can count. Too many bodies. We’ve never been weaker, and I’m determined to turn things around, or at least neutralize the threat.