Page 13 of The Mafia's Broken Vows
Someone must have tipped Boston off about my plan to get rid of that sample. The evidence being used to nail Martelli for murder—a piece of fiber lifted off the victim—was found to match the custom-made carpet in Martelli’s Rolls-Royce.
We tried getting Ecolab to mix things up to buy time until we were able to get rid of the damning evidence for good. The operation was planned for tomorrow, but on a hunch, I decided to move things up and get it done today. Sal and the rest of my men thought I was crazy, as usual, but since no one had any real objection, here we are.
“True, it’s close,” Sal replies, “but thanks to you, we’re still a step ahead of the prosecution.”
That offers little comfort, knowing there are too many informants everywhere, turning this trial into a fucking game of spies. “As long as you’re sure they haven’t yet collected the sample.”
Sal taps his thumb against the steering wheel in a rapid, three-beat rhythm—a nervous tic he hasn’t managed to shake. “No, but they will be in due course.”
Which, to Sal, probably means they’re on their way right now.
I smirk at his precise vagueness. “Then give Pietro the clear to move.”
“Sì, Dante.” Sal settles back into the driver’s seat, his eyes glinting with excitement. He clicks on his earbud and gives the order to Pietro. “We’re all set. Go.”
The tension in my shoulders eases slightly, though the weight of everything else remains, pressing down on me like a heavy cloak. One wrong move and this could all come crashing down on me.
Three years ago, two Capos, Tommy Martelli and Orlando De Luca, were on the verge of rebelling against the Outfit. Nico, the Don, and also my older brother, chose to eliminate only one of them: Martelli.
He offered me no explanation except for his gut instinct, which I respect, but I typically need more than a hunch to kill a man. So I insisted they both face the same justice—live or die. In one of his rare conciliatory moods, Nico relented and let them both live.
Now, it turns out Nico’s initial instinct was spot on. Three years later, Martelli is in the feds’ clutches, while I’m about to marry De Luca’s daughter. And I now feel personally responsible for bringing Tommy Martelli to the justice he should have had from the very beginning.
Starting with getting his charges dropped.
“By the way, Dante,” Sal says with a teasing grin, breaking the sudden tense silence, “I hear your future mother-in-law has been picking out china patterns and all. I dare say she is even more excited than the bride to get hitched to your family.”
The thought of my impending marriage leaves a sour taste on my tongue and an unpleasant twisting in my gut. “Yeah? Well, I sincerely hope for her sake she lives to see the day.” The words come out harsher than intended, but I don’t give a fuck.
“Killing your future mother-in-law won’t stop the alliance, fratello.”
“I have no intention of hurting her,” I shrug. But if the woman’s track record is anything to go by, the very things she’s most desperate for have a way of eluding her.
I suspect Bianca De Luca is the major driving force behind this alliance. Years ago, she was supposed to marry my father, but she somehow missed out on that. And now her daughter is on the way to becoming a Vitelli.
If my wife-to-be didn’t constantly torture my eyes with dirty texts, I would otherwise be inclined to think the woman was just as uninterested as me. But no, it appears the girl wants to marry me. As if the universe didn’t hate me enough.
Fuck.
The very idea of marrying Alina to keep her mother happy and her father loyal to the Outfit makes my suit feel about three sizes too small, which is why I’ve moved the date back.
Twice.
Nico is pissed off, but there’s not much he can do, considering he was the one who was supposed to marry Alina in the first place. That Nico ended up falling for another woman and graciously offered me up instead is just my rotten luck.
And however much the idea of being the sacrificial stud in this arranged marriage circus galls me, I can’t put the marriage off for much longer without causing a rift in the Outfit.
Sal’s teasing voice breaks through my thoughts. “You could at least pretend to be excited, Dante. Even Nico managed to act besotted while his engagement with Alina lasted. But you? You’re openly sulking, and it’s not a good look.”
His words sting but sadly ring true. “I know it’s hard, but you should try to mind your own fucking business once in a while, Salvatore,” I snap.
Sal only laughs. “Dio mio, you’re usually a better actor than Nico. A bigger asshole, yes, but you’ve always been great at hiding your true feelings. Or lack of thereof.”
“I feel plenty,” I counter, taking off the single earbud, no longer needing the frenzy of the heavy metal to ground me. I’m not even sure why I’m wasting my breath arguing with Sal. I know what he’s doing.
Sal knows how tense I’ve been lately, and his way of helping is getting me to talk about the things that annoy me.
But I don’t want to talk. I’d rather take it out on a punching bag or kill something. Feeling suddenly parched, I grab a bottle of water from the inbuilt cooler, unscrew the top, and take a deep drink.
