“Stefano’s on him right now.” Enzo checks his phone and enters a street number into his GPS. “Apparently, he’s at a strip club.”
“That’s good. Not a lot down there.”
“You sure this is a good idea?”
I hit the road and leave the house behind. “Just make sure Leo’s keeping an eye on Fiorella.”
Enzo sighs and leans back in his seat. “She’ll be fine. I’m more worried about you. What’s Adriano going to say if he hears about this?”
“He won’t. And neither will Raf or Don Serrano. But I’m not about to sit on my ass and wait for that Corrado fuck to start killing my people. I need a plan.”
The city flashes past as we drive south toward the airport. Out this way, past the stadiums, there aren’t as many houses. Enormous parking lots fill up most of the space, though there are a few businesses scattered around the trash-strewn streets. The GPS takes us to a club called Risky, with a big neon sign of a woman grinding a pole out front and advertisements for the girls plastered against the walls.
I find a spot at the edge of the lot and kill the engine. Stefano’s truck is right in my sightline, and he flashes his lights to acknowledge us. A second later, Enzo’s phone rings. He answers on speaker.
“Fucker’s been in there for like two hours,” Stefano says. “Guy’s going to single-handedly put a bunch of strippers through college.”
“Or supplement their child support,” Enzo adds.
“Where’s his car?” I ask, ignoring their banter. “I want eyes on it.”
“No worries about that. It’s the black BMW four spots over from me. You see it?”
“The fucking bumper’s duct taped on.”
“Guess he’s a shit driver.”
I nod to myself, slumping down in the cramped seat. Fucking European sports cars aren’t built for men my size. “Now the fun part.”
“The fun part’s inside,” Stefano grumbles.
Enzo hangs up the phone. We lapse into silence as we watch the club for any sign of our mark. I keep thinking back to my day with Fiorella, and even though I’m doing something stupid and potentially dangerous, that doesn’t change how good things were earlier.
She laughed a lot. I got a feel for her more than I ever have before. It’s like putting her in that car and letting her drive let her lower some of her defenses. I was getting to know her in a way I hadn’t up to that point, and it made me want to let her in too. For a little while, I could almost pretend that we were a normal married couple out for a joyride.
Except this is our reality. A shitty strip club and a puddle-filled parking lot. Enzo’s right to worry, but I can’t let that slow me down. If we get caught taking matters into our own hands, it could make things very fucking complicated, both with our new allies and with the Don of our Famiglia.
Weeks ago, before Fiorella, I never in a thousand years would’ve considered doing anything that might go against the Famiglia’s interests. My whole life’s been about the Marinos. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be an important member of this organization, especially to make up for that one damn bad decision I made way back in the day.
But Fiorella changed some of that. The Famiglia is still everything to me, but Fiorella’s important too. Her safety hasto be a priority, and I don’t know where my full loyalties are anymore.
If it comes down to a choice between her and the family?
I don’t fucking know what I’d do.
All I know for sure is I’m here and I shouldn’t be.
And it’s because I care too damn much about my wife.
Forty minutes pass. Eventually, a few figures emerge from the club, a small pack of younger men. They pause and light cigarettes, laughing loudly, clearly drunk. The group eventually breaks up, and I watch as one of them hurries alone toward the black BMW with its taped-up bumper.
He’s in his early twenties. Dark hair, dark skinny jeans. Doesn’t look like a gangster. More like a kid growing out of his punk rock phase. But I’m positive it’s him.
Dominic Serrano. Another one of the cousins. Corrado’s youngest boy, barely twenty-two, and allegedly not deep into the business.
But there’s a complication. Some of the other guys from his little friend group are still in the parking lot. Their cars are starting, and one pulls out, but we can’t make a move with them watching. The fewer bodies involved in this, the better.
I quickly call Stefano. He answers right away. “That’s him,” he says quietly. “Should we move?”
