Chapter 64

Calabria's wasn't just a winery, it was a quiet place for tourists to enjoy a stroll while taking sips of the most refined wines of Italy. Private enough for a meeting, yet open to the public to avoid scandals.

A place where to some, we were just another suit walking through for exported goods. We were hiding in plain sight along with the rich.

"Lo Splendore." Elio smirked, turned, and opened the door.

Huh, the jewelry store.

I walked into the smell of aged wood and grapes, leaving his smirk along with any further thoughts of Alessandra's errand behind. There was no room for nonsense when soon I would meet every boss in person. It was time for business, not for distractions. I knew this.

Then why was I still thinking of her?

I adjusted my eyes to the dim lighting and welcomed the cool air inside. Glass walls showed case rows of wine bottles while tall wood tables scattered around the open space. A mix of elegance and old Italy mingled together as expensive touches were added in the establishment. The main room was absent of any seating aside from the few leather and tapestry chairs in the corner where a young couple shared smiles and gleaming eyes with each other.

Three men were accompanied by a female, all dressed in executive clothing. They all gathered around one of the tall tables with an opened folder in the middle, and as a waiter neared to refill their empty wineglasses, the female denied them all their next pour.

By the way her curly dirty blonde hair shook, and how her posture remained strong even as she stood in high heels, I knew she held all the cards in their exchange.

The waiter returned behind the grand half-oval bar, set the bottle of wine down, and whispered to the waitress next to him. The young girl looked up, noticing us by the corner. Her eyes widened, noticing she'd missed our entrance. Quickly she wiped her hands on a rag as her steps rushed to us.

I took one last glance around as I felt unwanted attention.

The couple was still enamored with each other, paying no one around them a thought. But when my eyes returned to the one full table, I met her eyes.

The men talked around her, unaware of how her attention had shifted away from their dealings. Instead, hazel eyes took me in with questions beneath their hard gaze, uncaring of how they studied me so bluntly.

Only the eyes of the powerful were capable of holding notice as she did.

But I wasn't here for her, or to answer to the leering eyes, I was here for Alessandra.

I broke our contact and peered down at the pixie haired waitress whose smile covered half of her face.

"I have a private meeting," I muttered.

"Of course, it's right through this hall," she said, waving her hand toward the direction. "It's the last door at the end." She began walking as she continued, "It's probably my favorite room, with all the barrels of wine around," she gushed, and I read her name tag. Beatrice.

"Thank you, Beatrice. We can take it from here."

"Of course, some of your party has already arrived." She finished with a nod and left us alone in the corridor.

Elio stepped beside me, ready for the unexpected.

"Not a word," I uttered, and pulled the door open.

The waitress had been right, the large room was filled with barrels and boxes of wine bottles lining the walls. In the middle of a large wooden table, I met the eyes of killers who I mirrored, standing before brown leather chairs with one man behind each.

Only one boss was missing, Giuliani.

The first to move was no other than my future father-in-law. I tasted copper bile at the thought of being kin to him, tied even if it was by marriage.

All in due time, I chanted to my demon. All in due time.

Franco Zanetti stretched his arms out, a welcoming gesture even I didn't believe. A gesture I didn't trust.

In the next hour, every move, every word had a reason. An underlying agenda I had to pick apart and decipher, and Franco Zanetti was putting a front of union in front of the others.

I stretched my hand out without a smile, and we shook hands.

"Lombardi." His smile tightened.

It'd been months since I last saw him, and under the distress New York was under, Zanetti hid well the toll it was taking on him. I watched him carefully for a second longer, and against his hard features, and the fine wrinkles around his eyes, I failed to find a trace of Alessandra's strength on him.

"Zanetti," I replied and moved past him to meet the boss of Las Vegas.

It was the best way to remove myself from the image Zanetti wanted to portray without disrespect. After all, we weren't alone.

Alfonzo Silva offered me a grin as we both closed the distance. It'd been three years since he'd taken over his father and held the gates of Vegas. Before I took the title of the youngest boss in La Cosa Nostra it had been Alfonzo who mingled with the old ways until I'd come along. Our alliance was simple, we both saw the flaws of not moving with time.

"You should've called," he whispered through his teeth, blue eyes striking in question.

I offered my hand, and as he took it, I leaned closer to reply, "It wasn't safe."

Alfonzo's eyes narrowed but didn't show any other gesture. Instead, we pulled apart with tight smiles as the reminder of where we were and who surrounded us didn't allow an open conversation. He ran his hand through his jet-black hair and gave Elio a curt nod.

"Guess I'm not the only one who traveled with their underboss." His head tilted slightly to his right.

A tell he did too often for me not to pick up after the several encounters we had.

I watched him closer and lowered my voice.

"I guess not."

A wolf-like smirk took over as he straightened, nothing more. Nothing that confirmed my suspicion. But there was something that told me I had learned my ally's weakness. His right-side hearing was impaired.

"Massimo," he warned without a threat. "Don't forget Chicago."

"I have a pretty good memory but thank you."

Alfonzo let out a dark chuckle. "I'll be calling you soon."

"Talk to you then." We shook hands once last time, and I stood next to the empty seat between him and Luigi Santoni, the oldest boss and most cynical bastard of all. His closest tie was Franco Zanetti. It seemed fitting.

He offered his weak hand out to me. Another hand to shake, another close lip smile to give. A distrust shared.

With an open jacket and a large belly in between, he said, "It's been a while."

"It has. Hope all is well."

Luigi Santoni shrugged, and his loopy cheeks shook. "It is when I don't travel."

I grinned, surprised he even announced his annoyance out loud to meet in person. But by the looks of his freckled bald head, and the weakness to hold his own weight in trembling limbs, I was more surprised if Chicago didn't have his coffin ready.

My eyes caught the man behind him. His son, Carlo Santoni. I returned his curt nod with Alfonzo's words playing in my head. Guess I'm not the only one who traveled with their underboss.

Seeing Carlo for the first time, age ready for his father's seat, I questioned his title as capo even more..

"Business couldn't wait," I replied to Luigi.

"We should take a seat," he said loudly for everyone to hear. "I'm sure Giuliani will be in shortly."

I dismissed Luigi's arrogance. I wasn't here to make Chicago an enemy even if his ruler had no manners to address me.

We all followed Luigi and sat in silence. The wedge and ties between families was clear.

Franco Zanetti and Luigi Santoni; New York and Chicago.

Alfonzo Silva and I; Las Vegas and Miami.

As I sat between them, I could finally see it in person. The reason I had agreed to marry into the Zanetti family aside from my own immoral desires.

The shift of votes now played in my favor. My word now carried power between families. I couldn't lose, and it was an addictive feeling.

In the middle of the table, a large spread of cheeses, roasted crackers, dried meats, and endless grapes laid for picking. Only Luigi dug in as if it was a meal. A glass of water rested next to an empty wineglass, and a knock broke through Luigi's chewing.

Zanetti's man walked to the door and allowed the pixie haired waitress to step inside with him close in tow. Beatrice pushed a small cart of wine bottles inside a metal bucket of ice with eyes that couldn't meet anyone in particular.

Could she sense the killers of which she neared? The sin and danger that sat before her?

The young brunette cleared her throat. "I will be leaving the bottles for you all to enjoy without any further interruptions." She cast a look behind her before she continued, "But before I do, I will go over the five top selections I've brought with me." Beatrice cleared her throat again with another leering glance behind.

Poor kid. She'd stepped into a world even her imagination couldn't comprehend.

"The first is a thirty-year aged-"

"Just pour them," Luigi Santoni mumbled.

She cowered, and Luigi's eyes glimmered happily at its sight. Mio Dio, this was hard to watch. The fear in her eyes, the twisting of her fingers, the hesitation to move forward, all while causing excitement to others.

The waitress nodded and made her way to Luigi. Zanetti's goon let her go as Carlo neared, escorting her to his father. A bit overkill. I was sure Elio felt the same because once she went over the wines and finished pouring Luigi's choice of wine, Elio only followed her small steps to us with his eyes.

I hadn't planned on another drink until my return to Miami, but after hearing a certain bottle, my interest won.

"Thank you," I said after smooth red filled my glass.

She smiled timidly and walked a few steps to Alfonzo.

I took a gentle breath in as my lips touched the brim and took a sip.

It was a blend made from the fields in Tuscany. Aged with fermented grapes with a bold and yet subtle hint of ripe cherries. The wine played with my tongue as I pulled the glass away. Silky, tart, alluring. Not dry enough for my taste but its sweet savory elegance reminded me of someone who would. Someone who I could enjoy such glass with if only in their presence.

Fuck.

I placed the glass down.

Zanetti's leery eyes followed the girl all the way to the door, and when she left the silence returned.

My watch read ten minutes after. If Antonio Giuliani didn't walk through the door in five minutes, the meeting would come to an end. No words would be exchanged, and I would have to move through my plan without a clear wage of repercussions. But before my mind had the chance to begin its course of countermoves, the bastard walked in.

Tall, in an all-black suit that matched his eyes and contrasted against his full white hair, Antonio Giuliani made his entrance. His son, Leandro, was nowhere in sight.

An alarm blared in my head with the knowledge of Leandro in my city without me. They knew it, and while I had known the possibility of Leandro not showing up next to his father, I took the risk. I left Alessandra alone.