January 14, 1945

“Manny Baldelli has been spotted outside of Seattle,” Paulie informs Angelo while standing next to his desk with his hands crossed behind his back.

Alfonso and I are sitting in the plush chairs, the three of us puffing on our Cuesta-Rey cigars.

Normally, I would’ve turned down the tobacco, but with Genevieve’s words from yesterday still clouding my mind, I needed something to release some of the tension.

Angelo’s fist slams down on his desk, sending pens clattering off the wood and rattling the crystal decanter.

“What do you mean, he was spotted? Ronnie shot him!”

Angelo’s face is beginning to purple while red and white splotches form in my vision.

“It wasn’t fatal,” Paulie affirms. “I saw him with my own eyes and clocked him all the way to Don Leonardo Saputo’s estate.”

A snarl curls my upper lip.

“Fuckers,” I mutter, my fingers beginning to twitch uncontrollably.

My mood has been as dark as the sight in my left eye, and even Angelo has trodden carefully with me.

The need to kill . . . it’s like a parasite beneath my flesh, taking control over my bodily functions until the only thing I’m capable of is death.

The Saputos have made their allegiance to the Baldellis clear, so it’s no surprise they’re housing him. Which could mean they’re planning something, likely banking on the fact that Angelo’s growing comfortable again after believing Manny to be dead the last five months.

But Angelo did not become the capo di tutti i capi without reason. When the media gifted him the name, they also gifted him a paranoia that no drug could emulate. He doesn’t take a single step without glancing over his shoulder.

I grind my teeth and keep my glare pinned to Mona Lisa. If it was possible, the paint composing her face would melt beneath my stare. That slight smile she dons feels as if it’s just for me, like she knows something I don’t.

Whether it’s about Genevieve or Baldelli, she’ll never tell me.

“I’m going to the Saputo estate and taking them out myself,” I declare stoically, puffing on my cigar as Mona Lisa’s smile blurs.

The three men’s stares land on me at once.

“Not alone, you won’t,” Angelo argues.

I arch a brow. “Paulie can come if he’d like,” I say. “But I’m more familiar with the Saputo estate than anyone.”

Angelo grins. “Ah, yes. You fancied his sister at one point, no?”

The only thing I fancied was her lips wrapped around my cock. But that was years ago, and though Lucia would’ve loved it if I had asked for her hand in marriage, I couldn’t stand to hear her high-pitched voice. Which is why I could only tolerate her when her mouth was plugged. My fling with her didn’t last more than a few months, but it offered me plenty of time to familiarize myself with their estate.

Back then, the Saputos were loyal to Angelo, and Don Leonardo was happy to show me around and entertain me over a glass of whiskey. He had hoped I would marry his sister, too—even he couldn’t wait for her to find a husband and be out of his hair.

“Last I heard, she finally got married,” Alfonso offers.

“I don’t care if Lucia is buried six feet under,” I bark. “If she finds herself in the house, she will wear a bullet no differently than her brother.”

Angelo whistles, amused by my sour mood. His own spirits are lightening now that I plan to handle the problem instantly.

Angelo trusts no one more than me to complete a contract. Manny may have gotten away with his life once, but that won’t happen a second time.

“Boss, I can confirm that at least fifteen men occupy the Saputo estate,” Paulie cuts in. He keeps his tone even and his face expressionless, but I know him well enough to sense that he’s not fond of only the two of us walking into that fight.

But Angelo knows me well enough to sense that I’m not waiting for the rest of the crew to show up. There have been many moments in my life where I need nothing more than to feel blood on my hands. And when those moments arise, not even Angelo can get in my way.

“We’ll come heavy,” I clip, taking one last puff of my cigar before putting it out. “Or I go alone.”

Paulie dips his chin as I stand from my chair, restlessness holding my muscles hostage. My fingers twitch with the need to fire bullets into as many brains that dare get in my line of fire.

“I’ll always fight beside you, Ronaldo.”

Walking into a den of wolves with only one man beside you is no easy decision, and at this moment, Paulie has my utmost respect.

“Then let’s go. I’m not waiting any longer.”