Page 45 of Jordan

Maximo chuckles on the other end of the phone. The guy has been around for a while. He’s an okay guy for a rival. Because let’s be clear. Just because this treaty stands, stating we won’t start war with one another, doesn’t mean we get along. It only means we keep the peace. But this? The shit he’s getting at right now? Seems like he’s about to rile some shit up I don’t want to deal with.

“This is precisely the problem, Vincenzo. Your temper is concerning.” I hold my tongue, knowing lashing out is only going to prove his point. “The treaty stands between the heads of the families. That’s not you. Not your brothers. If your father isn’t at the next meeting, there’s going to be a problem.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Yeah, actually. Be grateful it was me who called, and not Dario. I hear he’s mighty upset with you.”

He ends the call. My phone falls from my hand onto the floor, and I run my hands through my hair. This is a mess. A giant fucking mess.

Dario Canvani has no reason to be pissed with me. He was paid what he was owed. We had an agreement. I give him the money; he forgets the issues with the Delises. Prick even charged me interest. Allowing it was my first mistake. Dario doesn’t have the balls to come after me, or any of the Bramantes, though. He may talk a big game, but he’s the smallest player on the fucking board out here. It’s only him and his dumbass son, who will end up with a handful of STDs over the next year, if he hasn’t already. The guy doesn’t give a flying fuck he lost his fiancée, didn’t do a damn thing to ensure she stayed, so the fact they’re going to pull this shit makes little sense.

Though it’s clear what’s happening.

Dario’s precious boy fucked up, and now everyone else has to pay for it. Well, he can have fun trying because he’s messing with the wrong guy.

I lean back in my chair, running my finger along my chin as I think this over.

I have to tell my brothers.

Not that I want to, but it’s for the best. Though, Maximo said he’s already spoken to them, so why haven’t they called me? I grab my phone from the floor and dial Elio.

He answers on the second ring.

“Great job handling the warehouse.” He sounds proud. Maybe a little shocked, as if he thought I would fuck it up somehow.

“I didn’t call for that.”

“Then what did you call for?”

“Gaetano just called me.”

“Ah.”

“Ah? That’s all you have to say about it?”

My family is infuriating.

“What else am I supposed to say? He’s not wrong.”

“Doesn’t mean we lie down and take it. We need to figure it out. I’ve been saying this for months, Elio. We can’t keep this game up forever.”

“Yeah, I suppose we do.”

“Your lack of enthusiasm about anything is annoying as fuck.”

“I appreciate your honestly, Piccolino, but I already knew that.”

“Sfigato,” I snap at him.

He chuckles. “Come to my place tomorrow for Sunday dinner. Marco will be here. We can chat then.”

“Will Papa be there?”

He hesitates a moment. “No.”

I shake my head. “Yeah, fine.”

“See you tomorrow, little brother.”