Page 23 of Daddy’s Firm Hands (Saddle Up)

“I’m sorry,” Milo says through tears. “The cops were on their way, and you didn’t have a pulse. I thought you were dead. I panicked?—”

“Mr. Vettore would have gotten you out of police custody,” Piero cuts him off, sneering at my city boy like he was trash on the sidewalk. “You’re such a fucking pussy.”

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” I bellow, any and all composure evaporating at the tone he uses toward what’s mine.

I aim my gun right at his forehead, cocking the trigger. I don’t care that he’s in the mafia or Milo’s brother. If he talks to him that way again, I will dirty the ranch with his blood, consequences be damned.

“As much as I love how territorial you are over your lover, Mr. Hannigan, I prefer you don’t shoot Piero. I’d like to keep two out of the three Romano brothers alive,” Rocco informs us in a bored tone.

“You left me for dead in the street and left Elio alone to play little house on the fucking prairie?!” his brother shouts. “You’re fucking some guy who looks old enough to be our dad. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Milo stands tall and squares his shoulders. The sad expression on his face is dropped, pure rage taking his place.

“Look in the mirror, asshole” he shouts, his voice deceptively calm as his presumed-to-be-dead brother points an automatic weapon at him.

I can see his anger barely contained as it tries to break through.

“You’re a younger version of our father—bitter and angry.

You wouldn’t know love if it bit you on the ass.

I don’t care what you think about me. You’ve hated me since the day Mom left, and you blame me for it.

Fine. But you will not talk about Stone like that.

He gave me everything I could ever want in my last weeks and taught me to believe in myself when you’ve only brought me down. ”

Mr. Vettore listens to Milo with a rapt attention, as if this is live television.

“You grew my business all by yourself, Milo,” I grip his shoulder and squeeze it, hoping he can feel my support through the simple gesture. Praying my plan works to whoever is up in the sky looking down on us. “I’m just glad I got to see you thrive.”

“How touching. I did my research on you. This business is already successful. How did he manage to add to it?” Mr. Vettore cuts in.

“Milo, can you grab my laptop from the truck?” I ask him. Mr. Vettore nods at him, probably because he knows we can’t possibly outrun five men with assault rifles.

When Milo returns, I open the laptop and show Mr. Vettore the computer program’s charts and predictions.

“He took years of data and information I left sitting in a paper ledger, then weaved it into predicting how my profit margins will look years from now. He’s identified multiple ways to cut spending, increase revenue streams, and create new ones.

Think of all the money he’d make for a silent investor.

We have space for more cattle. For crops. For anything really.”

Milo catches on to what I’m about to suggest. “This ranch is over 30,000 acres, that’s 800+ central parks. The sky is the limit, Mr. Vettore. If I’m here with Stone, I can coordinate for you. We can expand Nueva Notte into the west.”

“Hmmm.” He mulls the thoughts over in his head as he pulls out his phone, furiously typing. “The industries you’re involved in are good to invest into, but have you thought of building a dude ranch for tourists?”

“Yeah, for the past few years. I know tourism is ramping up out here, but I’m not sure how I’d even get started.

I tend to like the hands-on work more, while this one likes the business stuff,” I nod toward Milo as I lie through my teeth.

I know exactly how to get started, but I never wanted to risk the capital it would take to invest in such a big venture.

But Mr. Vettore can. The man is made of hard earned criminal profit. I have the feeling he’ll always be willing to make more, if the gleam in his almost-black eyes is anything to go by.

He sighs. “I’m not a fan of doing business with people outside La Famiglia , Stone. This seems like a great partnership, but how do I know you’ll be honest?”

“Because I’m marrying Milo in the fall. Then I’ll be family. I’ll even swear the same oath he did, on one condition. He’s in the clear. No punishment or revenge from any of you. He’s mine.”

“Stone, you haven’t even asked me!” he blurts.

Mr. Vettore cackles. The sound is pure evil, and I’m not sure if it’s in our favor or not. “He doesn’t have to. When you see something you want, you take it. That’s the mark of a good businessman. Let’s go inside and talk. The five of you can stand down.”

“So he just gets away with everything and lives the rest of his days here?” Piero spits, the sneer on his face somehow worsening.

“Mr. Vettore, can I have a minute with my brother?” Milo asks.

“Sure, but leave him in one piece,” the mobster warns him.

Milo storms over to his brother, then pulls him toward the far end of the larger bunkhouse.

I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I can see their faces.

Milo’s cheeks are red, his eyebrows slanted.

His hands are moving a mile a minute, the gestures growing increasingly more violent, whereas Piero stands there silent, his mouth dropping.

“I never proposed to my fiance, Leo, either,” Mr. Vettore casually shares. “But that doesn’t matter because I take care of him. I give my lionheart the world on a silver platter everyday.”

I turn to him, lifting my hat brim so I can look him dead in the eye. “I’ll make sure Milo is happy. No matter what it takes.” He may not know it yet, but I’m a man of my word.

“I think this goes without saying, but if you hurt him, I’ll kill you and every single person who lives on this ranch. Then I’ll help him dismantle it and sell everything piece by piece. I’ll even buy him a nice fancy urn for your ashes,” Mr. Vettore threatens me in a low, serious tone.

I have no doubt he’d do that and worse. But Milo would probably beat him to it. He’s got a knack for business and pettiness.

He walks back to us, the redness on his face dissipating a bit. “Okay, I’m ready to talk business. You’re going to love his house, Mr. Vettore. Leo would go ga-ga over the kitchen.”

“Ha, I’ll send him a picture of it. Maybe I’ll buy him a place out here for a wedding present,” he says in a lighter tone than before. I’d think he was joking, but with his wealth, anything is possible.