Page 59 of Dangerous King (Savage Kings of New York #2)

The next day…

I've been up all night. I've got a plan, and my father won't like it, but I know what I have to do.

I pull out my new phone. Edoardo wants a war?

He fucked with the wrong Sartori. Toni has been warning me about Edoardo for months.

I didn't want to go against my father, but this?

I shake my head, pushing Toni's contact on the screen to call him. This is one step too far.

I'll see Toni in an hour during the quarterly meeting with the other bosses and capos, but this needs to be said now, away from prying ears.

A few seconds later, I'm talking to Toni on the phone while Silvano sits in the passenger seat.

I guide the Hummer through the winding road, away from our mansion and toward the city.

The windows are cracked just enough to let in the cold wind that I need to keep me from boiling over.

My knuckles tighten on the wheel as Toni's voice cuts in and out.

On the other end of the line, I hear rotors—a helicopter.

Of course, he's taking a call from the air. Fucker.

"Toni," I snap. "Are you still there?"

There's a beat of silence.

"Yeah, sorry. Got distracted."

"Well, get fucking undistracted and listen," I bite, sharper than intended, but I don't have time to coddle anyone. Not today.

"The fucker has decreed that I cannot marry a woman outside the family," I grind out. "Whatever you're planning, I'm listening."

"Hold on, what? When did you decide to marry?" he interrupts.

Of course he does. I should've expected that. "What are you, my goddamn bestie? You want to have a slumber party and have me tell you all about my fucking life?"

Silvano's shoulders shake once with silent laughter beside me, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut. I can practically hear Toni smirking. He knows me well enough to know I don't get riled up like this unless it's serious. And this? Catalina is not a game. She's my future.

"I haven't planned anything yet," he says. "So far, I've been the only one standing up against Edoardo. But if he overstepped with you, there is hope the others will follow."

"We need to make that happen," I snarl. "I'm going to marry that girl no matter what he says."

"Just to be clear, we're talking about Catalina?"

My answering growl is more than enough to confirm. Catalina Costa. The woman who makes everything make sense. The woman I will burn the world for.

"It's been a few months since I've talked to the others, let me put my feelers out and see where they stand. In the meantime, I suggest you postpone your wedding." Toni suggests.

I bristle, "Not happening, invitations were already sent," and then a little lower, "Yours is on the way."

"I'll need a plus one," Toni adds, then warns, "Be careful. Edoardo is a snake. He'll strike when you least expect it and against whom you least expect it to happen to."

I grip the wheel tighter. "You too. He's watching you. Especially with this Carlos business."

"Don't I know it."

"If you need anything…"

"I'm good, but thank you. And hey, congrats on the upcoming wedding."

"You'll be there, right?"

"I'll be there."

Good. I need all the support I can get.

"When is the wedding?" he asks.

"A couple of months. Why?"

"Just checking."

There's a pause. Then my tone shifts—lighter, playful.

"Don't forget to bring a gift," I say. "I'd love one of your choppers."

He laughs. "Those things cost ten million dollars apiece. That seems a bit over the top for a wedding gift."

"I always knew you were a cheap bastard."

"If anybody should get a gift, it's me, since I'm the one laundering your money."

And after a beat, "Not everyone can be as loaded as you."

I smirk. We might be a few million off, but our wealth is about the same. Hence, the standing joke between us. "You're flying in one of those choppers right now, aren't you?"

"You got the money, buy one."

"If I only had a cousin who makes these things and would give me a good deal," I mutter.

After about forty minutes, the city comes into view.

Forty minutes for me to think coolly about the war I'm about to start.

Like I said, my father won't like it, but enough is enough.

It can't hurt to find out where the other capos stand on this, them and their heirs.

I'm pretty sure Toni and I are not the only ones who are disgusted with our inexperienced Don.

He's only in his early twenties, and in the past two years since his reign began, we've all suffered some financial losses, and every single relationship between families—built over generations—has taken a hit.

Toni's father's murder might have been the most extreme, but it isn't the only slap in the face the families have endured.

I reach the skyscraper where the meeting will be held.

Bringing the Hummer into the underground parking garage is tricky.

The entrance is purposefully narrow; it's meant to be a bottleneck just in case the skyscraper ever gets attacked.

Mere inches separate my side mirrors from the wall.

With a curse, Silvano rolls down the window and pulls the mirror in on his side, while I do the same on mine.

Dank, dead air enters the Hummer. It reminds me of a grave, but it makes it easier to navigate the car.

"You could have called Toni before we left, and we could have ridden with the others in one of the limos," Silvano complains, letting go of the mirror as soon as we're out of the narrow passage.

"Snob," I accuse him. And he is. He much prefers limo rides to my Hummer.

"I didn't feel like seeing my family this morning," I confess. Going behind my father's back irks me. And I don't want to involve my brothers, yet. So, staying away seemed to be the prudent thing to do.

The tires of the Hummer crunch against the concrete as we descend into the underground parking garage of the Zanello Tower.

My nerves are steady, but the tension in my jaw reveals how I'm feeling.

Silvano doesn't say anything at first. He knows better than to break the silence before I'm ready, but eventually, he does what he does best: make observations I don't want to hear but need to.

"You know Edoardo's going to bait you again," he warns, arms folded as we exit the vehicle. "He's losing grip on the DeLunas and the Orsis. If he can't hold your family, he's done."

"I know," I mutter, adjusting the cuffs of my jacket. "But he's already lost me. I just haven't said it out loud yet."

He smirks. "You planning to today?"

"I'll play it how the ball falls."

We approach the elevator, which is guarded by four burly men.

With all the families gathering here today, security is tight.

They were already notified of our arrival when we passed through the gate, and the elevator was waiting for us.

The doors open, and Silvano and I step past the guards into the empty cab.

"Let's walk it through," Silvano suggests. "Giordanos are leaderless. Giovanni's dead. Roberto's posturing, but no one is backing him. And his father's sins still stink up the walls."

"Carlos wants that business," I say.

Silvano nods. "The Contis are watching. Stephano's sharp. Gustave's old-school, but tired. If we want an ally, Stephano might be the better bet."

"And Toni?"

"He'll never follow Edoardo again. Not after Jacomo."

"That leaves Carlos and Marcello," I state the obvious.

"Marcello hates his father's guts, has ever since he was exiled ten years ago," Silvano reminds me.

We reach the top floor. The elevator opens, and I feel the shift in air pressure. The subtle scent of imported cigars, the hush of guards communicating through earpieces. Just about everyone has already arrived. I can feel the weight of every name in that room waiting for this meeting to start.

Showtime.

I push through the doors without knocking.

The guards step aside instinctively. This is the Capo dei Capi's building; Edoardo's by default, but everyone knows his hold is fragile at best. The Don's title is inherited, but a Don can be toppled; it wouldn't be the first time in the years the Six Families have been in power. It won't be easy, but it can be done.

The conference room is already filled with smoke and tension.

I stride past the buffet table, ignoring the trays of cured meats and espresso.

Marcello is already here, straightening his tie, looking the part of belonging, even though I know he'd rather be anywhere else than this glass-and-gold box in the sky with his father.

"You didn't ride with us," my father says as he approaches me. I swear the old man can smell it from miles away when I'm up to something.

"I had something to do on the way," I lie smoothly, hating myself for it.

"Hmm, I?—"

Stephano's father, Gustave, interrupts our uncomfortable conversation before I have to lie more.

"I need a word."

My father gives me the this is not the end of it look and follows his old friend to the table. The waiters clear out, as do the bodyguards. The meeting is about to begin, and I take my seat next to Stephano, who sends me a nod. "Sartori."

"Conti," I reply, keeping up the appearance of friendly mafia capo's sons who haven't been conspiring behind our fathers' backs.

"You're late," Edoardo says without looking up when the door opens and Toni struts in.

"Traffic," he deadpans, but I know he flew in. I can't help myself.

"You flew in," I smirk. He shoots me a glare that could cut steel. I shrug. Play the part, DeLuna.

I catch Marcello across the table, eyeing his father like a predator assessing wounded prey.

Carlos looks smug, overfed, like a pig fattened for slaughter.

Roberto is glaring at me as expected. Gustave Conti sits upright and guarded, while Stephano slouches just enough to suggest disdain without outright disrespect.

The room stills when Edoardo raises his glass of whiskey—his usual nine a.m. poison—and begins the meeting.