Page 120 of Dreadful

“Here we fucking go again,” Claudio grumbles.

I ignore him and pour a double. It’s all for show. I’ll barely take a sip, but I do this every Sunday dinner, and I certainly won’t go off-script so early on the one night that will change everything.

“Is that the same kind as last week?” Claudio asks.

“Nope. This is one I’ve saved for a while.”

“Hmm…what’s the occasion?”

“It just seemed like the right time. Mending fences and all that.”

I lift the glass in a mock salute before taking a sip. The whiskey’s vanilla and spice flavors burn on their way down my throat, and a slight taste of something fruity and sweet teases my tongue. I’d love another gulp, but as always, I don’t want to take my chances being off my game here.

“What a kind gesture that Severino would offer you a glass, Claudio. Don’t you agree?”

“It’s the least he could do. It’s about time he showed some gratitude in this family.” He gulps his wine before setting the glass down.

“And what is it that I have to be thankful for, exactly, uncle?”

Claudio scoffs. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe be grateful that I kept my dogs outside so you wouldn’t cry like a fucking baby again. Or maybe because I still tolerate these dinners your mother forces us into. Ormaybebecause I’ve let you live at all, hmm? Not many in the Family would have let the son of a Boss survive. You were direct competition to me and had a following of your own. I could have, andshouldhave, put us both out of our misery when your father died. And after what I’ve learned the past week, I’m afraid that kindness has gone and bitten me in the ass.”

“What do you mean?”What does he know?

“Severino, are you alright, dear? You look a little pale.”

My heart begins to pound as I take another sip just to hide my confusion behind the glass. Once I’ve finished, I place it back on the table and ask him the question more directly in the best nonchalant voice I can fake.

“How has it bitten you in the ass,zio?”

“It seems that I may have a snake in my garden.”

I prop my elbows on the table and steeple my fingers in front of my mouth. My cane leans against the table leg beside me, my razor jabs my thigh through my pocket, and I wish like hell my cousin, Roman, didn’t have to take my gun when I arrived here.

It was one of the first things that tipped me off that something wasn’t right tonight. He would have let me keep it had Claudio not been watching him like a hawk. My uncle claimed it was because of my outburst last week, but with the change in tension at the table, now I’m not so sure.

“A snake?”

“Yes. You see, I had my suspicions that someone was out to sabotage me last time you were here. But the evidence is irrefutable now.”

His words sound heavy in my mind, but I don’t think he’s had more than one glass of wine.

“Irrefutable?” I sound like a parrot, but he’s goading me into asking questions with his cryptic narrative, and it’s fucking working.

“Severino, your tone, dear,” my mother chides. “Maybe another sip will take the edge off.”

I glance at her and raise the glass to my lips, but my instincts remind me just in time that I’m not safe here, and I place it back down.

“As you learned last week, we’ve had a higher turnover rate than normal in the Vincelli household. I like to keep people on my payroll for as long as I can. Until death, usually, like a marriage,” he chuckles before his expression sobers. “Unfortunately, there have been a lot of deaths lately.”

He’s speaking too quickly and slowly at the same time, and I strain to understand him. “I know about the gardener and the driver.”

“And it turns out…maybe even my capo.” He fixes his glare on me. My heartbeat is loud and slow in my ears.

“Vinnie’s on a bender,” I say slowly. Too slowly.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“You know what? Vinnie’s not on a bender. Judge Blunt helped me figure that out. He introduced me to a special security app the feds use. Normally I can’t track Vinnie’s location when his phone is off. But this program can. According to the text I received less than an hour ago, he’s…” Claudio looks at his phone with a dramatic flourish, and my grip tightens on my steak knife handle. “Here in my brownstone. Which means either you have it, or your minion does. All it took was a little questioning, and look what I found.”