Page 124 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride

My breath catches. E must be Ernie Abruzzo. Who was his FBI contact? Blackwood? Ricci? Someone else?

I flip forward several pages.

October 15 - E says FBI agent willing to help, but wants information in return. Dangerous game. Learned E has a brother in Calabresi family. Is E playing both sides—tells FBI one thing, tells S another? Does S know? Can I risk being used like this to save Isabella?

S has to be Salvatore. Did he know Ernie was an informant?

October 28 - Meeting with E and agent tomorrow. Have to be careful. Not sure Leo can save me if I’m found out.

I’m unable to read on knowing the end of this tale. My heart breaks.

My mother was playing a dangerous game, all in an effort to help me leave the family fold and live my own life.

Ernie was working with the FBI, and perhaps using Salvatore and my mother as a source of information.

I wonder if Salvatore would be so grieved at his brother’s demise if he knew the truth about Ernie.

Unless Salvatore was part of it too, although that seems unlikely. He’s a made man through and through. Like Roman.

One thing is clear. Ernie was playing with fire and my mother got burned.

23

ROMAN

I slam down the phone, barely resisting the urge to throw it across my office.

Three more shipments delayed, this time at the docks, plus two collection problems in Brooklyn, and now Salvatore's crew is having territorial disputes with the Monti family's men in Queens.

"Fuck," I mutter, rubbing my temples.

My phone buzzes again. Marco's name flashes on the screen. I answer immediately. "Yeah, Boss."

"Need you at my place. Now." His voice is clipped, all business. "La Corona meeting."

I check my watch. It's barely past two, and I'd promised Angelica I'd be home for dinner tonight. "Something wrong?"

"Just get here." He hangs up.

I grab my jacket and holster because when the boss calls, I have to respond.

Outside, I slide into my car, my mind racing through possibilities.

A La Corona meeting called mid-afternoon without warning? Either something's gone sideways they want me to deal with, or I'm about to get my ass handed to me for going to Don Ferraza directly about his wife's murder.

I pull up to Marco's place, nodding to the guards at the garage entrance. Whatever's waiting for me inside, I'll handle it. I always do.

Marco's butler, an old Sicilian who's been with the family since before I was born, opens the door before I can knock.

"They're waiting in the study, Mr. Ginetti."

I nod, removing my coat but keeping my shoulder holster on. I straighten my tie, adjust my cuffs.

Whatever this is about, I need to look composed.

When I enter the study, the conversation stops dead. Four pairs of eyes turn to me, none of them friendly.

"Roman," Marco says, his voice tight. "Sit."