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CHAPTER TWO

Enzo

Six months later.

“The Golden Ace, we finally meet.”

Yes, you finally ran out of disposable foot soldiers and showed up yourself. Might as well be done with this.

I smile ruefully, knowing I’m playing the part of the asshole perfectly. Jesse Aventura slumps in his seat, tapping his fingers against the splintering wood grain of the old table. An ancient bloodstain under his elbow catches my eye.

A foreshadowing of what’s to come.

“That’s what they call me,” I quip, circling the table languidly. “I prefer Enzo, honestly, but the fans have a mind of their own.”

“I see Romano trained his sick sense of humor into you as well,” he grumbles, his shoulders stiffening when I pause directly behind him.

I whip out my switchblade, and the noise makes him jump. He leans back casually, desperate not to show his cards.

He’s scared of me. That tiny rush of power never fails to confuse and delight me.

“As much as I love the flirtation we have going on here, how about you tell me what the hell you’re doing creeping around my warehouse again?”

I move to face him, and my palms come down hard onto the tabletop, putting me right in his face. His gaze remains impassive, but I catch his eye twitching wildly.

“Never even seen your warehouse, Cavalli.”

“Is that so?” I push myself off the table and cross my arms. I can feel him staring at my ink, and I flex my muscles to enhance the image.

“Because as your little friend Damian, may he rest in peace, revealed,” I continue, “you’ve had your guys monitoring my shit for months.”

He stares pointedly at the table, refusing to meet my gaze. I sense his rage growing, and my excitement balloons along with it.

“And then there was your little buddy Jorge.” I grin as his eyes shoot up to my face, anger coloring his vision. “Oh, I’m sorry… your brother Jorge. Such a shame about him, too.”

“What do you want from me?” he spits. His fingers twitch, and I worry for a second that we decided not to bind his wrists.

I hear Joe Romano cock his gun behind me and it settles my nerves— I’m good. I’m safe.

“You've ignored my warnings to stay away from my business, my family, my city. And now?—”

“Now what? You’ll kill me?” he snickers. “I’m not saying shit.”

“Oh no, Jesse, I don’t need to kill you,” I drawl, smiling wickedly. “I know lowlifes like you don’t value your own existence much. Have you seen Catalina recently, by the way?”

I watch with deep satisfaction as every muscle in his body stiffens. He’s frozen to the core, staring at the table with such intensity that I half-expect it to burst into flames.

“What’s the matter?” I chuckle. “Cat got your tongue?”

“How the fuck do you know that name?”

“You mean your adorable little daughter? The one who lives with her mother—who hates you, by the way—in Miami at…” I pull a paper out of my pocket, pretending to study it intensely. “Let’s see, 745 Palermo Avenue?”

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I wonder for a second if it’s another cryptic message, but that’ll have to wait. I have him right where I want him. I know it.

“Fine,” he spits. “We’ll pull out of your turf; you won’t hear from us again. Just leave Cat alone.”

Finally.

I groan and rub my burning eyes. A glance at my watch tells me I’ve been staring at this computer screen for four hours now. Probably without blinking, you dumbass , I chide myself.

I force my body out of the leather chair and walk around my office, trying to stretch my sore back.

The city glitters below me like a delicate jewel. I still can’t believe that it’s all mine—well, the gritty underground parts, anyway. I won’t be running for mayor any time soon, that’s for sure.

I pour myself another coffee and pace back and forth as I chug the lukewarm liquid. Like a bad habit, I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the message again:

.- .--. --- .-.. --- --. .. --.. . / --- .-. / .--. .- -.-- / - .... . / .--. .-. .. -.-. .

Morse Code for “apologize or pay the price.” But why ?

My brain scrolls through the mental Rolodex of enemies I’ve made over my lifetime. It’s grown quite a bit in recent months, but I can’t think of anyone who would threaten me in such an unusual way.

If it was the Aventuras or some other shitty little crime family trying to strike it big, they’d just attack. The mafia, I’ve learned, isn’t really full of creatives and intellectuals.

I fall back into my chair, wracking my brain for what this might mean. When I come up with nothing, I stare blankly at the signature again: The8.

A byte has eight bits, but that’s pretty meaningless. What else?

Eight is the only nonzero perfect power one less than another perfect power, according to Mih?ilescu’s Theorem. Literally, only nerds like me know that.

It’s the second magic number in nuclear physics. Again, nerd knowledge.

Both the Chinese and Japanese cultures consider it a lucky number. And none of it means shit-all to me.

I spend the next hour searching for meanings, but I can’t make a single connection. My phone vibrates and skitters across the desk, pulling me out of my insanity.

“What’s up?” I answer, hoping Jack Romano is calling to chat and not for some more nefarious reason. I’m too exhausted to beat the shit out of anyone else tonight.

“Boss, you’d better get down to the warehouse on the waterfront,” he says apologetically. “There’s been an attack.”

“Shit,” I breathe, bolting out of my chair and grabbing my keys. “Tell me everything.”

Jack Romano might be Rafael’s youngest cousin, barely out of high school, but he’s quickly become my right-hand man. I trust the older uncles’ advice and guidance, but I trust Jack with my life.

“Vinny and I were at Lita’s Bar having a few drinks when I got the alert,” he explains. “Fire broke out in the east wing of the property. We got down here as fast as we could, beat the fire department even.”

“Shit, you called the fire department?” I gasp, sprinting to the elevator.

“I think a kind neighbor did,” he scoffs. “Don’t worry, we moved all the product out earlier this week. The fire department didn’t see anything.”

“How bad is the damage?”

“It’s not pretty, that’s for sure.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Don’t kill yourself flying down the streets in your new toy,” Jack warns. “The fires are out. Now we’ve just got to deal with the mess.”

I shove the phone in my pocket as I reach my beautiful, brand-new Koenigsegg Regera. Rafael almost bit my head off when he heard how much I spent. Personally, I think two million dollars is a fair price for selling my soul to the mafia.

I slip inside and start her up, admiring the luxurious feel of the supple leather seats. True to my word, I reach the warehouse in a little over five minutes. Jack meets me out front, shaking his head but looking impressed all the same.

“I need you to stop tempting the Grim Reaper.” He chuckles, nodding at the car. “’Cause if you kill yourself in that contraption, Rafael will have to take over again, and I can’t deal with him for more than five seconds.”

We head inside the smoky warehouse to survey the damage. Jack and Vinny lead me around, showing me where parts of the roof have collapsed as the older uncles join us.

“It’s pretty bad in the east wing,” Uncle Rocco comments, staring up at the caved-in roof. “We need to get our guys out here and start reconstruction, ASAP.”

“When’s the next shipment coming in?” I ask, trying to throw a plan together in real time. My brain feels about as useful as the gray slush covering the city right now.

“Next Monday,” Jack confirms, scrolling through his phone. “We might need to redirect it.”

“How’s our warehouse upstate looking?”

“Enzo, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Uncle Joe cuts in. “Our crew up there is too small. They won’t be able to hold down a shipment of that size if someone tries to intercept it, and the chances of that?—”

“Are high, I know,” I stop him. “But we don’t have much of a choice right now. Jack can round up a crew from the city and head up there to run things while we figure this out.”

“On it,” Jack confirms, disappearing into the crisp winter air. I turn back to face the uncles, catching their silent displeasure at how I’ve chosen to handle this.

“Look,” I sigh, knowing I’m in for an uphill battle, as always, “it’s the pits of February. It’s either raining, or snowing, or both, every damn day. Even if we shell out for a bigger construction crew, we can’t have them working in those conditions. And until we fix this goddamn roof, we can’t be storing high-grade weapons in here either.”

Joe pulls his lips into a thin line and averts my gaze, refusing to acknowledge that I’m right. Rocco concedes, placing a warm hand on my shoulder.

“I know, son,” he says, trying to smooth things over. “We’re just worried we’ll lose another shipment. I’ll join Jack and his crew upstate. I think that’ll make everyone more comfortable.”

He glances pointedly at Joe, and we both nod, knowing that compromise is the only way to get things done these days. Raf’s uncles are both strong, competent leaders, but they generally don’t feel the same about me.

Even though I’ve worked my ass off to prove myself over the last few months, it’s taking them longer to accept me than the younger members of the family.

I get it—I'm an outsider who took over as head of the family when everyone expected Rafael to lead. But Rafael wanted a different kind of life for himself and found his uncles too stodgy and his cousins too young for the responsibility.

The three of us exit the warehouse, leaving the mess for the cousins to deal with.

I feel kind of sorry for them, having to clean up ash and debris in freezing conditions all day. While Rocco and Joe admire my new ride, I place an emergency order for a bunch of space heaters to keep my guys warm.

“…Rossi.”

The name catches my attention, and I glance at Rocco, wondering if I heard right.

“I heard they’ve been expanding the last few years.” Joe shakes his head. “Can’t be good for us.”

“Did you say Rossi?”

“That’s right,” Rocco confirms. “Family from the West Coast. Don’t know much about them, but I heard something about a big complex purchase on the pedestrian side of the waterfront.” He waves his arm in the direction of the city, pointing out the area. “You know them?”

“I worked for them briefly.” I hesitate, not wanting to reveal too much. “It didn’t end well.”

“Do you think they might be behind this? It was a clean job, too good for common street-level muscle, so it has to be someone big,” Joe says, gazing up at our burned-out warehouse. “Maybe we pay them a little visit, yeah?”

“I don’t think we should do anything rash,” I counter. “They’ve only just arrived in the city, and they’ve never had any ill will toward us, as far as I know.”

“I agree,” Rocco backs me up. “Nothing physical, but I think a friendly meeting with the Rossis isn’t a bad idea… just so we can make sure he knows who calls the shots in this city.”

“I’ll set it up,” I confirm, my voice hard and gritty.

Lev fucking Rossi, the devil himself. The man who made sure I’d never get my happy ending. He took Valentina away from me—just like that—never to be seen again. Even after his death—if that's to be believed—his brother made sure I’d never catch so much as a glimpse of her.

She can’t possibly know I’m here, right? All these years, she never made contact either—and now, she’s moving into my city.

I ruminate on the implications of Valentina’s family buying property here as I speed home, jittery at the thought of running into her. I’ve hardly settled into my role as head of the Romanos. I thought I’d have more time—be more ready—by the time I faced her again.

Back in my penthouse, I fire off a haphazard text to my assistant to set up a meeting with the Rossis as soon as possible and collapse into bed.

It feels like only a few seconds have gone by when my alarm jolts me awake. After confirming my meeting is scheduled for noon, I do a few laps in the rooftop pool to settle my nerves.

In the shower, I rehearse how the conversation will go, preparing my talking points. I refuse to look like a fool in front of them again.

My nerves rattle and shake on the drive to The Burned Bean, a quiet little coffee shop with private meeting rooms downtown. I stride inside, feigning confidence and self-importance. This time, I’ll be the one setting ultimatums and flashing my power.

I expect to see Luigi—or even Lev himself, risen from the grave—but when I round the corner into the farthest meeting room, the sight of long ebony hair stops me in my tracks.

My mouth drops open as she turns her head and pins me with those bottomless blue eyes.

Valentina.