Page 31 of Sin City Obsession (De Salvo Empire #1)

Tino’s single, elongated, curve-screen monitor had been slightly repositioned in order to face Rocco and reveal as little else as possible.

On the screen were three boxes, indicating three active lines.

All of those represented heads of other families.

Two were for the other local, smaller, but nonetheless established, Las Vegas families.

The third window connected to a more distant, ironically more steadfast, ally …

the Dragon. Alessa had already heard his familiar timbre rolling from the speaker when the call connected, so she knew with certainty it was him.

Movement in the forward part of the room sharpened her focus and she snapped her gaze back to the gathered men, seeing one of the Capos had shuffled half a foot forward. “Mr. Cavallo—”

“ Don ,” Rocco corrected, his voice hard.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

“We aren’t here for a social call. This is a formality.

My father is out of commission, like it or not.

Effective immediately, I am the head of this family, and you will respect me as such or there will be consequences. ”

Alessa watched the other man’s Adam’s apple bob with a hard swallow. Someone behind a camera rustled, shifting papers or fabric just loudly enough for the sound to carry.

The Capo inclined his head. “My apologies, Don Cavallo,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

No one spoke as Rocco drew a breath. “You had something to say?”

The man straightened and squared his shoulders. “With respect, there are individuals in this room who shouldn’t be.”

Alessa felt her brows climb up her forehead. She knew damn well she was his biggest sticking point—she’d seen more than one of them sizing her up. And she highly doubted any of the men would question Emanuele’s presence .

Rocco shifted his weight and folded his arms over his chest. “There is no one in this room who shouldn’t be.” His words were a challenge. He was going to force his subordinate to say all the incriminating words or drop it.

The Capo clenched his fists, his nostrils flaring with a sharp breath. His dark eyes snapped to her and his brow pinched in a flash of a glare.

“Actually,” Rocco suddenly said, gesturing as if a thought had occurred to him and effortlessly recapturing the room’s attention, “you might be right. There might be several people in this room who don’t belong. Should we parse that out?”

At this declaration, all the men exchanged wary glances.

Ugo, already standing forward, raised his arm, palm up, in an uncertain gesture. “I don’t follow, sir?”

Rocco raised his chin. “Twenty-four hours ago, my father—your boss—was shot down and nearly slain in a humiliatingly public and ultimately failed assassination attempt. The goddamn police were called and the motherfucker who pulled the trigger was able to take his own life before we could get hands on him.”

Grumbles of frustrated dissatisfaction rolled through the room.

“Over the course of the afternoon,” Rocco continued, motioning then briefly to the monitor in front of him, “every single man on this screen reached out to me, directly, with words of sympathy and support. Our fucking rivals have offered to pound the streets and help us squeeze out whoever ordered the hit.” He paused. “No offense, Vito.”

A filtered chuckle drifted through. “None taken.”

Alessa made a conscious effort to hold herself still.

She knew Rocco’s words were true—she’d been with him when those calls had come in—but she also knew Rocco was skeptical at best of the other boss’s strange willingness to help.

The Cavallos didn’t have any real allegiance to the other area families.

Yesterday’s incident had triggered a temporary truce at most.

Rocco continued once more. “Ugo sat with me in the hospital for several hours, even took a turn standing over Father’s bedside.” He nodded toward the consigliere .

Ugo nodded back.

Rocco’s voice hardened again. “Where the fuck were all of you?” He pointed out, to the group at large.

“One text , from Enzo, and not even a goddamn word from all the rest of you? Yeah, it was Sunday, but if you’re gonna stand here and tell me you needed to take a day with your thumbs up your fucking asses, I will personally see to it that you never walk again.

” His voice hitched, almost imperceptibly, on the end of his words—on the threat he probably would have reworded if he’d thought it through.

Two of the men shuffled back a step as though he were about to strike that very instant.

Tino dropped to his knees. “I-I’m so very sorry, sir! I didn’t think—”

“Shut up, Tino,” Rocco snapped. “You know I don’t mean you. You’re in this meeting as a courtesy for lending us your office. Play deaf.”

“Yes, sir, of course, sir.”

Excuses poured forward on top of each other then.

How they thought they could be of better service organizing a manhunt for the assassin, or the money behind the assassin.

How they hadn’t wanted to bother Rocco during such a tumultuous time.

How they thought the four of them could act as pseudo-leadership, for a singular day, to keep the rest of the family from faltering.

It might have been believable if the man doing most of the talking weren’t sweating so badly.

Finally, Rocco held up a hand and the tirade of words stumbled to a stop.

“I will speak to each of you, individually. You established yourselves under my father’s reign, and while I respect that, I won’t be moving forward with blinders.

If you want to keep your authority and the luxury that’s come alongside it, you’ll need to prove to me we can work together just as seamlessly. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Don,” the group chorused.

Rocco let out a breath. “None of this is how we planned to do things originally, but it is what we planned to do. Everything moves forward. The family will survive.”

In the moment of silence that followed, the voice identified as Vito spoke up again. “I am reassured. I’ll be in touch.” His window blinked out, and the remaining two expanded to eat up the space.

Another, more distorted, voice spoke next.

“I believe in houses cleaning their own messes,” he said, “but I can assure you this did not come from me. I enjoyed negotiating with your father too much to have him cut down. Best of luck, Rocco.” Then that box blinked out, and the third was all that remained .

The window containing Dante De Salvo’s open line adjusted until it filled nearly the entire screen.

And though Alessa’s angle was imperfect, she was almost certain she caught a glimpse of glowing blue.

Of course, his words were not for her. “Our support is unwavering. Call if there is something we can do for you.”

Rocco dipped his chin. “If it comes to that, I will.”

Then that window, too, snapped shut and the monitor went dark.

Rocco turned his head outward. “We have a little time before the club opens. Who wants the first interview?”

The Capos weren’t happy, of course. Rocco hadn’t expected them to be.

He also didn’t care. They could have done every single one of the things they gave as excuses for not checking on his father’s wellbeing and each made ten-minute detours at some point in their day.

The seniormost of them had at least sent a text.

Not overwhelming, but certainly better than nothing. The rest?

Rocco had half a mind to beat the rest of them until they lined the ICU on either side of his father and had all the time in the world to ask for updates. But they had been good soldiers for his father for the most part. That was why they were so highly ranked within the family. So he resisted .

But it was his family to run now, so he didn’t outright forgive, either.

One by one, Ugo escorted each Capo into and then out of the office Rocco had temporarily commandeered from Tino.

Tino himself had slipped out, probably planted himself at the club’s bar, because this was not something he got to witness so closely.

Ignazio moved to stand just outside the borrowed office door while Em and Alessa remained in the office with Rocco.

Em was an obvious, expected choice. Alessa was something of a test.

The Capos were brought inside in order of seniority.

Of course, given the hard lives they all lived, that didn’t necessarily mean eldest to youngest. It meant that Vin, the man who had served the Cavallo family the longest, got the honor of speaking to Rocco first, when Rocco was likely to have the most patience and be the most calm.

It also meant that Vin had the experience to know to keep his eyes forward or down on the floor.

Rocco found he even believed Vin when Vin punched a trembling fist into his open palm and gruffly apologized for his oversight.

Vin swore it had been his earnest response to arm himself and join the hunt for the assassin and whomever hired him.

That was a little frustrating, but at the same time, reassuring. His father had always liked Vin.

After Vin came their eldest Capo, a man of comparable age to Rocco’s father, named Guiseppi.

Guiseppi was a harder man in every way than his fellow Capos, and Rocco was well aware that he had even voiced disagreements with Rocco Senior over the years.

What Rocco was less clear on was how those disagreements had been settled and why his father had tolerated repeats of that behavior.

Guiseppi glared around the room as if he hadn’t already seen it, then bent at the shoulders before dropping into the seat opposite Rocco’s borrowed desk. “If I may ask one question before you begin,” he said.

Rocco furrowed his brow. “You may ask.” He didn’t promise to answer, or not to get pissed over the question itself.

Guiseppi kept his stare on Rocco’s, his tone flat, and his expression even. “Are you sure it’s safe to speak in front of the woman? She’s an outsider.”

Rocco tensed, hands curling into fists, but forced himself to draw a breath.

He replayed Guiseppi’s words through his mind, trying to listen to them more slowly.

Listening for inflection. The question wasn’t flattering, but it didn’t quite dip into an insult, either.

If he could be objective, he might even say it was fair.

Rocco forced his fists to unclench. “She’s mine.”

Guiseppi’s mask finally cracked, his dark eyes widening a fraction, before he quickly dipped his head. “Apologies.”

Instead of adding more, Rocco pushed ahead with his interview.

There were only a few basic things he wanted to know that afternoon.

The questions themselves were less important than the conduct of the men who answered.

So, while most of Guiseppi’s answers were tight, Rocco found that most likely he didn’t deserve more than a solid punch to the face.

He’d probably let the man keep his post for the time being.

With that, Guiseppi was sent out, and Ugo escorted the next Capo into the room. This one was Ugo’s nephew, forty-year-old Adelmo. This was the one who’d tried making an issue of Alessa during the main meeting.

Adelmo stopped just shy of the chairs in front of the borrowed desk, flicked a glare in Alessa’s direction, and looked at Rocco.

His intention to say something stupid was plain on his face before he’d even opened his mouth.

“For as much as your position demands my respect, Don Cavallo, I have to insist the whore is removed before we discuss private matters.”