Page 44 of The Enforcer’s Revenge (Untamed Hearts #4)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

T ino’s first stop once he got back to New York was a coffee shop in Brooklyn.

It was Carlo’s favorite. A hole in the wall with black and white pictures hanging on the wall, great Italian coffee, and no one playing the guitar and crying about their problems into the microphone.

Just coffee, cannoli, and other simple Italian desserts.

Carlo liked the old guy who ran it. Sometimes he sat outside and played cards with him on slow days.

Other times, Tino and Nova joined him. The simplest things made their zio happy, and a coffee shop run by an old Siciliano, with cards and family thrown in, was the height of happiness in Carlo’s world.

Tino figured Pietro might know something.

Tino’s head still felt like it was cracked open.

He was buzzing too hard off the blow. It was top shelf because Carlo never half-assed his blow, and Tino had been completely clean for a few days before he ended up passed out on the kitchen floor in Carlo’s Jersey Palisades place.

Now he was tired but wired, his least favorite type of high, especially with a headache.

Really, this fucking headache was a bitch.

He was starting to think Sammy the bouncer got the better deal.

His grand plan was to down enough sugar and caffeine to reset the tired and wired to just wired, then he’d bug Pietro for details after the place cleared out.

It was busy at five o’clock in the afternoon.

Tino skipped the line and leaned against the counter closest to the small kitchen.

Pietro spotted him and pointed to Tino. “ Macchiato con zucchero ?”

Tino nodded in agreement, which killed his head before he changed his mind and ordered in Italian, “No, make it a marocchino with the extra sugar. I’m tired, brother, real tired.”

“You’re too young to be so tired, Tino.” Pietro leaned over and patted Tino’s cheek. “Where’s Carlo? Still out of town?”

Tino just looked at him, feeling like he was missing something, because Carlo hadn’t been out of town. Too exhausted to look any deeper than being disappointed Pietro was a dead lead, Tino finally admitted, “I haven’t seen him either. I just got back from Jersey.”

“You go all the way to Jersey to party? Why not party in Brooklyn?”

“I party in Brooklyn too, but I needed to get out by myself for a while. Clear my head.”

“Clear your head, huh? Was she pretty?”

“Yeah, she was cute.” Tino fell back on old habits. He played dumb and made shit up. He wasn’t ready to talk about Lola, especially since the way she died was so fucking terrible. Let someone else tell Pietro that story.

“And how was the beach with your cute Jersey girl?”

“It was alright.” Tino didn’t sound like he meant it, and Pietro noticed by patting his shoulder before he walked away to deal with his other customers.

One of the girls behind the counter gave Tino a cannoli, and he sat at a table facing the door, waiting for his coffee, which made him sort of a motherfucker. Pietro didn’t have waitresses. Everyone was supposed to serve themselves, but Tino decided to be privileged on account of the headache.

He wasn’t too inclined to pay attention to his surroundings, but he was still on the lookout for Carlo, which was why he glanced up when the bell chimed with more customers.

Three young women around his age walked in giggling, but that wasn’t what got his attention. It was the television to the left of the door. The sound was muted, but the captions were on and playing on the bottom of the screen.

Tino jumped up, unable to hide the rush of fear when he saw the images flashing on the screen as he read the report rather than listened to it.

Breaking news on the Brooklyn fire.

We have received word from officials confirming that Carmine Brambino is one of the five fatalities.

The other four names have not been released.

Authorities haven’t said if they suspect foul play or if the fire was accidental, but we do know Mr. Brambino’s daughter, Lola Brambino, was tragically murdered on the fourth of July.

“I thought you knew.” Pietro set the coffee down on the table.

“No.” Tino stared in horror. “Five dead, and it’s all over the news. Cazzo, Pietro. This is bad.”

“And Lola,” Pietro whispered softly, making it obvious he had known all along and didn’t want to talk about it any more than Tino did. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” Tino nodded, feeling dazed. “I can’t drink that. I have to go.”

“Finish your cannoli.” Pietro pulled out the chair and put a hand on Tino’s shoulder, forcing him to sit. “I’ll put it in a cup for you.”

Tino couldn’t use the cup on his bike, but he sat there anyway, watching the images on the television. His brain was trying to catch up because he hadn’t realized until that moment how right he’d been when he stood there dripping and naked, begging Brianna to understand.

Carlo actually was going to blow the whole fucking thing up.

A part of Tino didn’t want to believe it. A vain, childish part that was really fucking hurt that his zio would ruin his whole life—just like that—knowing what Tino and Nova went through after Romeo went away.

Selfish as it was, Tino made it about him. He wasn’t ready to lose his zio, and either way, this was going to change everything.

It was too big.

Too all over the news.

Maybe, if they got very lucky, Tino could find Carlo before he did anything else and?—

“Go home, Tino.” Pietro physically grabbed Tino’s hands and placed the to-go cup inside them. Then he wrapped both his smooth, old palms around Tino’s and said, “You look like merda. Stop partying so much. Your family wants you to go home.”

Tino looked at the cup, seeing the arrow drawn on the lid, pointing to the other side of the room in warning.

His heart dropped in fear, knowing the Feds had to be sitting right there all along while he was rambling on, saying whatever the fuck popped into his mind under the headache.

He didn’t turn to look, but he did try to mentally recall who had been sitting at those tables under the television.

Only he couldn’t.

’Cause of the fucking headache.

He just whispered, “Grazie,” and kissed Pietro’s cheek.

When he walked out, he made a point to be casual and not glance over to the table, even though he really wanted to.

He spotted more Feds once he got outside, sitting in a car across the street.

A man and a woman, pretending to be arguing, but they kept looking over at him.

At least two agents were sitting inside, two were watching the outside, and that was just at the coffee shop where they played cards.

Fuck.