Page 37 of Vincenzo (The DiMaggio Crime Family #3)

VINCENZO

“ S o, this is Diego’s place?” I ask Amalia as I drive up the stone driveway leading to a mansion that’s nearly the size of the home I grew up in.

“Yup,” she says, popping the P. “And before you ask, yes, he’s single, no kids—that we know of, at least—and he’s living in a mansion that has at least a dozen rooms and even more bathrooms. It’s obnoxious.”

The immaculate home is nestled among meticulously thought-out landscaping and perfectly lit up by exterior lighting under the night sky. Banyan and palm trees cover the perimeter, secluding it in its own little jungle oasis.

After parking on the side of the house where Armando told us to park to ensure the car is hidden, we get out, and I take in the faint sounds of motorboats coming from somewhere I can’t see.

“There’s a bay on the other side of the house. That’s one of the reasons Diego was so attracted to this place. He wanted the private dock that came with it,” Amalia says, reading my mind.

“This place is pretty fucking insane,” I say, realizing how different the living experience here in Miami is compared to New York. “I love New York, but living in a place like this could tempt me to stray.”

“Oh, yeah?” Amalia says, taking a hold of the hand I extended out to her. “ You would consider living here ?”

I give her a loose shrug. “If it means staying with you, then yeah.”

She digs her red heels into the ground, stopping in place. Pausing, I turn to look at her.

“You would leave your family and move here?” she asks, her eyes wide and a furrow in her brow. “Just for me?”

I think about that for a moment because it’s not something that’s ever crossed my mind before. New York is all I know. My family and well-being are there. Is that something I’d be willing to give up?

It doesn’t take me long before the next words tumble out of my mouth. “You are my family, Amalia. You’re my future, and that’s not something I take lightly. If moving here is what it takes to be with you, then you bet your ass I’d be open to it.”

Amalia’s pouty bottom lip drops open, and it quivers as if she’s trying to speak words that don’t want to come out of her mouth. “I-I…”

I squeeze her hand and give her a smile. “We don’t have to talk about it right now. Just know, wherever you are, that’s where I’ll be.”

She still looks stunned, but after a few moments, her lips turn up into a smile, and there’s a glisten in her eyes that tells me we’ve just made a promise to each other.

“You ready to head in there?” I ask, my tone serious, focusing back on the task at hand. We’ll have plenty of time to talk about our future once we get rid of Pedro.

Amalia nods, the smile never leaving her face. “I never thought I’d be the one to get revenge for them. For once, I’m going to put my skills to good use. I’m going to do something with them that I want to do, and I’m so fucking ready, Enzo.”

I grin, completely understanding where she’s coming from. Amalia and I are similar in that aspect. We’ve both killed plenty of people in our line of work, but for her to finally be able to use what she’s learned for her own doing is something else. It almost makes what we do for a living worth it.

“Come on,” I say, hauling her toward the front door. “Let’s go get that revenge you deserve.”

When we get up to the large double doors, one of them opens before we have a chance to ring the doorbell. On the other side of the threshold, Armando stands in a white button-up and blue slacks. Gesturing with his hand, he hurries us into the house.

“It’s about time you guys got here,” he rushes out.

“You said to be here now . What’s going on?” Amalia asks, concern lacing her tone.

“You didn’t get my text?”

“No, I—” Amalia says, taking her phone out of her pocket. “ Mierda ,” she hisses out. “?Pedro está aquí?”

I hold up a hand, thankful my parents made me learn Spanish growing up. “Wait, what do you mean Pedro’s here? I thought you said he was going to be here in thirty?”

“He wants to head to the club now, so he showed up about five minutes before you guys did to get the supply from Diego’s safe. His car is in the garage ready to load up,” Armando says. “I tried texting you, but it seems you were preoccupied.”

“It’s fine,” Amalia hurries out, shoving her phone back in her pocket and drawing her gun from her holster. “Does he know we’re here now?”

“Of course not,” Armando says. “He’s waiting out back on the balcony. I got a notification on my phone when you guys got here, so I made up a fucking excuse to come out here and get you.”

“How many men are with him?” I ask, drawing my Glock from the waistband at my back. My adrenaline starts to spike, increasing my heart rate and alertness as I glance behind Armando at the door, ready for any kind of oncoming threat to barge right through.

“Three.”

“Too bad he just signed his friends’ death certificates,” Amalia says, then looks over at me. “They’re bound to stand up and protect him, which means we need to get rid of them too.”

The coldness in her voice is nearly a fucking turn-on to me. Scratch that… From the way my dick is pressing up against the zipper of my pants, I’d say her threat is definitely turning me the fuck on.

I nod. “Easy enough. Me and Armando can handle them while you go for Pedro.”

“And if they don’t fight back?” Armando asks.

“I’d be surprised,” Amalia says.

“But what if they don’t?” he repeats. “Do you still want us to get rid of them?”

Amalia raises a brow at her cousin. “I’m surprised you care so much about them.”

“I don’t,” he says with a loose shrug. “But if we can avoid an all-out bloodbath in Diego’s backyard, that’d probably be better.”

“Oookay…” Amalia draws out, crinkling her brow at him. “Just keep them out of my way. I don’t really care what we do with them, I just want Pedro.”

“Let’s do this then,” Armando says, turning on his heel.

Amalia is about to follow after him, but I grab her hand and she turns back, looking at me with widened eyes.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

“Yeah. I just want you to know I’m going to be there for you. No matter what. You need me, I’ll be there.”

She gives me a nod, a smile creeping on her face. “I know. Just make sure his three men are handled. I’ve got Pedro. I promise.”

Amalia goes to turn, but I stop her again, tightening my grip on her wrist as I pull her into me. Wrapping my arm around her, I lift her chin with my finger and gaze into her brown eyes that are glistening with the same adrenaline that’s coursing through my body.

“I love you, you know that, right?”

“I love you too,” she says, and I cover her lips with mine, giving her a kiss like it’s going to be our last one.

“Are you two lovebirds done now? We kind of have some business to take care of,” Armando says from behind Amalia.

“Yup, people to kill. What else is new?” I say, releasing Amalia and following her and her cousin through the foyer.

Armando leads us down an oakwood hallway and into the living room that boasts high ceilings, white furniture, and abstract paintings on the walls.

When he gets to the large glass door, he slides it open to reveal the fully furnished balcony. Taking his gun out of his waistband, he walks out onto the deck.

My gaze is immediately drawn to the four men sitting in the outside bar area. None of them are looking our way, making it almost too easy for the three of us to stroll up on them. Our guns are aimed at our targets.

Finally, we catch the attention of one of the young men. He glances over at me, eyes widening when he takes in my gun aimed directly at him, but before he can even blink, I pull the trigger, and he falls back into his seat with blood dripping from the hole in his forehead.

I know I ignored what Armando said, but why the fuck would I want to put ourselves in a position where we could get ourselves killed? I’m going to take them out as I see fit.

The other three whip their gazes to us. Before they’re able to draw their guns, Amalia and I each take one out, leaving Pedro on his own with his hands in the air.

“Well, so much for not making a mess,” Armando mumbles from behind me.

“?Qué putas?” Pedro exclaims. What the fuck?

His bushy brows are lifted to his hairline, and his mustache flattens in a straight line as he takes us all in.

“Amalia,” he says, dragging his gaze over mine to meet Armando’s. “ Armando … What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Don’t look at him,” Amalia says, her voice slow and controlled, with her gun still aimed at him while she closes in on him. Armando lowers his weapon, but I continue to leave mine aimed directly at Pedro. Just in fucking case.

“This is about me, you, and what you did ten years ago.”

He lifts a brow. “And what is it you think I did ten years ago?”

“Don’t bullshit me,” she says as she walks around the couch Pedro was sitting on. She waves her gun at it. “Sit down.”

He slides his gaze to mine, then over to Armando, his jaw clenching, before reluctantly taking a seat.

“I just want to hear you say it,” Amalia says as she stands in front of Pedro like she’s his executioner and he’s being allowed his last word. “Or are you too much of a pussy to admit it?”

Pedro brings his arms up, resting them on the back of the couch, and crosses his legs, looking far too relaxed for a man who has a gun pointed at him.

“What is it you want to hear, Amalia?” he goads. He’s toying with her, speaking to her as if he has the upper hand here, which piques my interest. Does he not care he’s about to die?

“Did you really think the dirty work you do for my uncle wouldn’t eventually bite you in the ass?”

Pedro lets out a patronizing scoff. “That’s rich coming from La Sicaria . You’re the definition of Manuel’s dirty work.”

“The people I’ve killed aren’t good people,” Amalia defends.

“Are you sure about that?” he asks, smiling grimly at her.

“They’ve all been people who have worked with my uncle, so yes, I’m quite sure about that,” she snaps back.

This is the most riled up I’ve seen Amalia since I met her.

I had her slammed up against a wall in an alleyway, cutting off her air supply, and she didn’t so much as flinch.

But in this moment with Pedro, he has her shaken.

He holds up his hands and gives her a shrug. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Amalia.”

Just when I think she might react on impulse again, I watch the rise and fall in her chest as she takes a deep breath and lets it out. She’s trying to calm herself.

Shoving her gun back in her holster, she takes out her knife and twirls it in the air a few times, playing with it in a skilled manner all while keeping her gaze sharp on Pedro’s.

“You don’t want to admit that you murdered my parents? Fine. But if you think it’ll save you from what’s about to happen, you’re sorely mistaken. I kill people for a living, Pedro. What makes you think I’d make an exception for you?”

He chuckles, and the way he does it makes me think?—

Before I can finish that thought, the sound of a gun being cocked rings through my ears, causing me to freeze and my heart to drop to the deepest depths of my stomach.

“I think it’s time for you to drop your gun,” says the voice behind me, and I don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

Amalia’s eyes snap up.

“What are you doing, Armando?” I ask, my back still turned to him and my gun still aimed at Pedro.

“I’m rather bored with this, and I let it play out a lot longer than it should have, to be honest, so I’d appreciate it if you lowered your gun now. I’ve got somewhere else to be tonight, and it sure as fuck isn’t here with you.”

Amalia’s eyes narrow in on Armando. She tilts her head as if she’s inspecting him, and her teeth clench as if something has just dawned on her.

“Talking to you too, prima . Lower that damn knife of yours,” Armando calls out from over my shoulder.

“And here I thought you were supposed to be the good cousin,” I say, still not allowing my gun to drop.

Pedro looks over at me and Armando, his bushy mustache lifted on one side, displaying the annoyingly condescending smirk that’s begging for me to wipe it right off his face. Now it makes sense why he was sitting there relaxed as if his life was never on the line. It’s because it wasn’t.

“I guess that depends on which side you’re on,” Armando chuckles out, then shoves me in the shoulder with the barrel of his gun. “Now, lower your fucking gun.”

“You’re really going to screw your cousin over like this?” I grind out.

Before Armando can respond, Amalia maneuvers behind the couch, putting Pedro in a chokehold with her blade against his throat. She must have it pressed hard against his skin because his eyes widen and he releases a yelp.

I don’t hesitate another second before I’m whipping around and knocking Armando’s gun out of his hand. It lands on the stone tile with a clank .

His gaze snaps from the gun to me, widening when he realizes the predicament I’ve just put him in. As if it’s happening in slow motion, he goes to throw a right hook at me, but I easily block it and twist his arm, maneuvering myself behind him, then slam the barrel of my gun into his temple.

He lets out an identical yelp to Pedro’s. “?Puta madre!”

“Right back at you, motherfucker ,” I grunt out while he struggles to get out of my hold. I tighten the grip I have on his arm, making him arch into me and let out a hiss of pain.

“You got him?” I call out to Amalia, who still has her blade tight against Pedro’s throat.

She gives me a nod.

“You fight me, and I’ll slit your throat,” she says to him. “And before that cocky-ass smirk you’ve been wearing all night takes over your face again, you know I can and will do it in a heartbeat.”

I twist Armando’s arm up into his back, which nearly has him falling to his knees in submission. “Now that the tables are turned… what in the fuck , Armando?” I spit out.

The warm Miami air turns chillingly cold when no one says anything. It’s as if there’s something everyone knows about that I’m unaware of.

“That’s not Armando,” Amalia finally says, and it has my gaze snapping to hers.

“Excuse me?” I say, confusion lacing every syllable.

“That cabrón is not Armando… That’s fucking Diego.”