CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: VITO
Ifuckedup.
Which leaves me in unfamiliar territory. I’ve never been one to do something so reckless. That’s Maximo’s job. But attacking Polo Messano was definitely more reckless than Maximo attacking the cartel. At least we were already heading towards an inevitable war with the cartel.
But we haven’t had animosity with the Damone family in years, not since Lorenzo’s father, Lorenzo Sr., was in charge. Junior is a much tamer beast than his father, someone who doesn’t really want to be in the lifestyle but has dealt with the hand he was given as diplomatically as possible.
But even he can’t ignore my fight with his second.
It’d only been by the skin of his teeth that Giovanni had managed to convince him that the scuffle wasn’t a big deal and I wasn’t completely in the wrong. He’d pointed out that Winter belongs to him – a statement that’s starting to make my skin crawl – and I’d only been defending the family’s property. Polo had been wrong for not backing away from her when I told him to.
And for his part, Polo looked like he couldn’t have been less bored with the conversation, acknowledging that he wasn’t completely innocent.
So, while it was clear Lorenzo wasn’t happy with what was going down, he’d decided to let it go. I have no doubt that if something similar happens again, it will be a completely different story.
Still, knowing that we narrowly escaped trouble hasn’t done anything to settle my nerves, because my head is filled with Winter Chastine in the worst way. In ways that’s starting to cloud my judgment and loyalty, something that’s deadly for the both of us.
I should know. The last time I gave my heart to a woman and lost her, it’d nearly killed me.
“Vito,” Giovanni interrupts my thoughts and I find him looking at me. His elbow is propped on the arm on his chair, his feet propped up on his desk, and there’s a cigar between his fingers. “How is your side?” he asks, nodding to where my gunshot wound is hidden under my shirt.
I press my lips together before giving a nod. “I’m fine, barely feeling any strain these days.”
Which is only half a lie. I feel a lot better, but I know I’m not one hundred percent and I’d ripped a stitch while fighting with Polo. Something that I’d just managed to keep hidden from Giovanni, letting the family doctor fix me up in secret.
“Good.” He blows out a puff of smoke and I watch him, closely.
I know something important is going down, from how sharp his tone was when he called me to his office. But he’s already managed to slide his mask into place, not giving anything away.
So. I wait patiently for him to play his hand, instead of trying to force it.
“We’ve had a handful of overdoses,” he says eventually.
My brows pull together. “What?”
He taps his cigar out and while he tries to appear unfazed, I don’t miss the way his fingers crush the stem.
“The police have had a handful of bodies show up in the morgue lately, people who buy from us. Autopsies came back as overdoses, fentanyl.”
I can’t mask my confusion. “Fentanyl? We don’t put that shit in our drugs.”
“Exactly,” he says. He stands up, his face drawn. “But somehow, it’s wormed into our supply. I don’t know how, but it has to be at the factory.”
Fentanyl is deadly, only idiots bother with that shit. No one in the factory would be stupid enough to try to slide it into our shit.
“Wait,” I pause, something niggling at my brain. Giovanni raises a brow but remains in place, watching me. “The break ins,” I say.
“The break ins,” he repeats slowly before shaking his head. “Fuck.” His jaw clenches and in the blink of an eye everything goes flying off his desk as he sweeps his hand over it, losing his temper. “Fuck!” he repeats louder. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. How could we have missed that?”
“None of the drugs were missing,” I tell him.
Which was odd at the time. Who breaks into a place if they aren’t going to take anything? But I hadn’t really given it a second thought, which isn’t typical of me. Usually, I'll dig into something until I find a satisfying answer, to prevent shit like this from happening.
You’ve been far too distracted with a curvy something that you need to stay away from.
I push my thoughts away.
“The cartel.” It’s not a question, because no one else would be bold enough to go after us through our drugs. They wouldn’t even think about risking war with us over it. But when we’re already deep into it with the cartel, it’s nothing but a battle won for them.