There was a tightness in his jaw as he reached for them, like he was finally starting to see that Lorenzo wasn't lying, that there was just cause, that his brother had clearly fucked up in a way that The Commission considered unacceptable.
As he looked at the pages, though, a muscle started to tick in his jaw. And the look in his eye was the kind that could make a grown, hardened man piss himself.
"Your brother was caught soliciting minors," Ricco explained, making my stomach drop. "Online, as you can see from the messages," he went on. "But also in person. We got word from someone in your community whose son said Due tried to get him to get in his car and come back to his place for ice cream. He was nine years old," Ricco finished.
Primo's gaze lifted, eyes murderous.
No, not just murderous.
Fucking psychotic.
"And you just shot him in the back of the head?" Primo asked.
"He was a fucking pedophile," Ricco snapped.
"Let me rephrase that," Primo said. "You only shot him in the back of the head?" he asked. "Men like that should be taken apart piece by piece," he added. "No matter who they are. If you didn't have the stomach for it," he went on, "you should have brought this to me. I would have done it."
He meant that.
There wasn't a doubt in my mind.
He might have been the most ruthless boss in any of the Five Families, but he had a code, it seemed. His loyalty did have bounds.
Lorenzo seemed to see that as well, losing some of the tension in his shoulders.
On a growling noise, Primo reached into his pocket, producing a key, and uncuffing Alessa.
"It was fun, baby, but go back to your man," he said dismissively, even waving a hand as he said it.
Alessa didn't even pause.
She made her way around the table, accepting a quick wrist squeeze from Ricco, then coming right over to me, dropping down on my lap, and whispering under her breath so only Lorenzo and I could hear.
"This isn't over," she said. "He has a plan," she added.
"No no," Primo said, waving a finger at her. "No spoilers."
"Spoilers for what, Primo?" Lorenzo asked. "We dealt with the issue."
"We dealt with one issue," Primo said. "We still have many to contend with. And they all come back to the utter lack of trust between our Families."
"I don't disagree," Lorenzo said, nodding. "Which is why open and honest sit-downs are important."
"No," Primo said, shaking his head. "We're beyond talking. You and I both know it would never be enough."
"What then do you propose?" Lorenzo asked, and I could feel Alessa stiffening on my lap.
I gave her leg a reassuring squeeze, not knowing what she knew, but wanting her to know we would handle it, no matter what it was.
To that, Primo raised a hand in the air, some cue to one of his men who went to the door toward the back, knocking on it with the tip of his gun.
The door opened.
And a second later, another man came out, pulling another woman with him. She was vaguely familiar to me, but very familiar to Emilio who jumped to his feet with a curse, having to be physically restrained by Brio.
"What the fuck is this?" Lorenzo asked, body going tighter than ever before.
"My proposal," Primo said, shrugging. "We could fuck around with this war. We could each lose dozens of men and millions of dollars. Or we can end it all right now. With an act of good faith."
"With a fucking sacrifice," Alessa snapped, practically vibrating with rage.
"Alessa here doesn't approve of my plan," Primo said, shooting her a barely-there smirk. "Called it out of the Dark Ages, if I recall correctly."
"No," Emilio said, quicker to figure out what was going on than I was.
"I understand your hesitance," Primo agreed, nodding. "She is your little sister, after all," he said, waving the guard and the woman closer.
That was why she was familiar.
Isabella.
Isabella Costa.
She was a few years younger than us, and the last time I'd gotten a good look at her, she'd been in her early teens.
Still, now that I knew who it was, I could see it.
She'd grown up beautiful, that was for damn sure.
She had a soft, rounded, feminine face with plump lips, deep-set light brown eyes, and long, wavy black hair.
She was on the short side and slight, a slip of a woman.
The idea of her with the giant that was Primo Esposito was almost laughable.
"I said no, Primo," Emilio ground out, his gaze going to his sister who'd clearly been crying at some point, judging by the dried mascara ribbons on her cheeks. "If you hurt her," he added, voice tight.
"She isn't harmed."
"She's been crying."
Primo glanced over at Isabella for a second.
"I imagine it was startling to be snatched off the street."