Page 50 of Crimson Fate
“Talk to me.”
“I tried. I swear I fucking did, but those goddamn stubborn assholes,” Anthony spits out, his frustration palpable even through the phone. “They’re spooked, Vincent. Spooked by Lorenzo and his threats.”
“Spooked?” I echo the word, tasting like acid on my tongue. My hand curls into a fist, knuckles whitening. “What the fuck do they have to be spooked about?”
“They just aren’t sure with new leadership if they should take the risk of going against the DeLucas,” he counters. “I mean, you gotta look at what Lorenzo offers them as real. It’s cash in their pockets.”
“I’m not new leadership. I’m a fucking King. It’s in my blood,” I snap.
“I know it’s the other guys. They said they’re afraid the DeLucas will see our refusal to align as a slap in the face and that we turned them away when they were just extending an olive branch.”
“We’re not moving drugs into my city. Do you understand me?”
“Of course I do, and I completely agree with you, but that’s not going to help when all of your captains are terrified they’re going to start taking some big hits financially as the pressure on you increases.”
“Is that right?” I inquire, the words seething with anger. “And what did you say to that?”
“Nothing yet. I wanted to strategize with you, not react in haste. This is delicate, Vincent. One wrong move and...”
He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. I know the stakes. We both do. The room feels smaller, the air thicker. In my mind’s eye, I see the chessboard laid out before us, every piece crucial, every move potentially fatal.
“Alright, I don’t want to discuss this over the phone anymore. I’m here with Gia, but we’re returning to the city tonight.” I don’t tell him I plan to return separately at a later time or why I’ll be delayed. “When I get back, I’ll call you, and we can figure this shit out.”
“I hope you two enjoyed yourselves,” Anthony interjects, and I remind myself that it’s probably best he not know just how much I enjoyed his daughter.
“It was nice. I’ll see ya later.” I end the call with no desire to continue with idle chitchat. Anthony may tell me he has been doing everything he can to sway the captains, but at the end of the day, the only person I trust to correct the situation is myself. When it comes to what I plan to do, I know it’s best if I keep my cards close to the vest. The last thing I need is Carmine DeLuca to get the heads-up that I’m coming.
I head upstairs, and when I reach the suite, Gia is already zipping up her bag. It’s evident she grew up surrounded by the expectations that come with being in a Mafia family. She challenges me, but it’s without questioning me. It’s a relief that all I had to do was tell her our weekend had to come to an end, and though clearly disappointed, she offered no argument on her part.
I cross the room and take her bag from her hand, pressing my lips to her forehead. “Thank you for coming with me this weekend.”
“Thank you for sharing this place with me,” she replies.
“Come on, I’ll walk you out,” I state, placing my arm around her as we make our way back downstairs, where Nico stands at the front door. I hand him Gia’s bag, and he turns to carry it out to the waiting car.
We step outside, and the first thing I notice is a chill in the air. “Hang on,” I state, racing back inside and grabbing a cardigan from one of the hooks near the front door. A moment later, I’m back at Gia’s side and wrapping it around her. She peers up at me with her doe eyes, blinking at me repeatedly in appreciation.
“Vincent, whatever you are getting ready to do, please be careful,” she whispers, her breath a warm caress against my cheek.
“Careful is my middle name,” I quip, trying to mask the gnawing concern in my gut with bravado. I laugh. “Wow, did I really just sound as fucking lame as I think I did?”
Gia giggles and nods. “Yeah, but I like that about you.”
Nico clears his throat subtly, a respectful intrusion that signals it’s time to part ways. He stands by the black sedan, its engine purring softly in the quiet of the evening. With one last lingering look, I release Gia reluctantly, watching as she glides toward the car.
Nico tips his head as he opens the door for her.
I wave one last goodbye to Gia as the door clicks shut, sealing her away from me. “Drive safely,” I say to Nico, though my thoughts are already miles away, plotting and planning.
I stand in the driveway, not budging until the sedan disappears out of sight. With that, I turn and race back up to pack my own belongings. Locking up the house, I head to the garage, the heavy door groaning on its hinges as it opens. My eyes are immediately drawn to one figure—a legacy on four wheels that stands apart.
My hand hovers above the canvas-covered vehicle before I grip it and pull it off, revealing the family jewel hiding beneath. I run a hand along the cold metal of the hood. I can almost hear my father’s voice, laced with that unmistakable timbre of authority, instructing me on the importance of respect—both given and earned. “A man’s car is his chariot, Vincent. It tells a story to the world about the man you are and the respect you deserve as that man.”
There’s no room for sentimentality today, only the stark reality of what must be done. With a swift movement, I circle around to the driver’s side. I toss my bag in the passenger seat of the 1967 Corvette and climb inside.
With a flick of my wrist, the engine comes alive, a deep growl that fills the garage and vibrates through my bones. The sound is pure adrenaline, a battle cry that stirs the warrior within.
The shadows of the garage recede as I guide the car, my father’s legacy, and my own future through its yawning mouth.