Chapter 32: Facing the Don (Luca Moretti POV)
Chapter 32: Facing the Don (Luca Moretti POV)
The drive to Antonio’s office is silent, Nico’s hands tight on the wheel, his thumb rubbing his cross keychain every time we hit a red light. I’m in the passenger seat, my knife flipping open and closed in my lap, humming that ballad under my breath to keep my nerves from unraveling. Antonio’s summons, Bring the barman to my office. Tonight, hangs like a blade over us, Joey’s betrayal fueling his suspicions. I scribble a note on a scrap of receipt, We’re enough, and slip it into Nico’s jacket pocket as we park outside Antonio’s building, a graystone with blacked-out windows near the docks.
“Stay sharp,” Nico says, grabbing my arm before we step out, his voice low, his cap pulled low. I nod, tucking a curl behind my ear, and we head inside, the hallway smelling of cigar smoke and polished wood.
Marco’s waiting by the stairs, his cigarette glowing, ash dusting his boots. “Joey’s been running his mouth,” he says, keeping his voice low, his eyes flicking to the office door. “Told Antonio you’re a liability, Luca. Said Nico’s too soft on you.”
I swallow hard, my knife still in my hand, flipping faster. “He’s wrong,” I say, my voice steady despite the shake in my fingers. “We’re solid.”
Nico nods, his hand on his cross, and claps Marco’s shoulder. “Keep the stash house locked down,” he says, pulling his phone and texting Tommy: Stash house secure? O’Connor’s moving at dawn. Marco nods, heading out, his cigarette tossed into a corner as we push through to Antonio’s office.
The room’s heavy with cigar smoke, Antonio’s desk cluttered with ledgers and a half-empty whiskey bottle. He’s pacing, his suit jacket off, his eyes cold as they lock on me, then Nico. I stand beside Nico, my hands in my pockets, hiding their tremble, the ballad silent but buzzing in my head. “Why’s a barman worth all this trouble, Nico?” Antonio asks, tossing a pen onto a stack of papers, one labeled O’Connor Accounts catching my eye, dates matching Raf’s $50,000 deposit.
Nico steps forward, his voice steady, his cap low. “Luca’s loyal,” he says, his hand brushing his pocket where my note is. “He’s risked everything, fought O’Connor’s men, saved my life. He’s one of us.”
I meet Antonio’s gaze, refusing to flinch, my voice firm. “I’m here for Nico,” I say, my knife still in my pocket, a reassuring weight. “For the family.”
Antonio leans on his desk, grabbing a ledger and flipping it open, his eyes never leaving me. “A barman who fights like a soldier,” he says, his voice sharp, testing. “You know too much, kid. Raf’s deals, Gia’s games. Why should I trust you?”
I step closer, my boots scuffing the hardwood, and point to the ledger. “Those accounts,” I say, my voice steady. “They tie Raf to O’Connor. I found the receipt, helped Nico track him. I’m not here to play games, I’m here to fix this.”
Nico nods, pulling the receipt from his pocket and sliding it across the desk. “He’s right,” he says, his hand dropping to his cross, rubbing it. “Luca’s the one who caught Raf’s laundering. He’s earned his place.”
Antonio grabs the receipt, scanning it, his jaw tight. “Loyalty’s one thing,” he says, tossing it back. “But Joey says you’re distracted, Nico. Says this kid’s clouding your judgment.”
Nico’s fist clenches, but he keeps his voice even. “Joey’s jealous,” he says, stepping closer to Antonio’s desk. “He’s been gunning for my spot since the pier job. Luca’s not a distraction, he’s why we’re still ahead of O’Connor.”
I grab a chair, sitting to steady myself, my knife flipping in my pocket, hidden. “Joey’s wrong,” I say, leaning forward. “We stopped O’Connor’s thug at the pier, got intel on their stash house hit. I’m not here to drag Nico down, I’m here to fight.”
Antonio’s eyes narrow, and he grabs a phone from his desk, dialing fast. “Tommy,” he says when it connects, his voice cold. “Stash house status?” I hear Tommy’s voice, faint but clear: “Locked down. Frankie’s crew’s in place.” Antonio hangs up, setting the phone down, his gaze back on me. “You’ve got guts,” he says, his voice low. “But guts don’t mean loyalty.”
Nico steps beside me, his hand brushing my shoulder, a quick touch to ground us both. “Test him, then,” he says, his voice firm. “Give him a job, anything. He’ll prove it.”
I nod, standing, my heart pounding but my eyes locked on Antonio. “Name it,” I say, tucking another curl behind my ear, my humming silent but steady in my chest.
Antonio leans back, grabbing a cigar from a box and lighting it, the flame flaring. “You’re close to this O’Connor mess,” he says, exhaling smoke. “Raf’s cash, Gia’s calls. You know more than you’re saying.” He opens a drawer, pulling out a ledger marked Valenti Routes, tossing it onto the desk. “Tell me what you know. Everything.”
I grab the ledger, flipping through it, dates, drop points, all tied to Raf’s pier meets. “Raf’s been skimming,” I say, my voice clear, pointing to a page. “Moving cash to O’Connor through Vinny, their runner. Gia’s been feeding Sean intel to keep him off us, but she’s playing both sides. We’ve got their stash house hit planned for dawn, Nico’s decoy’s throwing them off.”
Antonio nods, taking the ledger back, but his eyes stay cold, calculating. “You talk like you belong,” he says, standing, his hand moving to his desk drawer again. He pulls out a revolver, its barrel glinting as he points it at me, his voice like ice. “Prove your loyalty.”