sister, who he was threatening. We can’t—”
“We can’t let the killing continue,” Maurizio interrupted, putting a hand on Carmine’s arm as if to tell him to calm down. “What happened on New Year’s Eve was unfortunate, as is what happened these past few days. None of us benefit by continuing to kill and bloody each other’s men.”
Il Sacchi sighed, bringing his drink to his lips. “Perhaps you are right. In these dark times…” He shrugged, then took a sip and didn’t finish the thought.
“We are competitors, Agosto,” Maurizio said. “But one dead man after another will make us enemies.”
Il Sacchi nodded slowly, but as his eyes shifted toward Carmine, his mouth hardened. “You hired this boy. Knowing what he did to my nephew.”
Carmine schooled his tone and his expression. “I owed him a debt for protecting my sister. It’s unfortunate that that protection meant killing Ricky, but he didn’t know who Ricky was or what would happen to my sister if he didn’t step in, and I don’t know that either. I just know that, thanks to him, my sister is safe.” He glanced at Maurizio, then swallowed as he met il Sacchi’s gaze. “I meant no disrespect to your family.”
Il Sacchi studied him for a long, uncomfortable moment. “And what of the insult the other night? Stopping me and my men on the way out? With police?”
Carmine could feel Maurizio eyeing him, trying to will him to be diplomatic, but he kept his gaze fixed right on the other capo. “What would have happened to him if I hadn’t done that? We had a deal, and you didn’t uphold your end of it.”
“Clearly you didn’t trust me,” il Sacchi challenged.
“Clearly I shouldn’t have.”
Il Sacchi’s nostrils flared, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Maurizio spoke first.
“What would have become of the Irishman had the police not stopped you and your men?”
Jaw working, il Sacchi sat back a little. Carmine suppressed a shudder. He didn’t want to know what would’ve happened to Danny. Not after what il Sacchi’s men had done to the others, and certainly not if Danny had ended up in the hands of Salvatore il Sacchi.
Before il Sacchi could answer, Maurizio said, “Agosto, there is nothing that can be done to take away the pain of your nephew’s death. The Irishman can offer nothing that will soothe your family’s grief. And the il Sacchis can offer nothing to soothe the family of the crewman who was killed.” He picked up his drink and inclined his head. “We are both wise enough men to know when making peace is prudent, even when the wounds are still fresh.”
To Carmine’s surprise, il Sacchi nodded slowly, staring into his own drink. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps we only invite more bloodshed if we can’t shake hands and move forward.”
“Agreed,” Maurizio said. “You still have my family’s utmost condolences for the death of your nephew. All we ask is to move on in peace.”
Il Sacchi seemed to think about it for a moment, absently swirling his drink for a long time. Finally, though, he nodded, and he opened his mouth to speak, but right then, someone banged on the door.
Immediately, every man in the room had a hand on a gun, and the two factions exchanged wary looks.
“You expecting anyone else?” Maurizio demanded.
“I’m not,” il Sacchi said flatly. “No one knows I’m here.”
They both looked at Carmine, who had his hand firmly on the butt of his pistol, but hadn’t drawn it yet. He shook his head.
All eyes moved toward the door, and there was more banging. With an annoyed sigh, Agosto jerked his head toward the sound, and a couple of security guards went to investigate.
As soon as the door opened, Salvatore il Sacchi exploded into the room in a flurry of sharp, rapid footsteps. “Uncle Agosto, what’s going on?” He stomped down the stairs, gesturing wildly at Carmine and Maurizio. “I told you what Battaglia did. I told you he—”
“I am aware, Salvatore.” Agosto sounded bored. “And I have resolved the situation with—”
“Resolved it?” Salvatore made a big show of looking around. “Where’s the Irishman, then? Is he dead? Where the hell is—”
“Salvatore!” his uncle snapped. “Hold your tongue and show some respect to our guests.”
Salvatore halted, and he stared at his uncle in disbelief. “Guests?” He flailed a hand toward Carmine and Maurizio. “They had you ambushed by police. They hired the man who murdered my brother. How are they guests?”
Agosto gave him one of those icy stares that