The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,130

bosses all deployed with the ease of a mother silently warning her unruly children to behave or the next warning wouldn’t be so silent. In a low, flat tone, he said, “Sit down, Salvatore. Have a drink, and we’ll discuss this like businessmen.”

“Businessmen?” his nephew spat. “After the way they insulted this family by hiring that—”

“Mr. Battaglia hired the boy who saved his sister’s life.”

“By killing Ricky!”

“Yes. By killing Ricky. Who had put the woman in danger.” Il Sacchi was out of patience now. “Sit. Down.”

Carmine held his breath, certain Salvatore was about to let fly a tirade of words, bullets, or perhaps both. A grieving and insulted Salvatore il Sacchi was dangerous in ways Carmine didn’t dare take lightly.

Il Sacchi glared at his nephew. “The Irishman and his crew are employees of our friends, the Pulvirentis. No one in our family is to lay a hand on them.” He paused, then added, “Or hire anyone to lay a hand on them.”

Salvatore sat, his lips so tight they were nearly invisible, and color rose in his cheeks as Maurizio and Agosto shook hands over the table. As they did, Salvatore met Carmine’s gaze, eyes full of smoldering hatred.

Out of respect and decorum, Carmine and Salvatore shook hands with the respective capos, and then with each other, and that hatred didn’t wane in the slightest as they gripped each others’ hands tight enough to grind the bones together.

This isn’t over, Salvatore’s eyes told him.

Carmine was under no illusion that it was, and he was scared now. Scared for Danny. Salvatore knew his face, and Carmine hiring Danny had added insult to injury. Maybe Agosto had mended fences with the Pulvirentis, but more than before, Salvatore was out for blood.

The meeting ended, and Carmine and Maurizio left first, flanked by their security. As they emerged from the back room into the empty speakeasy, a sick feeling crawled up the back of Carmine’s throat. The families may have settled everything after this “series of misunderstandings,” but it wasn’t that simple. Not with Salvatore il Sacchi involved.

On his way out of the speakeasy, Carmine knew deep inside that this wasn’t over. Salvatore wasn’t going to back down until he was satisfied his brother’s death had been avenged, and there was no telling if that would be when he’d put a bullet through Danny’s head or after he’d burned the entire Pulvirenti family to the ground.

Question was, what could Carmine do? Because he couldn’t protect Danny the way he wanted to. Danny could continue to work for Carmine, but if Carmine took measures to protect him—providing him bodyguards, housing him on Pulvirenti property—it would be taken as an insult to the il Sacchis. A sign of distrust and disrespect. A presumption that any member of the il Sacchi family would break the promise made by one capo to another.

But Carmine didn’t believe for even a moment that Salvatore was interested in respect or peace. He wanted vengeance. It didn’t matter why Danny had killed Ricky. It only mattered that Ricky was dead and Salvatore wouldn’t rest until there was blood on the ground to atone for that death.

Which meant that Danny was in serious danger.

And Carmine had no idea how to protect him.

Chapter 27

Danny stepped out of the rickety-looking (but incredibly fast and maneuverable) truck a few streets over from the marina in Greenport. Bernard got out of the driver’s seat. Mathew and Tommy climbed out of the back. Tommy was still a touch wobbly on his feet, and he was worrying his wife sick with all his headaches, but he was on the mend. They all were.

And today, with the new trucks provided by Carmine, the crew was going out on their first run since their ordeal two weeks ago.

The four of them were usually chatty and exuberant on their way to a run, talking about all the wild ways they could change their plan to bring in even more liquor or have even more fun. This afternoon, they were silent. So silent the crunch of their shoes on the ground and the rustle of their clothes was conspicuous. His friends’ faces were blank—he couldn’t begin to tell if they were nervous, if they were downright scared, or if they were just hollow with grief. He suspected they were still shell-shocked after what had happened. Lord knew he was.

At the fence beside the marina, the rest of the somber crew—Paddy, Peter, and Liam—smoked cigarettes while they waited. As Danny and the others joined them,