The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,161

tide.

But he refused to think about that now. Just like when Agosto il Sacchi’d had the crew of rum runners, until Carmine saw for himself that Danny was dead and gone, he would believe there was a chance to save him.

As they crossed the butcher shop, he glanced at Bernice. “Put in a call to the boss. I need a meeting, and it can’t wait.”

“Yes, sir.” She picked up the telephone.

At Carmine’s order, Fedele drove as fast as possible through the crowded streets, narrowly missing some other cars and even a few people on foot. Normally Carmine didn’t abide by that kind of recklessness, but this was an emergency, and he just prayed no one got hurt and nothing kept them away from the house.

His prayers were answered, and in no time, Fedele pulled up in front of Carmine’s place. As Carmine got out of the car, his heart beat faster. The house was in chaos. Whether because Giulia sounded the alarm or because Maurizio had, he couldn’t say, but every man who worked for Carmine was either in the house or in front of it. All eyes were on him as he hurried up the steps with Sal behind him.

Giulia met him at the door, and he didn’t get a chance to say a single word before she said, “Father Carroll is back.”

“Father—” Carmine blinked. “Where is he?”

She gestured into the parlor, and he hurried through the crowd of men in the foyer, barely noticing the prickle of dread from so many people crammed into the narrow space.

In the parlor, he found Father Carroll lying back on the sofa with a fresh wound on his temple. Mama was dabbing at the wound, which looked painful, but didn’t seem to be bleeding terribly.

“Where’s Danny?” Carmine asked.

The priest looked up at him. “I don’t know. We were ambushed outside his brother’s apartment, and I…” He sighed, shaking his head slowly. “I took a fall down the stairs, and by the time I came to, he was gone. They all were.”

Carmine stared. “Ambushed? By…” He wanted to ask by whom, but did he even need to? His heart fell into his feet. “They took Danny.”

Father Carroll nodded grimly.

Right then, Sal leaned into the parlor. “Hey boss. The big man is here.”

Carmine swallowed. “Thanks.” He didn’t want to bring Maurizio into this, but he had to tread delicately where politics were concerned. Maurizio didn’t want a war with the il Sacchis, especially not now, and it was up to him how the Pulvirentis responded to this. Or if they responded at all.

The crowd of people in his house thickened as Maurizio’s entourage of security came in, making Carmine’s skin crawl, but there was no time to worry about that now. A crush of people was unavoidable in a crisis like this.

A moment later, the old man himself appeared in the chaos. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

Carmine led him into the parlor where Father Carroll was carefully sitting up. Mama glanced up at Maurizio and the other men in the hallway and the parlor, and she turned to Father Carroll.

“I’ll get everyone food and coffee.” Then she got up and hurried out of the room.

“Thank you, Mama,” Carmine said as she passed him, and she gave him a nervous smile before continuing on her way. Guilt needled at him. She thought Maurizio was a nice gentlemen, and most of the men who worked for Carmine were nice gentlemen too, but she didn’t like the matters Maurizio and his men came to discuss. Though she understood it was what kept them all housed and fed, she didn’t like it, and he didn’t blame her. And she didn’t like dense crowds any more than he did, so he didn’t blame her for that either.

With Mama out of the room, Carmine and Father Carroll explained everything to Maurizio.

The old man furrowed his brow and nodded along, listening while they filled him in. When they’d finished, he stroked his chin thoughtfully for a long moment. Finally, he drew in a deep breath. “I’ll need to speak to Agosto. See if some kind of arrangement can be—”

“Speak to him?” Carmine shook his head. “No, we have to act. We have to do something.”

“This is a time for diplomacy, Carmine,” Maurizio snapped. “We cannot let this erupt into—”

“It’s already war!”

“No, it isn’t.” Maurizio narrowed his eyes. “The rum runner works for us, but he is not one of us. When il Sacchi draws Pulvirenti blood, or Pulvirentis draw il Sacchi