Rightful Execution
**ALEX**
When Bruno finally calls me, we are halfway to the beach house in a rented Lincoln Towncar with Mickey at the wheel and me at his right hand. Ana and Diego, Santos’ man, are seated in the back and were *only* allowed to join us because Ana threatened to hail a cab to the airport and head home in her plane. Damien texted me the address from some random number about an hour ago and ever since I’ve been weighing the stupidity of my actions against my need to retrieve my angel and get her somewhere safe.
“Tell me you have her, Bruno. Tell me she’s there in the box,” I say, listening intently to the sound of feminine whining in the background.
“She’s here. I have her. But about Simone, what-”
“Bruno!” I snap, losing my patience as time grows short. We are nearly to the beach house and he chooses *now* to become disobedient. “If you want to stick your dick in the mouth of a traitor that is entirely your business, but you will *not* allow that traitor to leave until she has answered for her crimes and I don’t care how well she swallows you back, am I clear?”
“Yes,” he sighs, resigned and the sound of whining gets louder.
I grin because I now know he’s done exactly as he was told and placed Simone in a cell right next to Emilia’s. She must not like the aesthetic, what with close to thirty dead bodies stacked like bricks in the hallway.
“Good. Now send the pictures to Berto’s phone from Emilia’s number and then text me when he replies. Do not answer him, do not let Emilia answer him, simply text me. Now do you think you can manage that without bitching to me about your conniving slut?”
He swallows so loudly it can be heard over the phone and I know already what he is thinking. Simone was placed in the box and it’s common knowledge that any house staff that is sent to the box isn’t put there to be detained. They are put there to be disposed of. What Bruno doesn’t realize is that if I do that to Simone without holding a fucking trial for the bitch first, Romany will be disappointed in me and for reasons beyond my comprehension, *that* seems to matter more than my rules.
“Bruno?” I hiss.
“Yes. I can manage it.”
“Excellent.” I hang up the phone and finally turn to my cousin, eyeing him up as he rips down the highway. “Now would be a grand time to tell me just what in the fuck Don Angeletto and Antony are doing way out here in New fucking Zealand, Mickey, because I doubt they’re here as Delgado’s back up.”
Mickey doesn't even blink, maneuvering around a treacherous pothole and through a side road that borders the highway all the way to the beach. “Delgado and Angeletto have been working together, using each other to sell things that they don’t have clearance for and doing so to people that *we* don’t do business with. And as such, none of their profit is taxed. They’ve been pouring their earnings into businesses they were allowed to open in Romano’s territory and now that he is gone-” he pauses to throw a look over his shoulder at Ana “-or rather… missing… those funds would have been surrendered to the bosses until such time that Ana married and a replacement for the district was found.”
My jaw tightens. “What do you mean - would have been surrendered? Why weren’t they?”
Mickey sighs, slowing the town car as we approach the beach. “There may have been a few fires and some of their… *stock* may have been released.”
“Released?”
Mickey tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “Set free.”
“By fucking who?” I growl out.
Mickey glares at me. “Who the fuck do you think? You refused to let me kill him so I did the next best thing. I took his fucking money and made sure that he knew why.”
“Goddamn it cousin,” I snarl. “You understand what this means, then. You understand why they are here.”
“Before you go and try to blame me,” Mickey snaps. “Maybe you ought to remind yourself of who made that disgusting deal with Enzo in the first place. A deal that started this wheel spinning and all because you had to have your controlling percent.”
“Fuck you.” But he is right. I know it. Ruby knows it. Everybody does. And now not only do I have to worry about Ruby slipping away with her cousin and convincing her never to speak to me again, but I have to worry about Angeletto taking her as a twisted form of revenge. Because without those businesses that Mickey destroyed and without Paul Romano to shield them from the eyes on top, Antony Angeletto basically has *nothing* until his father passes on and the pair of them will have less than nothing if I refuse to marry Emilia.
Maybe therein lies the answer. No matter how much I wish it didn’t.
Don Angeletto working with Ruiz’s father Delgado cannot be a sanctified event. There’s no way the other bosses signed off on bringing a Carillo into the wings. Simply put, they are bigots and Delgado Carillo is Spanish Mafia. So whatever Berto Angeletto is doing with him and whatever money he and Delgado have been making together, it has all been done behind the bosses backs.
Which constitutes grounds for execution… Rightful execution…
“We’re going to need guns,” Mickey says absently.
I smile. “Lucky for us, I know right where we can get them from.”
Damien filled me in on exactly what Ruby had them do once they arrived at the beach and according to him, there was more firepower up on that hill than even *I* kept in my cellar at home, so that was where we would stop first.
Five minutes later we’re are creeping past the road that would lead us to Santos’ cottage toward the opposite side of the cliff Damien marked for me by tying someone’s bloody camouflage shirt along the split branch of a slaughtered tree.
“Here, this is it,” I say, glancing around for somewhere to park that isn’t so offroad that we can’t back out.
I don’t see anything, but as it turns out, Mickey doesn’t give a fuck if we can pull out or not, just that we arent seen and he tips the goddamned car halfways into a mini ravine between the bushes.
“Fucking brilliant, Mickey. I rented this damned thing. It’s in *my* name,” I snarl.
Mickey shrugs, leaping out of the vehicle just as I reach for the door handle on my right, but the door pops open on its own and suddenly I’m staring at a face I’ve only seen on camera and in pictures.
The man standing on the grass doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t pull his weapon on me either.
And he’s bigger than I imagined. At least as big as Tiny.
“Alex DeMarco,” he says in that deep voice I’ve only ever heard on the phone.
"Santos."
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