Scars and Sins (Brooklyn Brothers Book 2)

by Melanie Munton

  His brows drew together in an expression I couldn’t interpret. “So, it is a boy. Perhaps, I should meet him? I promise to be on my best behavior.”

  I patted him on the shoulder as I skirted around the island. “Nice try, but you’re not getting any information out of me. I’m home for the summer like you wanted, but that doesn’t mean you get to snoop around in my life.”

  I hadn’t meant for the words to come out so harsh. I’d been trying to tease him.

  I cleared my throat, forcing out a smile. “I’m just trying to have some fun before my life ends again when I go off to med school in August. I’m enjoying myself, okay?”

  His own smile was tight. “Okay, lina.”

  His long-time nickname for me took me back to much happier days. It was short for bambolina, which meant “little doll.” The only times I’d heard it over the past five years had been through the phone.

  I kissed him on the cheek on my way out of the kitchen. “I’ll probably be home late, so I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I had just stepped into the hallway when his voice stopped me.

  “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. We’re having dinner with some old friends of mine on Sunday night.”

  I loved how he said we like there was any room for me to try and refuse. Like my opinion actually mattered. Like I even had a choice.

  But once again, he’d already made the decision for me.

  I warily turned back around to face him. “They’re coming here for dinner?”

  He shook his head, his eyes watching me closely. “No, we have a reservation at Panache. The new chef is supposed to be spectacular.”

  He knew I didn’t give a rat’s ass about the chef. He was just trying to avoid a screaming match.

  I took a deep breath, leashing my temper. “Old friends? Do I know them?”

  “No. They’re visiting from the old country.”

  Italy? Who the hell would have been visiting from Italy?

  Unless…

  “Papà,” I said slowly, “please don’t tell me you’re going to make me sit and have dinner with those Sicilian stronzos.” Assholes.

  “Watch your tongue,” he bit out. “You will be respectful to them. I will not say it again.”

  My voice rose in volume before I even knew what was happening. “How can you continue to cow down to them after—” I cut myself off.

  Despite how he was acting, I didn’t want to remind him of the indirect role he may or may not have played in Mamà’s and Filip’s deaths. I knew he’d always suspected the Sicilian Gabbiano family had somehow been behind their fatal car crash, though we’d never found any evidence of it.

  But he had apparently forgotten all about that.

  And he expected me to be cordial to those bastards?

  Fat fucking chance.

  “I know you may not realize it, lina,” Papà said in a solemn voice, “but they have done a lot for you in one way or another. They’ve done a lot for this family. And I will not have you disparage our name by spitting malice at the family that was once responsible for feeding ours.”

  Yeah, yeah. I’d heard all of that before.

  When my great-grandfather was young and his father had fallen on hard times, the Gabbianos had lent a helping hand to the D’Angelo family. It had kept them in their warm home with food on the table, rather than being kicked out on the cold streets.

  But one good deed did not a saint make.

  Nor did it excuse any evils that were committed after the fact.

  “Disparage our name?” I blustered. “At least I’ve stood on my own two feet after being kicked out of my family home. I got a scholarship and worked my way through school and never once begged you for money. I’m not the one who continues to kiss the devil’s feet!”

  Papà lurched upright, scorching flames in his eyes. “Silence, Roxanna!”

  He was a pretty intimidating guy when he wanted to be, with his coal-black hair, matching eyes, and bulky form that hadn’t softened much with age. He was maybe an inch or so shorter than Ace, but Ace’s personality and demeanor made him seem even taller.

  “Oh, I’ll be silent all right,” I spat. “Don’t you worry. While you’re treating the devil to a nice steak dinner, I’ll sit quietly like a good little girl. And when he steals your soul right out from under you, I won’t say a damn word.”

  His shouts to “get back here!” followed me all the way through the barren tomb of a house and out the front door.

  “The Sicilians are here .”

  My father’s words dropped like a lead balloon, filling me with dread.

  I looked precariously around at my four older brothers as we sat around Dad’s den. An ominous cloud settled over the room with his announcement.

  “It’s just the Gabbianos from what I’m hearing,” he added. “But we knew Santi would be coming.”

  Santi “The Slayer” Gabbiano was the king of kings in the mafia world. He reigned supreme over all other families and had earned a reputation for being merciless against his enemies, hence his nickname.

  “Do we know the details of their business yet?” Cris asked, sitting in one of the leather wingback chairs. I sat beside him in the other.

  Dad shook his head from behind the gargantuan wooden desk that had been passed down from his father’s grandfather. “Not much. Just that they’ll be bringing all the families together for a summit in the next few days to discuss the new leadership and most likely, to make sure everyone is onboard with it.”

  “Which means they’ll be tightening Vinnie’s leash,” I supplied.

  “If they sense resistance from him, yes,” Dad agreed.

  “Do you think they’ll dispose of him if he causes trouble?” Luka asked from his usual spot by the fireplace.

  He was a former boxer who still got in the ring to train other fighters at the gym he owned over in Bensonhurst. He usually paced back and forth across the rug like a rabid animal during these meetings because he had too much energy to ever sit still for very long.

  We held family meetings like this at least once a week after our ritual Sunday lunch at our parents’ house. Occasionally, however, we’d have to hold emergency meetings to discuss matters that required our immediate attention.

  Tonight was one of those times.

  “It’s hard to say,” Dad replied, rubbing his clean-shaven chin. It was an older era thing, the way he never grew facial hair. Something his father had instilled in him.

  His sons, though?

  There wasn’t a smooth face among us.

  “Vinnie’s always been their top earner.” Meaning he brought in more money than any other member of the five families. And since each member paid “taxes” to the organization, Vinnie’s wealth was extremely valuable to them. “His import/export business has been especially thriving since the recession ended. Taking away that income stream will be the Gabbianos’ last resort. They’ll probably threaten him in every way they can think of before they take drastic measures. They won’t make a decision like that lightly.”

  My mind instantly went to Roxy. We hadn’t seen or spoken to each other since she left me on the subway three nights ago.

  So help me God, if they even think about going after her…

  They’d be starting a goddamn war with the Rossettis.

  Because no one was fucking touching her.

  My brothers and father would have my back, too. Despite the muddy friction that had developed between Dad and Vinnie over the years, my brothers still thought of Roxy as a second sister, even if I no longer did. They’d be just an incensed as I would be if she came to harm.

  “So, they obviously won’t be naming him boss,” Rome interjected from the leather sofa. “If they don’t want Vinnie in charge, who do you think they’ll put in place to take over from the Espositos?”

  Neither the tone of Rome’s voice nor his face changed as he spoke. Most of the time he was like a statue, a lingering habit from his sniper days with the Army Rangers. We all
knew his time in the military continued to impact his life on some level. Same with Luka, seeing as how they had both been special ops and had engaged in high-risk combat. But Luka’s experience hadn’t affected him in the same ways Rome’s had.

  Between all that and the fact that Rome was a gunsmith who handled deadly weapons every day and seventy-five percent of his body was covered in tattoos, my brother could make lesser men piss their pants with a single glare.

  “Well, that’s another thing that concerns me,” Dad said. “Raphael hasn’t broken Omertà yet”—the mafia’s code of silence— “but I’m not sure the Sicilians trust that he won’t turn rat before his trial in a few months. If the death sentence is on the line, or even life in prison, he might talk to the prosecutors and God knows what he’d tell them.”

  “You think the Gabbianos will order a hit on him while he’s behind bars?” Nico asked, sounding unsurprised.

  They had certainly done a lot worse for a lot less before.

  The Sicilian syndicate ordering the murder of the former New York boss in order to protect themselves wouldn’t shock anyone. Even Raphael himself probably knew it was a possibility. Hope he’s learned how to make a shank.

  “The Gabbianos wouldn’t even have to,” Cris spoke up. “Raphael’s got plenty of enemies behind bars who’d happily whack him for free. The only reason he’s still alive is because he has just as many allies in his same cell block.”

  “All it takes is one word from the Sicilians, though,” Nico cut in, “and he’d be dead before he ever saw the inside of a courtroom. Hell, before he could even take a final piss.”

  Nico was the oldest of the five of us, though you’d never know it from his personality. He was the least serious person in this room, and I was almost ten years younger than him.

  He was in what we liked to call the “booze business.” He traveled the world to buy and sell breweries, distilleries, and he’d even been getting more into wineries as of late. He invested in and owned shares of many international brands of spirits and liquors. He’d even started his own domestic alcohol distribution company a few years back that was growing to become one of the largest in the entire U.S.

  “And so what if they do?” Luka spat. “Let them finish off Esposito. With any luck, their entire sadistic blood line will stop with him, since Stefano never sired any children that we know of.”

  “I’m far more concerned about what action they’ll take against Vinnie,” Dad said. “Especially since Roxanna is back in town.”

  My lungs constricted.

  That overwhelming feeling of maniacal fury I’d felt the other night was coming back full-force. And that was at the mere thought of something bad happening to her. I was going to be in so much shit if Dad found out I’d been keeping tabs on her.

  Or anyone outside of this room, for that matter.

  Let alone if things went beyond keeping tabs.

  They already have.

  “And what of us?” I asked, my gaze focused on our father. “What do you think they have planned for us?”

  Dad’s forehead creased in thought. “I’m not sure. It’s possible they might name someone from their own syndicate as the New York boss, in order to prevent things from getting out of control again. With Stefano bringing drugs into the picture, there’s some clean-up that needs to be done. The Niners aren’t happy about being out the money Stefano owed them. And who knows who else he was in league with that we haven’t heard about.”

  “What does Bryce Connelly have to say about the Niners situation?” Rome asked.

  NYPD detective Bryce Connelly was the only cop in all of New York we’d ever trust. He was around Nico’s age—early thirties—and had grown up with all of us in the neighborhood. His father even still lived down the street from my place. We knew what Connelly was about because we knew where he’d come from. Most importantly, he despised the five families as much as we did, so he was always willing to share information if it meant justice was served to the bastards.

  And if we had to hide a few of our more unlawful actions from him, well, he typically didn’t make a big fuss.

  Smart man.

  “They’re demanding money from the families to pay back their share of the drug deals,” Dad answered. “And if they don’t get money, they’ll take blood, which doesn’t necessarily mean Esposito blood. They’ve declared all five families as their enemies now. I don’t think they’ll stop until they’ve meted out their revenge.”

  Shit.

  Had the incident with those Niners attacking Roxy been a targeted hit? Had they known who she was and been ordered to go after her as a means of payback for Stefano’s actions? I hadn’t even considered it at the time. The guy with the knife had been too shocked when I’d whispered her name to him. He’d been genuinely scared of retribution from the mafia for going after one of their own. That hadn’t been faked.

  Plus, both of them had reeked of almonds. I had chalked the whole thing up to them needing their next crank—meth—fix and Roxy had looked like an easy victim.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting off a migraine.

  Roxy had people coming after her from all goddamn directions.

  “Christ,” Nico muttered. “We’re going to have a fucking turf war on our hands.”

  “I wonder if the Gabbianos are aware of the feud and if they’ll invite the Niners to the summit,” I speculated. “They might want to extinguish the rising tension before there’s more bloodshed. After all, the Niners have pretty big numbers.”

  “And so do the families,” Dad pointed out, tapping his finger against the desk’s surface as he stared at me. “If I can find out where the summit is being held, do you think you could get a listening device in the meeting, or tap into someone’s phone, or whatever the hell it is you do on that computer?”

  I grinned. “Does Nico look like a Fabio wannabe?” Yes.

  Everyone burst into laughter, all except Nico.

  He was grinning smugly, though, unperturbed by the barb, as usual. He was used to our ribbing about his man-bun by now. Not that it ever ruined our fun or made our jokes about it any less entertaining.

  “Yeah, how much conditioner do you use in a week, bro?” Luka asked, still snickering. “Just ball park.”

  Rome scrubbed his hand through his beard, smirking. “I swear to God, if I see your ass posing on a white horse on the cover of one of those romance novels Mom reads, I’m going to the closest YMCA and enrolling you in some fucking man classes.”

  “Huh,” Nico mused. “The woman I was balls-deep inside last night didn’t seem to mind it. In fact, she liked pulling on it when my mouth was between her legs.”

  “And then did she fist it in her hand as she took you from behind?” I asked.

  Even Dad laughed at that one.

  “Let’s be done for tonight,” he said, rising from his chair. “I want immediate reports the second anyone has any updates. And Ace, I’ll let you know as soon as I get word on the summit’s location.”

  I nodded and stood.

  Luka threw his heavy, tattooed arm over my shoulder as we all exited the den. “Let’s go get shitfaced at O’Malley’s, boys. I’ve a hankering for some good Irish whiskey.”

  I sighed. Great.

  The last time a night started with those words, it had ended with Nico chugging half a bottle of absinth and hallucinating being attacked by “freaky-ass psychotic green fairies.” We’d had to chase him for ten blocks before we’d been able to explain that we were the freaky-ass green fairies.

  It was St. Patrick’s Day and we’d all been dressed in green.

  But after the last three days of battling the urge to pathetically stake out the hospital just to get a glimpse of Roxy, I needed a fucking drink.

  “O’Malley’s it is.”

  I hadn’t laughed this much in five years .

  “I can’t believe we remember our made-up language!” Gia guffawed, clutching her stomach. “I usually can’t remember what I learned in cl
ass yesterday. Especially when I’m two whiskey sours deep.”

  “I’m proud of us.” I clinked my glass—filled with some sort of house cocktail the waitress suggested—against hers. “Cheers. When did your tastes start running toward whiskey, anyway?”

  On anyone else, I would have interpreted her smile as condescending. But on Gia, I knew it was just playful ribbing. Growing up with five older brothers, you couldn’t blame her for picking up some of their habits.

  “We all outgrow our wine cooler stage at some point,” she answered, shrugging. “And I guess my brothers have rubbed off on me. Particularly Nico and his whiskey.”

  On that note, your other brother rubbed off on me on the subway.

  I snorted into my glass.

  There wasn’t enough liquor in the world to get me to confess that sin. Then again, I never thought in a million years I’d be sitting with my old best friend in an Irish pub, smack dab in the middle of Brooklyn.

  Yet here I was.

  O’Malley’s was a typical American-style Irish pub, with gleaming wooden tables and chairs, a bar stretching along the entire far wall, and flat-screen TVs aplenty. The atmosphere was a mix between relaxed and lively, depending on the night’s sports games or the events the bar regularly hosted, like trivia night.

  The one thing that set O’Malley’s apart from every other bar in Brooklyn was their live music. They always booked the most talented artists and bands, which brought the best crowds. If you were an up-and-comer in this city, you wanted to play at O’Malley’s.

  “It’s really good to have you back,” Gia said, her expression almost sad. “I seriously missed you.”

  My face fell along with hers. We both knew I’d be leaving again at the end of summer.

  “I missed you, too. Although I’m not sure this location was the best idea. I’m venturing into No Man’s Land here.”

  She grinned in amusement. “You’re working at a hospital that’s literally three blocks from here. What’s the difference?”

  I propped my elbows onto the table, sighing. “There is no difference, and that’s the point. I mean, if Papà found out I was here…”