“Just stop trying, Amelia,” Giovanni interrupts and steps closer to be beside our father. “We have a job to do.”
“Yes, you do,” my father adds. This time he looks ready for business. “Lenny was with me in Amalfi Coast. He opted to help us smuggle in a new load of drugs. However, what I’ve come to find when inventory was done was that, at least, twenty grand of my cocaine was missing.” My father’s demeanor shifts again. I never thought it was possible for a man to wear so many alter egos, but my father has mastered it. “Now Lenny is living a plush life at my expense, and I want to see him punished for it. No one steals from Salvatore Abbiati and lives afterwards.”
“So, why can’t Gio do this hit alone?” I ask, wondering if I can find my get out clause. “I mean it’ll be quicker, and this Lenny can been given a real punishment.”
“He knows what a bastard Gio can be,” my father notes, winking at Giovanni. “Whereas you, he’s clueless. Of course, he knows of you, but he won’t care if you’re teasing with some flirtatious banter.”
“C’mon, Amelia, we can get drunk, I can chat up some lovely ladies, you can find a replacement, we can murder, and then get back to the party,” he speaks excitedly, but his further shows how sardonic he really means to be. “You know it’ll be fun.”
I can feel every sharp shard of his mockery. It penetrates like a knife and my irritation becomes unnerving. I’m going to need a lot of alcohol to make it through this evening.
“We can call it brotherly-sisterly bonding,” he adds the final jab, and I snap.
“I said it once,” I start, turning my full attention to Giovanni, “and I’ll say it again: you are not my brother anymore. You’re nothing more than one of his goons to me. So, this is nothing but a hit to me, Giovanni, and after you can sit and drink the night away, but I will be coming straight home.”
“Well, that’s fine as long as I still get to say we killed something,” he remarks, and I roll my eyes and actually feel sick when Giovanni rubs his hands together with glee and says, “Let’s go on a Friday night killing spree.”
***
We stand at the bar, Giovanni nursing a glass of whisky while I look around the club and try to spy the newest Abbiati enemy. Since changing and leaving the house, I’ve strived to keep my mind away from anything Zane related and every time Giovanni’s brought his name up, I’ve done well to squish the subject before we’ve really got to the crux of the matter.
“He’s alone,” I comment, tipping my head to the side as I watch Lenny Rizzo bid farewell to two brute-like men.
Lenny is in his early thirties but doesn’t carry half the weight my brother does. He doesn’t even look like he could throw a punch without breaking himself in half afterwards. He has the mouth of a dirty Italian, but lacks the smarts that come with most of us.
“I’ll be at the other end of the bar waiting on your direction.”
“Distract the bartender when the opportunity arises,” I tell him. There is no direction, just timing. “I’ll give you a pretty little signal if you want one.”
“What would that be?” he asks, curiously watching me. When I flip him my middle finger, he chuckles. “You and I are more alike than you want to admit, Amelia. We could get on like a house on fire if you weren’t so hostile.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter and spin my seat around. I notice the ice in my scotch is already melting away, and I begrudgingly take a sip of my watered down liquor.
I feel myself bristle as someone comes up behind me, and I wait, for what I hope, is the first step to tonight’s plan.
“Hey,” Lenny says as he takes the vacant seat to my right. Already he’s fallen straight into the net. “I saw you looking a little lonely over here.”
“So, you thought you’d take the moment to come and keep my company?” I ask, acting as if I don’t care for him in the slightest. I look at him, my lips pursed, my eyes seductively settling on him. “You made a right choice there.”
“Well, in that case, what can I get you to drink, Doll face?” he asks, leaning in, and I swear he actually fucking inhales as if my scent will have him punch drunk faster than the alcohol in this place.
“Scotch on the rocks will do,” I tell him, running my hand up his thigh.
“A woman who loves her liquor, you are few and far between.” He gives me a short laugh, acting impressed with me.
“I was brought up right,” I seductively utter, as my hand inches closer to his crotch. I know my intent is working when he shifts a little on his stool.
“Two scotches on the rocks, please,” Lenny shouts out to the bartender, his voice taut and gruff. He then stands, pushing his chair back and allowing my hand to fall away from him. “While we wait on those, I’m just going to freshen up. I won’t be two minutes. Add it to my tab.”