Felice cursed in Italian under his breath.
Dom and Luciano exchanged uneasy glances. The Cusimanos had been aggressively elbowing their way into Maisano stakes in both immigrant processing and cocaine distribution, not just eroding their bottom line but taking it in chunks. Several of the more business savvy and diplomatic members of the family’s leadership had been killed in the last couple of years, replaced by these psychos who would stop at nothing to claim a monopoly in Cape Swan. Things were going to get violent sooner or later. It was just a matter of who drew first blood. Or if Nicolá had been that first blood. If not him, then someone else, and it was up to Corrado to decide who.
Assuming, of course, that Felice didn’t take matters into his own hands.
“We’ll wait until the investigation is complete,” Corrado said. “With the police involved, every eye is going to be on us, just as they were after Barcia washed up. No one makes a move until I order it. Am I clear?”
Luciano, Felice, and Dom all nodded and muttered, “Yes.”
“Good. Out of my office.” He paused. “Dom, you stay here.”
Dom planted his feet. His cousins shot him looks—a puzzled one from Luciano, an undeniably hostile one from Felice—but quickly vacated.
Alone with his uncle, Dom waited.
“Eugenio Cusimano is becoming a problem,” Corrado said at last.
“So you’re sure he did this?”
“Of course.” Corrado steepled his fingers. “I should have taken him out before he killed Nicolá. He’s becoming a thorn in my side.” He exhaled. “Felice didn’t tell me until tonight, but that bastard Eugenio made an attempt on Luciano a few nights ago.”
Dom’s gut flipped. “What?”
“Someone fired through the front window of his house, but no one inside was hit.”
Wow. Luciano’s house, like Corrado’s and Dom’s own, was walled off and set far back from the road behind a couple of hills, guarded by everything from cameras to Dobermans. Getting a bullet through a window of that house meant firing from a sniper perch well within the walls.
“Fortunately,” Corrado went on, “the children were out with their mother.” He slid a small envelope across the desk. “Even though Luciano was unharmed, this was clearly meant to either kill him or send a message.
Dom nodded and took the envelope. The families were getting more and more violent lately. Slights were answered with murder, and murder was answered with more murder.
Dom opened the envelope and pulled out the photo. It was grainy surveillance footage of a sniper in a perch near Luciano’s house. Dom couldn’t see the guy’s face very well, but the rifle was obvious, and he recognized the poplar tree beside Luciano’s long driveway.
“And you’re sure this is Cusimano?”
Corrado nodded. “Felice was there that night. Got a good look.”
“But he’s just now saying something about it?”
Shaking his head, Corrado sighed. “He thought he’d take care of it himself. God knows what he would’ve done to Eugenio if last night’s… incident hadn’t happened.”
“Maybe we should let him.”
“Absolutely not. If he starts thinking he can take things into his own hands, there’ll be no reining him back in.”
“Good point.” Dom eyed the photo for a moment, then looked across the desk. “I’m surprised Luciano hasn’t tried to fuck up Eugenio for trying to sleep with Serafina.”
Corrado’s lips pulled into a bleached line, and he nodded. “Indeed. And I suspect that’s part of why Eugenio took a shot at Luciano. Remove the husband, and the woman becomes available.”
“She’d be quite the merry widow too,” Dom grumbled.
Corrado glared at him, but didn’t argue. Everyone knew Luciano’s wife had affairs all over Cape Swan. Leaping into bed with a Cusimano right after her own husband’s funeral wouldn’t be a tremendous stretch for her, but she knew better—as far as they all knew—than to bed a rival Mafioso while Luciano was still alive. The woman was lucky her father-in-law drew the line at taking out hits on women.
“We’ll see what conclusion the medical examiner comes to,” Corrado said coldly. “And then… well.”
Dom nodded. His insides twisted and knotted. Eugenio Cusimano was a made man, a soldier who was close to both sons of the boss, Raffaele Cusimano. High enough in the ranks to know better, close enough to the upper echelon to matter.
Which meant Corrado wouldn’t want him let off easy, and he wouldn’t leave the man’s punishment in the hands of just anyone. When Corrado played judge and jury, he chose his executioners like some men chose fine wines.
It was only a matter of time, then, before he gave Dom the word.