There was a deafening silence over the sound of more footsteps on the stairs; then the man in the bathroom whispered, “You motherfucker.”
“The fuck, Carlo? Is this your fucking business? What’re you doing in my house?”
Everything in Tino tightened when he heard his father’s voice. Nova let out a low grunt of terror. His entire body was shaking as he reached behind him, grabbed Tino’s hand, and squeezed it tightly.
“Carina, go,” the stranger said. “Go wait for your nonno outside.”
“But—” Carina started in complaint.
“Go,” the stranger urged again. “Make sure the don can find us, okay?”
“Fine,” Carina huffed.
When her footsteps echoed down the stairs, the man asked, “Are they Isabella’s boys? Did you take them away from their brother?”
Frankie let out a dark, bitter laugh. “What? You’re taking it fucking personal? They came from my balls. I made them. I can end them. This one doesn’t have any fucking respect. He respects me now.”
“I take it personal.” The voice was suddenly icy cold, terrifying and dangerous as if this man hadn’t heard anything else. “I want you to get the fuck out. Get out, Frankie! Get the fuck out!” Tino heard the click of a gun. “GET OUT!”
“This isn’t your business,” Frankie said as if immune to the threat.
“I will shoot you, motherfucker.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to? You can’t fucking ice me,” Frankie growled. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“I think I’m the motherfucker who’ll shoot you and eat a bullet before the old man gets here. He can find both of us. We’ll die together. I’m ready. Are you?”
“Oobatz, Carlo. You’ve always been fucking crazy,” Frankie snapped, but there was a quiver of fear in his voice. “You wanna have a bastardi convention with these two, go crazy, but just remember, the older one’s mine, and I’m telling Pop about this.”
“Tell your pop,” Carlo urged him. “Go fucking cry to the don. He’s the one who sent me here. These are kids. They’re your kids. You better hope this one doesn’t fucking die, ’cause I take it personal, strunzu,” he reiterated. “I take it personal as fuck!”
There was a silence after Frankie stormed back down the stairs.
Then Carlo said, “Listen, Nova. You gotta let me help you.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Nova barked at him. “Why the fuck do you care? This is a trick. A test.”
“I work for the don. He sent me to help.” Carlo’s voice was still shaking. “Look, me and you, we’re the same. You think I grew up in Dyker Heights? Fuck, no. I’m from Washington Heights, okay? Big friggin’ difference.”
“Are you Frankie’s brother?” Nova asked cautiously. “You’re—”
“The don’s dirty secret? Yeah. Then Frankie’s mother kicked it, and suddenly it’s not so dirty. Not like the don and Frankie are the only wiseguys with a dirty secret or two, capisce?” Carlo let out a bitter snort. “You gonna let me help your brother or what?”
“Are you gonna take him to the hospital? He needs blood. He’s lost a lotta blood, and—”
“How long’s he been like this?”
“Since last night.”
“Jesus,” Carlo whispered when Nova moved to the side. “Oh my God, the fuck.” He cupped Tino’s cheek, his hand warm against Tino’s skin. “This blows, pal. What’s your name? Tino? Right? Valentino.”
Tino gave a slight nod as he blinked and looked up at this man, who wasn’t just his uncle, but was also another dirty secret of the mafia. He was bizarrely good-looking. Like a movie star or one of those guys on the billboards in Times Square. Thickly muscular, with inky-black hair and strangely light eyes, Carlo reminded Tino of a dark angel.
Then again, it could just be the drugs that made him feel like Nova handed him over to the angel of death. Tino was stoned almost numb, or at least he thought he was.
“I’m sorry. This is gonna suck for you.”
Carlo picked Tino up before he could agree.
The pain was so violent it stole Tino’s breath. He tried to push away from the hands on his back, but this motherfucker was built like an ox.
Carlo Moretti wasn’t a dark angel.
He was the fucking devil, but Tino couldn’t argue with him.
So he passed out instead.
Chapter Fourteen
Brooklyn, New York
August 2002
“My mother used to call him the dark pope,” Carlo explained as he sat next to Tino, smoking a blunt and getting more talkative by the minute. “That’s how I always saw him, this enormous dark figure, revered like a god, with this all-encompassing respect. Like you can’t help but fall to your knees in front of him. I dunno how he does it to people, but he does.”
“Huh,” Tino mumbled and took the blunt when Carlo handed to him. “Maybe it’s this big-ass palace he lives in that makes people treat him like a king. He sure lives like one.”
“No,” Carlo decided quickly. “Lotsa people have money. I have money. You wanna fall down and kiss my hand for my money?”
Tino coughed and laughed, blowing the smoke into his uncle’s face.