Dark Soul Vol. 1 Read Free Page B

much sense of anything. All of this had happened before he’d become a made man. Sometimes he was glad he was a long way away from the center of power in New York City. Even though that brought its own problems, like too few potential allies. He sure could use some help to deal with the Russians. “Is it true Spadaro killed Diego Carbone?”
    “I have a theory that people let Spadaro get away with his antics because they’re secretly grateful he took out Carbone.” Luigi fetched two glasses from a cupboard, placed them on the counter, and poured them both Châteauneuf-du-Pape. “Others are simply scared of the guy who faced Carbone down.”
    “Thanks.” Stefano took the wine and pushed the memory of Diego Carbone out of his mind. Tried to, at least. A sadistic killer, tall and gaunt, bald, all bones and attitude. The kind of scary bastard who failed to mix in polite society, who got called in when something required a bloodbath. Stefano checked his watch. “You think I’ll be called today?”
    “Most likely early tomorrow. You look like you could use some rest.”
    “Yeah, my flight was delayed by some nonsense.” Stefano took another sip of wine and spotted Vince lingering just beyond the kitchen. “Thanks for the company, Luigi. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    Luigi nodded and poured himself more wine.
    Stefano could probably have stayed awake a little longer, socialized more, but he was strung out, and he’d need to be fresh tomorrow. A shower and eight hours of sleep sounded just about right.
    He headed over to the guest house—no less grand than the main mansion, but the guest rooms there were for the big guns. The serious politicking and backstabbing happened there. Interesting that Spadaro, for all his political clout, wasn’t staying in the main building. It might affront the bigger bosses and the movers and shakers if a lowly sicario were treated like family royalty.
    Vincenzo followed Stefano to his room, one step behind. Giving him distance and silence.
    The room wasn’t much different from a big-city hotel suite. Vince’s bedroom lay beyond the connecting door, in case of emergency.
    Vince looked dubious. “I can take the couch, boss.”
    Stefano checked the windows and the main door. He didn’t feel threatened, but he wouldn’t mind the company. “Sure.”
    He had a quick shower in the marble-clad bathroom, brushed his teeth, and changed. By the time he emerged, Vince had turned the couch into a makeshift bed and stripped down to his underwear. Stefano sent a goodnight text to Donata, then slid under the covers. He left one lamp on, but turned it down. He didn’t like being helpless in a dark and unfamiliar room.
    He had weird and disturbing dreams, and even though he remembered no specifics, he was relieved when something woke him.
    Until he realized what that something was: sounds of fighting, heavy breathing. He sat up, hand finding the pistol on the nightstand, heart racing so fast he felt nauseous.
    Two men were wrestling for control on the couch. Vince on the bottom. Spadaro on top.
    He pointed his gun at Spadaro. “Don’t fucking move.”
    Very slowly, Spadaro raised his hands from Vince’s throat.
    “Step off.” Stefano slid out of bed, keeping the barrel trained on Spadaro as he stepped deliberately away from Vince.
    “Fucking asshole!” Vince shouted, staggered off the couch and rubbed his throat.
    “Tie him up,” Stefano said.
    Spadaro’s black eyes came to rest on him. Jesus Christ, it wasn’t right the way that stare gave him goosebumps. In the light of the moon and the little lamp on the nightstand, Spadaro looked even less real than he had among the other Mafiosi. Sharp features, oddly genderless. Not much of a beard shadow, either, which somehow added to the sense of danger.
    Vince grabbed Spadaro’s wrists and pulled a zip tie taut around them. No response from the sicario —just that even, soulless stare.
    Adrenaline burning through every vein, Stefano stepped