The Enforcer (Untamed Hearts Book 3)(44)

“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 f*ck.” 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 motherf*cker was built like an ox.

Carlo Moretti wasn’t a dark angel.

He was the f*cking 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.

“Yeah, exactly,” Carlo agreed. “I’m just a strunzu with a gun. That’s it. That’s all I’ll ever be, and I’m okay with that.”

“You have respect,” Tino pointed out, because he’d been recovering in Don Moretti’s palace in Bensonhurst for two weeks, and he saw the way men avoided making eye contact with Carlo. They were tense in his presence. Always exceedingly polite, treating him like a man who was bigger, better looking, and more dangerous than they could ever be. “You have more respect than Frankie, and he’s underboss. A f*ckload more.”

“That’s not respect, Tino.” Carlo took the blunt back and flicked it against the ashtray on the nightstand. “That’s fear. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, what’s the difference?” Tino asked, because they looked the same from where he was sitting.

Respect was a big f*cking deal to these people. Tino nearly died over it, that was how big a deal it was, and the fact that he came out of that basement alive was nothing short of miracle.

Now he was itchy as hell.

He couldn’t scratch his back and f*ck up the stitches, so he stole the blunt instead, willing it to numb him. He just got to the point that he could sit back against it and take a shit without hovering, thanks to Frankie taking the belt to his thighs.

Motherf*cker.

Fear and respect were the exact same thing as far as Tino was concerned, and his father made sure he knew it.

“Any * can make someone fear them,” Carlo explained. “It takes someone unique to earn respect like the don. Look at me. I should hate him. I have more reason than anyone to hate him. I fall to my knees instead. That’s f*cked-up.” Carlo looked ahead to the bedroom door as if considering it. “You just don’t come across men like that very often.”

The door opened, and Nova stepped in. He paused as if something slammed into him. “Whoa.” His eyes grew wide. “You didn’t think to open a friggin’ window? Even I smell it.”

“The don said it was better than eating pills all day,” Tino reminded him. “He says our people don’t eat pills.”

Carlo let out a bark of laughter before choking it back when Nova glared at him. “Right, yeah, absolutely, Tino. Our people don’t eat pills. Italians are above narcotics. Keep believing that. Your father’s anger issues are completely genetic.”

Tino laughed with him and then asked his brother, “How was Romeo?”

“He’s surviving.” Nova used the folders in his hand to waft some of the smoke out of the room but then seemed to give up. He walked in and tossed the folders on the table by the window that overlooked the gardens in back. He unlatched the window and forced it up, letting in a whoosh of hot August air. “So friggin’ hot today. I’m sweating like a motherf*cker.”

“Smart guys sweat?” Carlo asked in amusement as he took another hit and blew the smoke in Nova’s direction. “I thought God made accountants without sweat glands. Not like they’re really needed.”

“Maybe I’m only half accountant.”

Nova came over and kissed Carlo’s cheek like a gangster. It was something distinctive in mafia culture, a bold statement that they were a step above society, and they did it everywhere. In public, in private, and it was done without shame. Tino didn’t know if Nova picked it up being in this house for too long, where gangsters flowed in and out all day, or if it was something deliberate.