The Enforcer (Untamed Hearts Book 3)(49)

“Simple. Pack up your shit and go back to the hood rat bitch of a mother you left in the gutter. No one wants you here.”

“What did you say?” Nova’s voice was low and threatening as he took a step forward. “’Cause it sounded like you just called my dead mother a hood rat bitch.”

They both seemed to pause at that, because the violence pulsing off Nova was tangible. Nova did have a hard month, and he hadn’t exactly had an outlet for the anger. Tino and Nova hadn’t been to the dojo since Romeo got arrested, when usually they were there most every day after school.

Tino wasn’t really surprised by the sucker punch.

Nova seemed to be favoring those lately. Just flat-out trying to kill a motherf*cker. This time he slammed his fist into the nose of the one with a mouth, and the splatter of blood was impressive. His friend tried to jump at Nova, but Tino used his crutch as a makeshift bo staff.

He didn’t feel too guilty when the guy crashed to the asphalt.

Then Tino stood there on his crutches, watching his brother work off a shitty month’s worth of anger until the school officials came running out to break up the fight.

Tino expected them to call the cops, because this wasn’t a playful fistfight. It was a bloody, dirty one, like the gangster street fights back home, and it had been painfully one-sided.

Nova had been heavily involved in martial arts since he was five.

These *s had no chance.

And he was old enough to get into some serious shit for it.

Hell, Romeo was up for attempted murder for using his martial-arts skills to defend himself.

The school just called everyone’s parents instead.

Except Frankie couldn’t be f*cked with the problem. So his pop showed up and cleaned up the mess for him, which Tino was starting to suspect was pretty typical.

“What is the problem? Why am I even here?” Aldo Moretti’s voice echoed through the office. “They insulted his dead mother. Why is everyone so friggin’ shocked he took it personal?”

Nova just sat in the chair in the corner, completely unscathed, running his fingers through his hair. His leg was bouncing, making it obvious the fight still had adrenaline pumping through his system.

Tino sat next to him and looked across the office to see the two boys with the guinea issue glaring at them. Both were holding nurse-provided ice packs to their faces. Tino was pretty sure the one with the mouth had a broken nose, and his cousin didn’t look too great either after he bit it on the asphalt.

After the administrators called their parents, Tino learned these two were from the Brambino family. The blond with the mouth was Dominic Brambino, and his father was don of the entire Brambino Borgata, which was probably why Dominic was such an entitled prick. His cousin was Andrew Brambino, whose father just sat in the corner next to his son and let the two dons have it out.

Tino didn’t blame him. It was sort of awe-inspiring to watch, like having front-row tickets to a heavyweight boxing match.

Don Aldo Moretti was a big man. Like Frankie and Carlo, he was thick and muscular. He was still very fit despite being in his midfifties. His inky-black hair was neatly styled and pushed away from his face, with silver at his temples. Sicilian tan, with dark eyes, he wore a designer suit like he was made to wear one, and there was something about him that seemed a little bigger and a lot more powerful than the other don, who was considerably younger and smaller.

Don Brambino didn’t have the same dark-pope aura that Aldo Moretti did, and it wasn’t just that blond-haired, preppy Italian look to him. It was something else that was lacking, something unnamable that gave a man power, but he had obviously learned not to back down or show weakness in the face of someone more intimidating than him.

“These two don’t belong in school with our kids. We all know where they came from. If he wants to mix them into his Borgata, that’s his issue. It’s not the first time, but why do the rest of us have to put up with them?” Don Brambino said to Father John, the principal. “Why are they here, Father? Are they even Catholic?”

“These are my boys.” Don Moretti tapped Father John’s desk with his finger. “They’re my blood. They’re Catholic, and they belong here. I invested five hundred thousand dollars in this school that says they f*cking belong here,” he growled furiously and then held up his hand in apology. “If you’ll excuse me, Father. But come on, this is an insult.”

“They just attacked my son for no reason and—”

“Whoa, hold on.” Don Moretti turned on the other don like an angry bear. “Lemme tell you something. If you called my dead mother a hood rat bitch, I’d break your friggin’ nose in a New York minute. The problem is your boys didn’t have the stugots to back up their mouths. That’s your issue. If you’re raising a son who can’t defend himself, maybe you oughta teach him how to keep his mouth shut. Did I hear Tino say he called my boys guineas? Where are they learning that shit, Carmine? Does your family have a problem with guineas?” He turned to Dominic and Andrew, who physically shrank back. “I’m Siciliano. I’m dark. You wanna call me a guinea?” When both boys shook their heads, Don Moretti turned back to his rival and arched an eyebrow, as if daring him to do what his son wouldn’t. Then he looked to Father John behind the desk and held up his hands. “I still don’t understand what the f*cking problem is. If you’ll forgive me, Father, but I just don’t get it.”