Chapter 95

Aldo

Ethan and I had parted from our last meeting on uncertain terms—he unwilling to give me what I wanted and me unwilling to meet his demands.

And yet, here we were.

Back in the same cafe. Sipping our coffees while we stared each other down. Each lost in our own swirling thoughts, assumptions. Fears, maybe. Or judgments.

The tension between us was so palpable, I might have cut it with a knife.

Ethan lifted his mug to sip at his steaming black coffee, the same beverage I’d chosen, and I found myself mimicking the gesture. It was more to give my hands something to do than because I was actually thirsty.

My hands already wanted to shake. That, though, I was certain I couldn't blame on the beverage. The stress of the past weeks, coupled with the sight of my brother’s stern visage across that table …

I was a strong man, but even the strongest of men had breaking points. I feared I was too close to mine. And maybe that’s why I was truly here.

Because I was afraid I’d reached my limit.

“I appreciate you coming,” I said finally, wrapping my fingers around my mug in case they did start to shake. “I know we left things in kind of …”

I couldn’t even bring myself to say uncertain terms because there was nothing uncertain about the way we’d left things. If I’d had to wager a bet after that last meeting, I’d have said we’d never speak again.

“Why am I here, Aldo?” Ethan’s tone was as cold as his gaze. “You know I only agreed to this because I care about Layla, but if this is another quest to get me on the wrong side of the law—”

My heart ached for how much he looked like Matteo, how much he sounded like him. How I could still see the mischievous, crooked grin behind that stern facade.

“I’m here,” I cut in before my thoughts could wander too far astray, “because I think something big is about to happen, and I want you to be ready for it.”

Ethan’s brows shot towards his hairline. Whatever he’d been expecting from me, that, clearly, was not it. “Something big? Like what?”

“Have you ever heard the name Michael Rosetti?” I knew before I asked the question what his answer would be.

“No. Why? Should I?” Of course he hadn’t. The man was a fucking ghost, no fingerprints, no footprints, nothing left behind.

“Because he’s about to be a big fucking deal, that’s why.” I ground my teeth together, and my fingertips turned white against my mug. “You remember that shooting at the vendor market?”

“The Mafia lieutenant that got gunned down in broad daylight?” Ethan ran a hand through his buzzed hair. “He was one of yours, wasn’t he?”

My teeth ground together again, harder this time. “Not the point. He shot a man in broad daylight. In front of children.”

“Right.” Ethan nodded his agreement. At least in this we’d see eye to eye. Rossetti was a bad man, regardless of my own standing with the law. “That was him?”

“That, and a whole lot more.”

“Define ‘a whole lot more’?” Ethan rubbed at his jaw, stubble scratching beneath his fingertips. “You’re saying this guy is actively shooting people, and we don’t know about him?”

“He’s been very active in the past few weeks,” I said. “Bombings, shootings, knifings, general chaos.”

Ethan’s brows pulled so low, they made a dark furrow across his eyes. “And how is he not the target of every cop in this city?”

“Two reasons.” I lifted one finger. “He’s, so far, only targeting Mafia. And two, he’s nobody. He doesn’t exist. His father’s a low-level all-but-retired thug and don of a failing Mafia family. But Michael’s something else entirely.”

Ethan listened silently—his brows pulled low in rapt attention—as I relayed all of Michael’s most recent stunts. The way he came out of nowhere, pulled some attention-grabbing maneuver without any apparent political gain, and then vanished so thoroughly, even Carlo hadn’t managed to find anything.

“He’s like the Joker of the underground,” Ethan admitted, lifting his mug to drain his coffee. “But with a Mafia-themed twist.”

My eyes narrowed. “He’s unpredictable, violent, and growing bolder by the day. My men have tried tracking him, but he’s like a ghost. Hits hard, then disappears before we can retaliate.”

“Hm.” Ethan chewed his lower lip. “And what makes you think he’s going to become a problem? Seems like he’s just picking fights with gangsters so far.”

“Because he’s not going after anything with any measurable gains.” I stared into the depths of my coffee, my teeth gritting again. Why couldn’t I figure him out? “It’s like you said—he’s the Joker. He’s after chaos. Attention. I can only believe he’s going to go bigger and bigger until he’s got the whole city questioning his next move.”

Ethan sat back, regarded me with a cool brown stare. “Or he’s just trying to get your panties in a twist. Make you sweat. Make you question everything. Maybe he doesn’t give a shit about the rest of the city.”

I hadn’t thought about that, had I?

Maybe he didn’t have any goals past screwing with me. Maybe I’d wronged someone in his family—or my father had—and this was his revenge. Psychological bullshit I couldn’t possibly understand, predict, or prevent. “Shit.”

“Right.” Ethan watched me with hooded eyes. “So, given that, what is it you think I have to offer?”

I shrugged. “Given that we don’t know for sure what he’s after—that we’re both just speculating—I’d say it would behoove both of us to share any information we have.”

Ethan continued to watch me with that unreadable expression, and I almost found myself holding my breath as I awaited his answer. By all rights, he should shut me down.

So I nudged him further. “He shot a man in broad daylight. What if he’d missed? What if someone had shot back? What if he does it again?”

Ethan’s jaw ticked as he thought through my logic. Pseudo-logic. My desperate-ass logic, if we were being entirely honest. I was on the brink of panic, and I’d never felt like this before.

“You’re here because you think Layla’s in danger,” Ethan said finally, surprising me with words that weren’t a strict refusal. “Layla, and Eli. You’re trying to be the good husband, the family man. Clean up your act … and here comes the Joker to throw you back into the dark.”

More words so shocking, they left me momentarily breathless. But I shouldn’t have been surprised. I should have known to expect the unexpected from him.

My brother was smart. Astute. I should have expected nothing less.

“Possibly,” I finally managed. “So far, she hasn’t been a target, but maybe he’s just not ready to blow up a hospital yet.”

Ethan folded his hands atop the table. “The problem is, you have no information to trade.”

“I can give you the site of every attack we’ve attributed to him,” I replied swiftly, prepared for such an accusation. “I’m sure some of them even the police have overlooked.”

“All right,” Ethan said finally. “I’ll take a look. Maybe a fresh perspective will bright new light.”