AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Pope, Zio, and I guess, yeah. Just not as in the open. It's better for my job and the Family that I keep a low profile." That and for the more violent tasks I handle, it's better to not draw attention to myself. Yet, he knows all of this and still tries to reduce me to an actor on some weekly soap.
My father grins, never to let anyone make my position seem less than what it truly is. He's proud of me and my more ruthless tactics. His New York and Italian accents blend like an old Mob movie when he speaks. "Yeah, my boy's like the Boogeyman. Scary, lethal, and if he shows up in the middle of the night, you'd better say your prayers."
"What's scary is that beard," Oz says, nudging his chin toward me.
Oz's been on me to cut it clean. "Even scarier are the looks on people's faces when they see this scar running down my face without the beard to shield it. It's great for Family business, but not for the other stuff we need to get done. What are we doing about the Rossis?"
"I'm thinking we should work out a treaty," Oz volunteers, rolling his eyes after I reject his notion of shaving my face. When I glance at my father, I can see the indecisive glaze over his expression. A treaty is rarely an option my uncle would consider, as he'd rather take whatever he wants.
A treaty is a mistake in my eyes. Countering Oz, I tell them, "Let's go to the mattresses. I think we should strike hard, hot, and fast. They're still trying to get their house in order and?—"
Pop cuts me off. He rubs his bare chin, always opting to keep his face shaved by a straight razor at his favorite barbershop. I'm sure he'd like for me to schedule an appointment with the straight razor as well, but he doesn't bug me about it.
"Normally, I would agree with you, Son," my father says. "But you're forgetting about the Montegnas, Alessandro. They have the Cartel on their side. If they're thinking like you, they'll be moving in on the Rossis too. We should try to get the Rossis to see things in a way where we broker a treaty. We combine the territories and split profits fifty-fifty. The Rossis can run their extortion ring and strip joints. We'll stick to our gambling dens and protection. Let's stick to party drugs and get our people to be on the lookout for that Fentanyl shit. Can't have customers if they keep dying off one hit."
"Ah," Oz scoffs with a wave of his hand. "Drugs are chump change. It's like trying to sell weed when there's a dispensary every six blocks. We need to start bringing in guns."
"No." My words are finite, but a look from my father encourages me to be diplomatic. I try reasoning with Oz, reminding myself that he's still Consigliere. "We need to stay focused on our legitimate businesses. Money, legal profits, they bring power we need to wash the money from our Family business. Guns bring the Feds, Homeland, CIA, and every other alphabet, pain in the ass government agency you can think of. But if you can keep them off our phones and out of our other businesses, I'm open to your fool-proof plan."
Oz grimaces and waves me off. I know he doesn't have a plan that will convince me. He fidgets in his seat as he speaks. "Fine. We can put a pin in that. Let's focus on the treaty for now. The Rossis on our side will make it difficult for the Montegnas to do anything. They'll be spread too thin to focus on what we got going on. Remember, they still have the Cartel's demands to contend with."
I need to get out of here before I forget whom I'm talking to. "Fine. If you want an alliance, let's at least convince the Rossis to take a sixty-forty split. They need help right now, and we really don't need the headache. I'll be at Kings if you need me. I need to see a client."
They agree to that much, but knowing Oz, he'll probably try to get the split to eighty-twenty in our favor. I don't disagree, but I don't want to force the Rossis to work out a deal with the other Family, either. I'm certain the Rossis will do anything to save their organization from a hostile takeover. We just need to get to them first.
Lorenzo opens the door to the restaurant as we step into the afternoon Manhattan sun. A quick glance at my watch tells me I have just enough time to pick up and change into a clean suit. Once that's done, my next stop is to Kings. It's a members-only club owned by one of my clients.
"Wait a minute." Lorenzo's sharp acorn brown eyes dart from the mirrors to the windows of the car before we get out.
"What is it?" I look around, but can't see what he does. Lorenzo shrugs it off, getting out to open the door for me.
The bustling Manhattan street is the perfect stage for anything to happen, good, bad and anything in between. I can definitely sense something in the air, like there are eyes on me. It doesn't take long for me to scan the surrounding buildings. A moving curtain in a dark window or a fleeting glance from a perfect stranger can all mean danger, or nothing at all.
"Something's off," Lorenzo says, moving slightly behind me and his energy nudging me back toward the car. I can sense the uneasiness Lorenzo's picking up on.
"You're right. I can feel it too. I have to talk to Dimitri. You think we should have the meeting somewhere else?"
"I think we should go inside where there are fewer people."
He's right. With the Rossi family falling apart, La Familia is fragmented, and any alliance or tolerance we share is up in the air. The flash of paranoia subsides the moment Lorenzo and I step inside.
A hostess takes us through the maroon-themed bar that models a speakeasy. There are a few dozen tables scattered throughout, booths around the perimeter, and a bar taking up the entire left wall. There are a few private rooms with discreet entrances for the more elite members. Members like me.
Dimitri Vassa comes out donning a smile that stretches from ear to ear as he tries to pull me into a hug, which Lorenzo stops with a stiff hand to Dimitri's chest. Dimitri is a voyeuristic, thrill-seeking exhibitionist whose wilder side gets set free every night in this place.
The way he dresses reminds me of a jet-setting playboy from the 80s. Flashy suit with no shirt underneath, and the curly hair on his head matches the same dark brown strands cresting on his chest between the lapels of his jacket. He's a handlebar mustache away from being a vintage porn actor. The members of this place consider it a safe haven to let their hair down without repercussions or tabloids.
"Come on, fellas. This is a celebration. You've worked a miracle for me, Less." Dimitri's a restaurateur juggernaut in the tri-state area, and his most recent debacle could have bankrupted him if I hadn't stepped in to set things right.
Still, I don't hug. He's lucky he gets to call me Less. Others wouldn't dare nickname me, but as Dimitri likes to say, 'Less is more.'
I offer him a slight nod for his gratitude. "How about my favorite bottle of Scotch, on the house?"
"That's a $1200 bottle, Alessandro, but if that's what you want." Dimitri sighs and shrugs before snapping his fingers at a server behind the bar.
We're heading toward my private room when my phone rings incessantly. There are too many people trying to call me at once, and then Lorenzo's phone rings as well.
I hold up a hand to stop Dimitri and the server because I'm certain this is an emergency.
