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One evening, while smoking a pipe with his friends, my great-great-great-grandfather realized his sharp instincts for profitable investments could make him even more money if he offered his services to his friends. A year later, he managed the wealth of most of the families in Italy, and the year after that, he founded his first investment bank.
Then the church came knocking at his door, followed by the royals of Arab lands. Once the French king brought a trunk of his jewels into our vault, my grandfather understood his dream had come true. We controlled the wealth of the most powerful families, institutions, and countries in the world.
Others who wanted the same dream came to that same realization around the same time, and when they couldn’t replicate what he’d done, they tried snatching the business from him. But when they couldn’t grab it by force, they started marrying into our family and taking apart our business and wealth from the inside.
Franko Monelli wants our wealth. By introducing Michela as my wife, I’ve eliminated the possibility of a bargain via marriage that Monelli planned to make by pushing his niece on me. The other two Italian families involved in organized crime remained at the dinner. The Russians brought their teen sons, so they’ll behave too.
It’s the politicians that keep circling us like sharks, waiting for the opportunity to speak with me. They’re a nervous bunch, and seeing me discipline Franko (who does their dirty work) rattled their cages.
Michela’s done remarkably well for a fish I dropped into my pond, and she seems to have enjoyed her meal, if not my company and most certainly not all our conversation. The comment she made about the Mafia movie tells me she’s thinking about her well-being while she’s out with me.
I respect that. It also confirms she’s not an opportunist. Those often accept danger as part of the scheme of using me for my power. They don’t mind putting themselves in jeopardy as long as I fuck them good and give them money.
When she excuses herself for the ladies’ room, I groan, knowing the sharks will use the opportunity of her absence to descend on me. The instant Congressman Baker begins to make his way toward me, I stand to check out the location of the ladies’ bathroom. I can’t see it from here, so I move instead toward the kitchen, where I find a nice dark corner and lean my shoulder against the wall.
My friend Chef Tanaka, a stocky man with severe scars on the left side of his face, meets me there. He hands me a black paper box.
“The dessert is for your wife,” he says, telling me there’s more than dessert inside the box.
In greeting and respect, I bow, and he returns it before retreating into the kitchen.
Congressman Baker walks up, his blue-eyed gaze zeroing in on the box in my hand. “For your beautiful wife, I presume?”
He knows I’m receiving a message. “Can I get you one for yours?”
“Shelly is dieting.” He links his hands behind his back where I like them.
“Perpetually dieting, I presume.” I touch my nose, indicating I’m aware of her cocaine addiction.
His wife plucked a large button from a waiter’s uniform, a button sown on there and intended for easy plucking. It holds the white powder she will snort during the afterparty that I’m sure the Balashov family’s teens won’t participate in.
He winces at my cold comment about his wife. “Listen, Corrado, it’s not what it looks like.”
I smirk, glancing in the direction of the bathroom. “What’s it look like?”
“It looks like six families that make up the Serpentine body got together in the same place to discuss business without the Head. It’s a breach of the Rule of Three.”
“You don’t say.”
“Monelli didn’t say the others would be here.”
“Ah. So you didn’t know the rest of the Body would show up.”
“I swear on my kids.”
“I don’t believe you. You excel at denying involvement with us.” Politicians make lying a competitive sport. From what I’ve seen firsthand, the most corrupt people are the hypocrites the newspapers are praising. Like those who Baker works for. They have no idea he’s in my Order unless they are in the Order themselves.
Isabella Monelli is walking toward the ladies’ bathroom. Fuck. Come out, Michela. Come out.
“What can I do to make you believe me?”
He’s offering a payout or a favor so we don’t freeze his assets. “I’ll let you know, but I came here with a wife for a reason. If I so much as sniff out that anyone is trying to push a woman into my bed, I’ll take not only your allotted cash and earthly belongings, but I will take the woman’s too. Any kid’s college funds and maybe even trusts.”
A few years back, his daughter showed up at my hotel room in nothing more than her dad’s tan cashmere coat.
“I would never?—”
“Shut up, Baker.” Ever since then, Selma Baker has redoubled her efforts to secure me. If I confronted him about that, though, he’d deny ever sending her.
