AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The only problem is, this is the worst possible time to attack Santiago’s outfit. And I get the feeling he knows it.
When people think about the mafia, I’m sure they imagine a lot of crime, murder, drug dealing, and gang wars. And sure, that’s all part of a normal day in the life. But there’s also an organized element to the mafia as well. You could compare a mafia organization to a company. There’s a hierarchy, an established leadership. There’s even a board.
Made men. You could call us the kings of the underworld. We run the Italian mafia in Chicago. The five of us, the best of us, have a seat at the table headed by the Don. We’re currently at his mansion located on the outskirts of Chicago. The mansion is more of a compound with a series of other houses connected to it, and it is heavily guarded and downright impenetrable. The current Don lives here, as did the Don before him. It’s ground zero. The headquarters of the outfit.
Five men might have a seat at the table, but there are only four of us here at present. I sit on Valerio’s left at the meeting table, taking intermittent sips from my glass of whiskey. The Don is in his sixties and is ill. He had a heart attack a couple of weeks ago. Since then, he’s been trying hard to hide that he’s sick. Weakness is frowned upon in our world, after all.
But he can’t hide it forever. Already, he’s starting to look frail. His face is saggy, his eyes hollow. It’s odd seeing a man that used to stand so tall, be so quiet and seemingly beaten. He hasn’t said a word the entire night. Then again, neither have I. The both of us have simply observed as the rest of the men discussed the outfit’s affairs.
The other three kings occupy seats at the table. Adrian Rossi is the youngest one here. He’s Italian, but he barely even has an accent, having never lived in Italy. He only recently inherited his father’s position. He subsequently had to prove his worth before he was allowed a seat at the table. I’m still trying to determine his angle. On the outside, he’s seemingly normal, or as normal as one can be in our world. But I’ve heard some rumors about his talent for murder. And strategy as well. He also controls most of the money that funds the organization’s activities. That much money in the hands of any man makes him dangerous.
The other two men are from the Don’s time. Old men who worked their way up with him—fought at his side. The first of them is Marco Vitelli. A man even older than the Don with thinning brown hair and dull black eyes. He’s not much of a threat, but he has several good men at his command—the most men out of anyone at this table. If there was ever an internal war, Marco would be the man to have at one’s side. Men win wars, not money.
Lastly, there is Sebastian. No one knows his last name or where he came from. He’s worked hard all his life to erase any traces of his family. He’s the underboss. The Don’s right-hand man, and his closest friend, so to speak. And he absolutely fucking hates me.
From what I’ve been able to glean, the reason he hates me is simple. I’m the outside man, the only man at the table without a drop of Italian blood. And yet, the Don trusts me. Valerio sometimes takes my advice over that of his closest friend, and Sebastian can’t stand that fact. He’s an asset to the outfit, though. Mostly because he will kill anyone and everyone who stands in his way. Murder is his favorite means of communication. He’s built up a reputation for himself in the city. No one dares cross him. And he’s also fiercely loyal. To Valerio and the outfit.
“The Irish are currently not worth our time. After their last leader passed away, they’ve been disorganized, sloppy. What use would it be to go after them?” Marco questions, fixing Adrian with a cool stare.
They’ve been at it all evening, weighing the pros and cons of launching an attack against the Irish Mob.
“A group of them broke into one of our clubs last week and smashed the place. I say we squash them like bugs,” Adrian retorts, green eyes gleaming at the prospect.
“It would not be hard to take care of them,” Sebastian adds, because, of course, he’s always on the side of murder.
It’s his solution to everything. I manage not to roll my eyes as they continue their argument. Until the Don raises a hand to stop them. They all stop talking as soon as he clears his throat.
“Nicolas, what do you think we should do about the Irish?” Valerio questions.
Everyone’s eyes swing towards me. I don’t miss the rage in Sebastian’s brown ones. I wait a few moments before I speak. I toss out my suggestion casually.
“I say we make peace with them. The Irish are currently weak, beaten with no sense of direction. There’s no point antagonizing them when we can forge an alliance now. They will eventually regroup and grow stronger, and it would be better if they weren’t coming at us for revenge when they do.”
They all take that in quietly. Adrian’s the first to speak.
“Always so diplomatic, Ramirez,” he states with a smirk.
One of us has to be.
“Adrian and Sebastian will work on forging an alliance with the Irish,” Valerio announces without a second thought.
No one at the table is surprised he went with my suggestion. Sebastian, however, is positively furious, which is dumb. You’d think he’d be used to the Don taking my advice by now.
“Shouldn’t the person bringing the idea up be responsible for executing it?” he asks the Don.
Valerio looks sideways at him, expression icy. “You and Adrian will take care of it,” he repeats, leaving no room for argument.
“Of course, sir,” Sebastian states, lowering his head in acquiescence.
A loyal lapdog, as always.
But of course, he’s not done with me yet. His brown eyes meet mine sharply.
“When were you planning on informing us about what occurred at the docks a week ago, Ramirez?” he questions.
“When I felt like it,” I reply nonchalantly.
His expression darkens. “You fucker…”
