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“Everyone, listen up,” I snapped. Going up the steps in front of the church, I planted my hands on my hips. The weight of their combined gazes was heavy. There would be precious few opportunities to ensnare their attention and earn their trust.

“Today, we are giving back,” I started, sweeping a look over the Made Men. “While there is plenty ofotherwork to be done, we have too long neglected our own. Under the former leadership, our neighborhood fell apart, street by street. Look around. Main Street and 2nd Avenue are in good repair. There is a thriving commerce on Third, but after that?”

The men shifted.

“Look at our church. There is graffiti on the walls of this hallowed place. The houses along the road are falling into disrepair, and the damage only magnifies, block after block. That stops. Now.” I drew in a deep breath. “Our funds won’t suffer from a short leave of absence. There is always plenty of money to be made, but what does it say about us if we bring in wealth and then don’t do something good with it? Hmm?”

A few murmured in agreement.

That gave me the courage to continue.

“If any of you feel that this isn’t in your best interest, I invite you to have a good, long think on the matter. From this day forward, the Moretti Famiglia is taking responsibility for its community. Get behind that initiative, or leave the city,” I said with a sharp bite.

No one moved.

I held my breath, ready for the fight. My gut told me this was the way to operate. Organized crime was in the business of making money. With enough cash, we could rebuild. But there was something to be said about sweat equity and taking pride in our home. I knew it would pay off. I knew it!

The fight never came.

“Tell us what to do, Donna Isabella,” a soldier piped up.

His words were wildfire. The rest repeated them in a soft frenzy.

I gulped. “Father Donelli has the work order. We’ll split into groups. Painting houses, mending fences, and repairing lawns.”

Eventually, we would tackle the insides of the houses. That would need more funds than I had access to, because we would have to pay contractors to lead the work. Many of my soldiers weren’t savvy in blue-collar jobs, having grown up rough in the streets. But under the guidance of some well-paid carpenters, electricians, and plumbers, they could do the manual work as part of their community service.

“Oh, and the city comes today to start tearing apart and repairing 4th and 5th Avenue,” I added.

That sent a cheer through the men. They broke off in groups, and I watched them take the initiative. If I could lead them in this, I could lead them in other ventures, making sure that their pockets were lined and their wallets were plump. But I didn’t just want a powerful, affluent organization. I wanted men who cared about where they lived and showed pride in themselves.

***

I might have grown up in a smaller Midwestern city surrounded by farmers, but my family certainly didn’t participate in any kind of manual labor. Already blisters formed on my too-soft hands. Yet I worked the extended roller of paint until my arms ached.

“Bellissimo, donna, semplicemente bellissimo,” Signora Gaetani beamed from the front door.

“Careful not to lean on the trim,” I said quickly. “That hasn’t dried!”

The matron shot a look to the bright white trim, pressed her lips tight in consideration, and nodded. She let out a string of rapid Italian, of which I only picked out a few words.

Vincenzo was around back, unable to translate. I gave the woman a broad smile and dipped the roller back in the tray. This side of the house was almost finished.

A truck rolled by on the street, pausing before the lawn. Wiping my brow with the back of my hand, I studied the vehicle. While we weren’t under threat from the other faction of the mob, it was unlikely they would strike or interfere while we worked.

Relief, sweet and cool, swept through me when the broad shoulders moved from the driver’s seat. The long hair pulled into a bun was all the confirmation I needed that this was a friend, not a foe.

He’s here!He didn’t leave.

Just relocated. Everything was going to be alright.

“Hi there, neighbor, what can I do for you?” I asked, leaning on the pole.

Jaxon gave me a small nod as he moved to the back of his truck. He popped the tailgate and pulled out a tray of…flowers.

My heart did a little skip as Jaxon approached with the plastic tray of bright purple and white petunias. He wore a faded grey tee that stretched across his chest and work jeans with a dusting of soil on the knees.

“Heard the church was sponsoring some cleanup, and I wanted to help,” he said, his voice a low rumble that somehow carried over the distant sounds of new fence being stretched. “Figured we could plant them around the mailboxes, maybe the front porches too.”