Chapter 1
VINCENZO
The view from my penthouse suite at the DeLuca Casino and Hotel never gets old.
The boardwalk, long sandy beach, and salty sea stretching in the distance below provides a sense of calm, bringing back childhood memories on the Atlantic City shore.
This territory, the family struggles before us, this city, it is our legacy. It’s why we fight.
The burner in my desk drawer rings. I close the distance, quickly pulling it open to answer the inevitable call. The one I knew would eventually come but hoped would not. Fucking Sarones.
Nicolo is usually cool, calm, and collected, but not right now.
“Vincenzo, we’ve got trouble.” Tonight, my brother and underboss of the DeLuca family sounds aggravated.
His fingers rap on something hard in the background.
“Word on the street is the hit is going down soon. They’re going for the strip club. ”
That kinda trouble gets my blood pumping real fast. The Sarones are getting on my last fucking nerve.
We knew they would come, just not when or where.
Nicolo’s not going to let them get close without a plan.
I know it, but still, I have to ask. “You have our soldiers in position? Making sure Gianni is safe until we get there?”
I check my weapon and tuck it into the waistband of my pants, preparing for the worst. I swear someone touches our little brother and they’re going in the ground tonight, in a bad, bad way.
I grab my jacket while listening to Nicolo.
“They’re already in place watching the club, more moving inward.
The hit could be tonight or tomorrow, the snitch we talked to didn’t know for certain.
The Sarones are probably keeping details of the hit close to the vest. They probably know they’re infested with rats. ”
Common fucking problem in our line of work. “Remember, we need information from those sorry bastards. If they hit us, you make a loud example out of most of those fuckers but keep three of them alive. We need information more than we need to bury them all.”
“Got it.”
“And have Terry bring the car around. I’m leaving now.
I’ll meet you by the elevator.” There are a shit ton of advantages to the four of us boys living in the penthouse suites at the top of this tower.
Close to the action, we can keep a personal eye on things, convene quickly and you gotta love that fucking Atlantic City view.
And when shit heads south, we’re together fast. Except when they decide to hit my little brother’s club and we’re not fucking there. My jaw tightens.
Nicolo clears his throat. “You’re the boss now. You should stay put, let us take care of things on the street, Vincenzo. It’s how it’s always been. We take care of the boss.”
“Do what I ask, Nicolo.” I toss the burner into my suit jacket already aware that without a good strategy this could last all fucking night or two because no one is stupid enough to send in someone to hit the DeLucas with anything less than an army and no one gets away with a hit on any of our properties.
Especially not one of our strip clubs. Especially the one our little brother manages.
Our enemies should fucking know better. This land, Atlantic City, everything in southeast Jersey, Absecon Island, it’s ours, DeLuca territory and we call the fucking shots.
Nicolo better have a plan to end this fucking fast.
I’ve barely reached the elevator when Nicolo joins me, pocketing his phone as I place my finger on the security panel to let it read my print. The minute we’re inside and the doors close again his eyes meet mine. “They have some fucking nerve.”
“Yeah, it doesn’t help that Agosto got us embroiled with the shitstorm up north. Those territorial disputes are bound to head our way if they learned we were involved. Who knows who the Sarones are working with but it doesn’t matter one fuck.”
Nicolo is thoughtful for a moment. “You think it’s payback for the beating the guys in the north took from the Cassones? Word on the street is the…”
“Don’t know, don’t care. They step onto our side of the shore with the intent of taking what’s ours, and they go home in body bags.
End of fucking story.” The minute we’re outside the sleek black Lincoln rolls up and waits for us at the curb.
I slide into the backseat while Nicolo sits up front with Terry.
Terry takes the back exit and heads into town, easily navigating the growing congestion in the casino district as we make our way to one of our most lucrative strip clubs. He’s quiet, just the way I like it. I pull out my phone and get some work done during the ride.
Torro, one of our best men, acknowledges us with a short nod as we approach the club.
The minute we walk in, the entire club goes silent.
Even the topless dancing girls lose a beat on their sexy little heels.
We walk past the patrons sitting at small square tables drinking and watching the show and move closer to the stage where the ladies are attempting to keep time with the sultry beat while trying not to show too much interest in what it is we’re here to do.
The darting eyes though, that’s the tell.
Even when someone wants to stay out of shit, it’s human fucking nature to want to see what’s going on.
That can get a person killed quick. I give Lenny, whose working behind the bar, a nod and one of the ladies on stage a cold glance and that’s enough to get her eyes back on the patrons and off of us.
They may not know it but keeping them out of the know keeps them safe, less of a target for another family looking for a little info.
Gianni puts out a cigar as we walk through the door into his office. A shit ton of cash in plastic bags labeled with dollar amounts lays stacked on his desk. I gesture to the money. “Get it under the floor. Word is we’re gonna get hit.”
My younger brother by only a few years, born not even a full year after Nicolo doesn’t move slow. He’s got the wall at the side of his desk open, and the false floor lifted while Nicolo tosses him bundle after bundle to secure from anyone who walks through that door who isn’t us.
“Why didn’t you call?” Gianni growls.
I move my piece to my pocket and watch the door with a hand on the Glock. “Not sure what the fuckers put into place for surveillance, phones, and your dumbass refuses to carry a burner. That ends today. Going forward, it’s on you at all times, Gianni.”
Gianni rolls his eyes at me. Only for my brothers do I let that fucking slide. Nicolo beats a message into his cell. “Soldiers ready?” I ask.
Nicolo meets my eyes and gives me a solemn nod.
“They’re getting into position. I want them surrounding us in layers with a one block perimeter between the next group.
We’ll stay out of sight, let them through initially, they’ll think they’re in the clear and then we’ll close the fuckers off.
We’ll end it sure and fast just like you asked.
Send the message that anyone coming for us gets shut down fast and loses the majority of who they send. ”
I nod, in full agreement with the plan. Nicolo is the best underboss running the streets.
I don’t question his strategy or tactics for a moment.
“Good. They don’t get through those doors.
You tell those soldiers to guard the people in our place with their fucking life.
Coming to our club and getting whacked is not good for business. For them, for us, for nobody.”
Three fucking hours sitting around waiting for these clowns and I’m ready to lay down, to defend what’s ours and get rid of some of this pent-up frustration. Finally, the unmistakable sound of gunfire rings out, coming from every direction around us out in the streets.
I hear the frantic sounding commotion in the bar, but I also know Lenny’s behind the counter and Torro is by the door running point with his men. They’ll calm everyone down in a minute.
True to his word, the soldiers under Nicolo’s command don’t need long to take the enemy out, the sound of gunfire fierce at first, waning as the hour nears, and then coming to an almost complete stop, with a few random shots ringing out over a ten-minute period before it ends.
Nicolo’s phone buzzes and he answers and gives me a nod. “We got ‘em all. And three of the fuckers are being delivered to the warehouse as we speak.”
Gianni claps Nicolo on the back and my chest swells with pride. “Fucking A we did. Any of ours hurt?” I ask.
Our underboss shakes his head. “Not one.”
I grin. “Great fucking job, Nicolo.” I turn to Gianni.
“We’re going out the back way. Drinks are on the house.
Stay here, deal with the cops. They’ll come round with questions, you can bet your ass on that.
We stopped by, hung out and then left when we heard all the commotion.
Make sure Torro and Larry got that story straight and that the girls didn’t see a thing.
I’m feeling fucking generous tonight. Put an extra K in their checks this week. ”
“Got it.” Gianni lights up a cigar. I gesture to the thousand dollar a week habit my brother’s managed to get. “You know those things will kill you?”
He laughs in my fucking face. I scowl. “What’s so funny?”
Gianni waves his hand in the air. “Seriously? Look around. We’re in the most dangerous business there is, people getting whacked every day and you’re gonna jump my ass about a cigar?”
“Fuck off and put it out.” I gesture to Nicolo that it’s time to go. We walk to the office bathroom, open the sliding panel and walk down a small hallway that leads to the back exit. Nicolo opens the door a crack, and as soon as Terry pulls up, we step outside into the breezy night air.
Terry catches my gaze in the rearview as we get in and settled. “Where to boss?”
“Home for me.”
Nicolo smiles. “Good, that’s what I like to hear.” He turns to Terry. “Let’s drop the boss off and then head out to the warehouse. We’ve got work to do tonight.”
The minute we reach the DeLuca Casino and Hotel, I get out and head straight to the tall glass doors, giving a nod to Barry who holds them open for me. I tap my watch. “You saw me come in right about now.”
“Got it boss.”
What a fucking night. As soon as I get to my penthouse, I pour a glass of scotch into a crystal tumbler and let the golden amber seep into my veins.
Nothing takes the edge off after an anticlimactic night like tonight.
Maybe I should have had a little fun with one of the ladies, took one of them to a private room in the club for a little celebration tonight, but what used to have incredible appeal just doesn’t anymore. Not for fucking months now.
My jaw tightens as I tug off my tie and loosen up my collar. I sink into my desk chair watching the lights over the boardwalk and on the ships out at sea. One fucking night over six months ago and I still can’t get the Cassone girl out of my mind.
One night six months ago. The whole clusterfuck of a night still weighs heavily on my mind.
No matter that I risked my life and those of my men to pay back a favor to the Rosellis and rescued the long dark-haired angel, carrying her out of that dank spot the bastards had her tied up in and holding her in my arms while the helicopter got us to safety. But still, it wasn’t enough.
Injured far too badly and passed in the night.
That message still runs through my mind over and over again.
That communication came loud and clear through the family channels and rippled like waves through the crime industry.
Not that anyone blamed me. The Rosellis knew I did the most that I could.
I paid my debt and tried to save the girl at the same time.
Yeah, I fucking know it, but it still doesn’t make this haunting feeling go away.
The crimson red, gold embossed card from Mistress Valentina, manager of the DeLuca X Club in the lower level of our casino and hotel sits in front of me. I trace the letters with a finger.
I need something to blow off a little steam or I’m going to fucking explode.
Maybe it’s not such a bad idea. I haven’t been down there in quite some time, having grown tired of the clingy power and money-seeking women who know I can give them exactly that.
But, a masquerade party, that’s a little different, intriguing.
It would give me some sense of anonymity. At least the new women in the circle wouldn’t know who I am. Maybe some would recognize me, but not all.
I twirl the invitation to the masquerade ball this coming Friday between my thumb and forefingers letting the thought of attending stir new excitement into my blood.