3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Marco
T his was exactly the type of bullshit I was expecting when my father told me he'd selected a group of people for me. Except, it was also somehow worse than I could have ever imagined. Did he honestly expect me to work with a group of clowns who were all friends with my little brother? This wasn't some new crew of well-trained thugs and enforcers. These were a bunch of imbeciles and infants masquerading as made men. The display I had witnessed after stepping out of the elevator made me sick to my stomach. The overt sexual displays. The loud music. The way Brandon fucking Fortini threw himself at all the other men like a little slut when we were supposed to be gathering for introductions ahead of an important day’s work.
I'd never liked Gianluca’s best friend. Ever. The little scumbag was a terrible influence, a horrible friend, and the reason my brother got sent away from home a few short years before I got swallowed up by the prison system. He was the reason my family was torn apart. I wanted to tear his throat out on a good day. Most of the time, I would have been happy to put a bullet in his head and dump his body in the North River. Now, I was stuck being chauffeured around by this prick.
To make it all more offensive, he thought I was some pampered, entitled brat. My jaw clenched as I climbed into the passenger seat of the SUV and cringed at the takeout wrappers and empty soda cans littering the footwell. The pervasive stench of stale cigarette smoke, sweat, cheap cologne, and who knows what else invaded my nostrils as I shuddered.
“I was told you are aware of the instructions for today.” I plucked the index card from my breast pocket and flicked it into his lap with my fingers. “Drive.”
I caught the dour expression and angry glare from the corner of my eye, but I couldn't be bothered to give a single fuck. Let him be mad. Let him seethe and wallow in livid anger. It was the least he deserved. I settled back in the seat and cast my gaze toward the window. The less I acknowledged the presence beside me, the better.
Still early in the day, the sunlight bathed the world in the false promise of pleasant weather and lightened moods. Underneath the pale yellow light, everything was still and would always be dismal, grey, and claustrophobic. Buildings, windows, streets, cars all passed in a blur. My driver asked if he could smoke and I answered with a vague hand gesture. He answered with a beleaguered sigh as he rolled down the window and let the pervasive miasma of the city smog permeate the interior of the vehicle.
The pack of Marlboro Reds appeared in my peripheral vision and I smacked them away with the back of my hand. The answering swearing was strained and whisper quiet as he bent awkwardly to retrieve them from the floor.
The air between us was thick with tension and discord. I compulsively reached up to loosen my tie by a fraction to ease some of the suffocating heaviness. If this was what my future looked like, the soaring height of the bridge we passed over en route to Brooklyn would become a very promising option. I indulged in the fantasy. I'd never actually consider it for real, but the call of the void was a better form of entertainment than wallowing in my anger and disappointment.
A cell phone ring instantly set my blood to boiling as it crashed through the heavy silence of the car. I graced my driver with a scathing glare as he hurried to answer it, balancing it on his thigh as we continued through the traffic on the bridge.
“Yo, you're on speaker.” He stole a glance before snapping his gaze to the windshield.
“Word. It's Poncho. We just pulled up on the first location. Do you want us to sit tight or scope it out?”
Brandon, or rather Henny, deferred to me with a wave of his hand.
“Wait for now. I don't trust the Morettis.” I took the opportunity to skim Henny’s appearance as he disconnected the call without any form of closure. His frosted hair was naturally brown at the root and bleached to within an inch of its life at the ends. The delicacy of his features startled me. Narrow nose, thin lips, golden brown eyes that would have been striking if they weren’t accompanied by dark circles and skin just this side of too pale. His frame was lean and wiry, but showed signs of strength that wouldn't be out of place on a kickboxer or runner. Overall, I wasn't impressed. The mesh shirt under his jacket revealed miles of complex ink in shades of black and grey and amber. It was probably the singular interesting thing about him if I cared enough to devote any piece of my brain to his existence. Unsurprisingly, I didn't care.
The first location was, at a glance, nothing special. I knew from experience that the inconspicuous places were the ones that needed to be highest on the radar for potential issues. The ramshackle exterior of the delicatessen helped the Moretti family hide in plain sight. Jericho’s Nissan was parked literally across the street from the establishment. So much for waiting and laying low. I would apparently have to spell out all the basics for this chaotic crew of imbeciles.
“Double park it at the front door,” I muttered, checking my underarm holster as I ran through a mental checklist of conversation topics. As expected, we got the attention of our intended audience before I was ready—men filtered out of the deli in groups of two and three to clutter the sidewalk.
“Yes, your Highness.” Henny’s voice was laden with attitude. I briefly wondered if Pops would have a problem with this driver of mine losing a few teeth.
“Keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking,” I replied with a low voice. Once I pushed the door open and jumped from the car, it was showtime. I affected the stance of my father, with a bit of my own flair picked up from four years in prison. Cool, calm, collected, and utterly confident. First impressions were make or break moments. I needed these goons to sit up and pay attention straight away or our working relationship would be anything but functional.
The posturing between our groups would have been funny if it weren't so deadly. All of us were armed. So were they. We had motives. So did they. It was a tired old game. Thankfully, the idiots assigned to follow me knew enough to stay quiet.
“Morning, gentlemen.” I nodded and made a mental note to keep my hands visible instead of pushing them into my pockets. “Damiano said you would be expecting us.”
“Damiano was right, but that doesn't make us happy about it.” A man around my age stepped forward with a squint to his eyes. “We’re real tired of getting jerked around.”
“Of that, I'm sure.” I held my palms up in a placating gesture. “We’re here now to talk.”
“No, enough talking. We were promised money, we expect money.” Another man, no more than a boy really, sucked his teeth and jerked his chin. “Did you bring money?”
“I did not. That was not the purpose of today's meeting.” I tried to stay as level-headed as possible, but I'd been here before. I'd been in tense situations just like this and the consequences were always the same—hot tempers and low patience levels never ended well.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. This is getting ridiculous.” Yet another man threw up his hands. “It was part of the alliance. Pay up or leave before we take what we’re owed in lives lost. I'm sure Damiano will be more keen to listen if you end up with the fishes.”
Beside me, Henny snickered and tried to cover it up with a snort. My eyebrow twitched and my jaw clenched.
“What, you got something to say?” One of the opposing guys stepped forward with his fists clenched.
“No, it just seems a bit cliché to say ‘swimming with the fishes.’ Like, come on. It's the new millennium. Surely we’ve outgrown phrases like that?” Henny shrugged and held his palms up. “But what do I know?”
“You motherfucker—”
“Enough, everyone!” I pressed my palm to Henny’s chest and physically pushed him behind me as one of the young men rushed forward. I had a full foot of height on the kid and my shoulders were twice the size of his. He backed down, quite prudently in my opinion. “We came to discuss the terms. Yes, you're owed money upon upholding your end of the bargain. Names and addresses of all the locations in Jersey before the end of day. Then you will get your money. Or rather, Matteo will get it. If you think I would hand you a quarter million in broad daylight, you're as dumb as you look with your jaw hanging open like that.”
A rabble arose as they churned closer. Jericho’s mutt growled and pulled the leash taut as he lunged. Quick math had us outnumbered two to one. I pushed Henny back again when I saw him reach for his jacket.
“Moretti knows what he agreed to. We came here in good faith to discuss who needs to do what. Bring the message to him or don't. It's in your hands now.” I nodded toward the group and tightened my grip on the mesh of Henny’s shirt to physically drag him toward the car. This dumb fuck was going to get us all killed if he didn't relax. Hell, all of them needed to fucking chill.
“Yo, you just let them shit all over us like that? What the fuck, man?” Henny turned to scowl at me from the driver's seat as soon as the door was closed.
“Drive.”
“No, tell me what the fuck that was?”
“Drive.”
“Answer me—”
“Drive the fucking car or I will put your head through the fucking windshield!” I lost the grip I had on my temper and it reflected in my voice. The bellow caught the attention of people on the street as Henny recoiled.
Muttering under his breath, he turned the key in the ignition and punched the gas to catch up with the other two cars in our group. I was seething mad and couldn't clench my jaw harder without risking a tooth, but at least I'd resisted the urge to punch him in the mouth he refused to keep shut.
We spoke to half a dozen more of Moretti’s crews and it all went exactly the same. We needed him to know we were moving in, were serious about the alliance and everything that was agreed to, and that I was going to be the contact moving forward. Overall, it was an effective day in that respect. Unfortunately, keeping myself from committing homicide was exhausting. Imagine my chagrin when, at the end of the day, Henny did not direct the car toward my apartment building.
“You have thirty seconds to explain where we are going,” I practically growled from the passenger seat.
“Jesus Christ. Dinner. Calm the fuck down, your Highness.”
“I prefer to dine alone.” The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.
“That’s very sad for you. Sad Panda Marco. Shut up and come eat.” He flashed a grin I hadn't seen on his face since his crude and disgusting behavior earlier this morning in the parking garage. “We don't bite.”
“Did you just tell me to shut up?” My eyebrow arched to my forehead.
“Did indeed. Seriously, the guys are chill if you would just pull the fucking stick out of your ass long enough to see it. Unless that’s your kink?” Henny stole another glance with a look of pure mischief on his face. “We all know you get down with a little ass play now and then.”
My blood instantly boiled in my veins. Fucking Gianluca. I knew I never should have tried to hang out with him and these fucking clowns. Through grit teeth, I grumbled in response. “I'm. Not. Gay.”
“Methinks the Sad Panda doth protest too much.”
If we weren’t driving through traffic, I would have launched myself over the console to choke the life out of him for how angry I was. The fact that he was operating a vehicle was the sole reason he was still alive after his death-wish of a comment.
“That’s what I thought. Look, asshole. It's dinner and some drinks with the guys working for you. Build some fucking rapport if you expect this to work out. Hate me all you want for whatever reason you want, but don't fuck with my boys.” He shrugged and flicked on the indicator to pull over in front of an upscale nightclub and lounge.
The rumble of palms striking the windows had my heart leaping into my throat. Everyone in our new team was pounding the windows with bright grins and cheerful laughter. I felt so wholly out of place, I almost considered ordering a rideshare right then and there.
“Get out of the fucking car, Marco.”
I glanced at him, imagining my eyes were daggers so he felt the true depths of my ire, before reluctantly reaching for the handle. “I'll have it stated for the record—I do hate you.”
“No shit, Sherlock. Out of my car.”
I slipped out with a frustrated exhalation and was immediately swarmed by the five remaining people I'd been forced to spend the day with. The day was already an exhausting shit show. Now, it was creeping into my evening. Henny himself appeared after handing the keys over to the valet. With all six of them in full glory, my patience wore even thinner. This wasn't me. The last thing I wanted was to carouse with a bunch of dumb fuck thug friends of my little brother. Evidently, this was my life now.
“Ever been, boss?” An arm looped around my shoulder and I reacted without thinking, connecting my knuckles with the man’s rib cage before ducking out from under his grasp.
“No. And don't fucking touch me.”
Gramps or Grumps or whatever the fuck his name was rubbed at the spot on his side while guffawing to the point of tears. “Holy shit, bro’s a fucking ninja!”
More jostling and shoving ensued, forcing me forward until we were at the front desk. I shouldn't have been surprised to hear them give my father's name. I also shouldn't have been surprised when they introduced me as well. There was a strange sort of appeal to being treated like royalty as we were swiftly waved into the establishment and promptly escorted to a VIP section. I guess being born into the mob did have some small benefits. At least for those interested in the nightlife. Maybe, possibly, perhaps this might not be a complete disaster. I had my doubts, though.