Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Carmine taps the end of his cigar, letting ash fall to the polished marble floor.
Then he sucks on his teeth. It’s a habit of his, and these days it usually precedes him giving me the details of an ill-thought-out plan—one that I’ll have to implement.
He wasn’t always so reckless, but lately…
He’s definitely losing his edge, or his mind.
Since the loss of my father, his trusted consigliere, his spiral into madness seems to be picking up its pace.
They had their differences, for sure, but there was always an unspoken bond between them—one I didn’t always understand.
My father held the principles of loyalty and family in the highest regard, values he instilled in me too.
“The Bertellis are causing me aggravation again, Enzo.”
I suppress a sigh, lean back in my chair, watching cigar smoke curl around him like a sweet-smelling cloud of impending doom.
Carmine’s days are numbered. Everyone knows this.
Especially me. He’s growing more unhinged and reckless with each passing year, but he clings to power, the aging don who doesn’t know how to be anything other than what he is.
Of course, if he had an heir worthy of taking over his empire allowing him to hand over the reins, I’m sure it would make his life a lot simpler.
Unfortunately for Carmine, he has one son, Vinny, and he is a useless sack of shit—a man who doesn’t know the meaning of the words loyalty or courage.
“What exactly do you want to do about them, boss?” I ask.
“Handle the problem, son.”
That means take them out. All seven of them, and then deal with any potential fallout from second cousins or mistresses who suddenly find their gold Amex cut off.
There are times when I might try and talk the don out of some of his hastier ideas.
While they might be the bottom of the food chain, the Bertellis are made men.
We take them out, we potentially start a war with one of the other six made families, who all operate in Nevada, at Carmine’s say so.
Some of them are constant pains in my ass, and I wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep if they disappeared, but there’s a hierarchy at play here, an order to things.
If Carmine starts messing with that order for no good reason, then people get twitchy.
They wonder if they’re going to be next, and then they make a defensive strike against the old don just in case he has his capo bastone take every single one of them out too.
The Bertellis though—the don knows I have a long-standing hatred of them—of Joseph in particular. And maybe that’s all I need. “Did you have something particular in mind?”
He runs a gnarled hand through his thick head of silver hair and the left side of his mouth lifts in a vicious smirk.
“Make it look like a professional hit, but just don’t make it look like it was us.
They’ve been bickering with the Russians over their new casino on the edge of the Strip, so make use of their enemy. ”
I nod my understanding. “I’ll speak to Rafael and Luca—”
“No, no.” He holds up a hand. “For this one I want only my best.”
What the fuck is he talking about? My brothers are his best. I grind my jaw, keep my mouth shut.
“For this job, I’m letting Vinny take the reins. You and he will make a great team.” He gives me a full smile now, one that reveals his gold molar on the right side of his mouth.
I have to work to keep my expression neutral.
Vinny is the furthest thing from the best that I can think of.
Any job with him means me doing every-fucking-thing and him barking orders like a fat Italian ringmaster.
Then he takes all the credit with the don, which shouldn’t bother me one fuck—I do a job and I’m paid handsomely for it—but seeing the smug look on that prick’s face just makes me want to throat punch him, and then gouge out his eyeballs for good measure.
Carmine stands, smoothing down the creases in his beige linen suit. Then he claps me on the back. “You are like a son to me, Enzo, especially since your father died.”
Here he goes, attempting to pull on heartstrings I haven’t possessed in a very long time. My father died three months ago, and Carmine brings up his passing on at least a weekly basis.
“But Vinny, well, he is my actual son. He’s twenty-one now, the same age you were when I made you my second.”
True, but I’d been groomed from the day I was born and had already been working for the don for five years.
I’d killed more men than Covid by the time I was twenty-one.
But Vinny? He’s spent most of his life cosseted and feared simply because of his name, rather than anything he’s ever done.
“I have to prepare him to take over when I’m gone.
And who better to teach him than you?” Carmine goes on.
I force a half smile. It could be worse.
There were whispers that the don might appoint Vinny his new consigliere after my father died, but fortunately Carmine isn’t that blinded, not yet.
So instead, he’s appointed nobody and I’ve simply absorbed the role into my own.
Given that I advised my father anyway, it’s not much change to my day-to-day. “Of course, Carmine.”
“You will work for him too one day, huh? Just like your father and grandfather worked for me. And your sons will be loyal to his sons.” He pulls me up and wraps me in a hug, muttering something about mia famiglia in Italian.
I can think of nothing worse than working for Vinny for the rest of my life.
Actually, I can, and that would be any sons of mine working for him.
The only blessing is that I’m not intending on having any kids, sons or daughters. Family life is not for me.
There was a time when those things felt real…
I swallow past that unexpected knot of grief.
It’s a bizarre thing, grief. Sometimes, I can go days, even weeks, without thinking about her, and then some days her memory just sneaks up and hits me in the face with a sledgehammer.
Carmine cups my face in his hands. “You will do this for me. Remove the stain of the Bertellis and show Vinny how to be a good leader? No witnesses. No evidence that it was anything to do with us, huh?”
His gray eyes hold mine, cold as granite. Like his heart. He didn’t become the don by being a nice guy. I’ve witnessed him slit a man’s throat because he didn’t like his shoes. Carmine Falcone is cruel, unpredictable, and vicious—and he’s my boss.
I owe him a debt.
And he never lets me forget that for a single fucking second.