Chapter 6 Alessio
ALESSIO
The slot machine’s jackpot alarm cuts through the casino noise like a fire siren, all flashing lights and electronic celebration.
Some kid who looks barely legal jumps up and down, clutching her winning ticket while her friends shriek loud enough to wake the dead.
“Oh my God! I won! I actually won!”
The crowd swarms toward the commotion like moths to a flame. Typical. One jackpot and suddenly everyone thinks they’re the next big winner. These idiots will throw their rent money at the machines for the rest of the night, chasing that high.
Good for business, I suppose.
I stride past the chaos toward the Italian restaurant, ignoring the hostess who straightens hopefully as I approach.
The main dining room buzzes with conversation and the clink of silverware.
Place is packed as usual. Not surprising, since they serve authentic Italian food that lives up to the hype.
The private room calls to me from the back. It’s where we conduct family business now.
As soon as I step inside, the smell of garlic and basil fills the air. Real Italian cooking that reminds me of my mother’s kitchen. My stomach growls in protest.
When’s the last time I had a decent meal that didn’t come wrapped in paper?
My Uncle Lorenzo sits with his back to the wall, naturally. Always watching the door, always ready. The man taught me that you never sit where you can’t see who’s coming for you.
We share the same build, the same dark hair, though his is starting to silver at the temples. People say I look more like him than my own father ever did. Good. I’ve always been grateful for that resemblance.
When my father walked out on us, Lorenzo stepped up. My mother and I lived with him for a few years, and I learned what it meant to be a real man. My father was weak and selfish, probably still is for all I know. Haven’t seen or spoken to him in twenty-eight years, and I don’t plan to start now.
Lorenzo is everything my old man wasn’t. Strong, cunning, loyal to his core. He values family in a way that coward never understood. Lorenzo can be fierce when he needs to be, even ruthless, but never without reason. He’s fair. A true leader.
Definitely a better role model than the man who gave me half my DNA.
His new wife feeds him arancini like they’re still on their honeymoon.
Mia looks relaxed and glowing, clearly fresh off their trip.
She’s young, younger than me even, but anyone with half a brain can see this isn’t some arranged marriage bullshit.
Lorenzo married her to form an alliance with her father, but somewhere along the way it became real.
They’re actually in love. Lucky bastard.
“Could you guys be gross somewhere else?” Luca calls out from the next table over, making a face like he just tasted sour milk.
I bite back a comment about respect. Kid’s always pushing boundaries, thinking his bloodline gives him a free pass. Lorenzo’s glare shuts him up fast enough, though. Some lessons you learn the hard way.
I take my seat and nod toward Matteo. We’re just waiting on one more.
“How are things at the club?” Lorenzo asks. He trusts me to run things without micromanaging, but he likes to stay informed.
“Smooth. Tossed a couple of drunks last week, nothing worth mentioning. My manager hired fresh talent—she starts this weekend.”
“Sounds boring as hell,” Luca jumps in, because the kid can never let a conversation flow without adding his two cents. “Should’ve kept the casino gig.”
Matteo snorts. “Boring? It’s a strip club. How’s that boring?”
“I can get pussy any night of the week.” Luca grins like he just invented sex. “Women can’t resist the Andretti charm.”
Mia laughs and elbows Lorenzo. “You didn’t mention your son was such a ladies’ man.”
“Half the shit that comes out of Luca’s mouth should be ignored,” Lorenzo says dryly.
“And the other half?”
Lorenzo considers this. “Never mind. It’s all bullshit.”
“How dare you turn my new stepmom against me!” Luca gasps, hand to his chest like he’s been shot.
“We’re not doing that,” Mia cringes. “Call me Mia. We’re practically the same age.”
I smile despite myself. It’s nice when things feel normal, when we can pretend we’re just family having dinner instead of soldiers planning war. These moments are rare enough to savor.
The door opens and Joey walks in, shoulders tight with nervous energy.
Kid’s been working the Lightning case for three weeks, trying to infiltrate the college party scene.
We’ve kept contact to a minimum, just a few text messages here and there.
Too much communication draws attention we can’t afford.
The temperature in the room drops. Joey represents everything that’s wrong right now.
Another dead kid two days ago, this time a high school senior.
Her parents are all over the news and social media, demanding the police form a task force.
All of a sudden, everyone’s talking about Lightning, and that’s going to become our problem.
Anti-drug crusaders never stop with just one target.
They’ll try to shut down everything, cutting into our profits across the board.
Joey pauses in the doorway. I nod toward the empty chair, and he approaches like he’s walking to his own execution.
“Joseph.” Lorenzo stands, offering his hand. “You honor your family with this work.”
The kid’s nervous. He’s probably never been this close to Lorenzo before. Soldiers don’t usually get face time with the don.
“Thank you, sir.”
They sit, and Joey glances at Mia uncertainly. I don’t blame him for the confusion. Business meetings don’t usually include wives, but Lorenzo’s made it clear that Mia’s his partner in everything. Unconventional doesn’t begin to cover it, but his word is law.
“Report,” Lorenzo commands, and the casual atmosphere evaporates.
Joey leans forward. “I wish I had more. I’ve connected with a group of college kids, party types. Some of them use Lightning, but they won’t give up their supplier. Trust takes time.”
“That’s it?” Luca groans. “Three weeks and you’ve got nothing?”
I feel my jaw tighten. The kid thinks everything should be simple, fast, clean. He doesn’t understand the patience this kind of work requires.
“I can’t rush this,” Joey retorts, and I respect him for standing his ground. “If they suspect anything, I start over from nothing.”
“Or we grab one of them and have a conversation in private,” Luca suggests, like torture’s just another business meeting.
I turn to face him fully. “You want to kidnap college kids now?”
He shrugs. “It’ll work.”
“Maybe. It’ll also put us on every news station in the city. These aren’t street junkies, Luca. These are somebody’s children. Middle-class kids with futures and families who give a damn.”
“So?”
“So when they disappear, people notice. They ask questions. They demand answers.” I lean forward, making sure he understands. “We’re already dealing with dead kids all over social media. You want to add kidnapping to the headlines?”
“Alessio’s right,” Lorenzo says, and I feel the familiar satisfaction of his approval. “Better to move slow than blow everything with reckless stupidity.”
“Then what?” Luca’s voice rises. “We wait around while Joey tries to make friends?”
“You want to do better?” I challenge him. “Prove it.”
Lorenzo slams his hand on the table, and the sound echoes like a gunshot. We all freeze.
“Enough.” His voice could cut glass. “Joey continues with his group. Luca, you’ll infiltrate another circle. Twenty-five’s young enough to pass for college.”
Luca blinks. “I wasn’t volunteering—”
“Are you refusing an order?” Lorenzo’s tone drops to something dangerous, and I watch Luca realize how close he just stepped to a line that could get him hurt. Don or not, Lorenzo doesn’t tolerate disobedience from anyone.
“No,” Luca says quickly. “You can count on me.”
“And Luca?” I lean back in my chair, letting my voice carry just enough threat to make my point. “Try not to get caught up with another bad crowd. We don’t need a repeat of high school.”
The glare he shoots me could melt steel. If his father weren’t sitting right here, he’d probably take a swing at me. We’ve thrown punches before. More like brothers than cousins, and brothers who don’t always get along.
“It’s settled,” Lorenzo declares. “Both of you work this from different angles. Be smart. Be careful. And get me answers before anyone else dies.”
The room shifts back to easy chatter, but I stay wound tight. Every overdose puts more eyes on us. Every dead kid chips away at the illusion of control.
Lightning’s already claimed too many lives. If we don’t find the source, the Bratva won’t be our biggest problem. The Feds will. And when they come knocking, there won’t be anywhere for us to hide.