Mafia Kings: Giorgio (Mafia Kings #8)

Prologue

Four Years Ago

Naples, Italy

Cesare Caproni

Iremember the exact moment I decided to kill Dario Rosolini.

My father, Aristide Caproni, was a Camorra boss. There are dozens of Camorra clans in Naples and the surrounding towns, and we control everything: drugs, extortion, money laundering, prostitution, counterfeiting. You name it, we fuck with it.

Our clan was one of the smallest in Naples. Papa had been the number two man ever since I was a kid, until the main guy had a heart attack and croaked.

Once Papa took over, we started coming up in the world –

Until he got sent off to San Vittore, a fuckin’ hellhole of a prison in Milan.

I couldn’t prove it, but I think he got sent down the river because of a Cosa Nostra piece of shit named Amato.

The Amato family slithered into Naples decades ago and had been trying to take over the city ever since.

Papa told me all about the Cosa Nostra. They used to only be in Sicily, but 40 years ago, a bunch of Sicilian judges went after them with a vengeance and locked most of them up.

Before shit went down, some of the bigger families saw the writing on the wall and spread like cancer to the mainland.

They took over Rome… Venice… Milan…

Florence and Tuscany…

And they tried to take over Naples.

Good fuckin’ luck with that, assholes.

The Camorra might not be as organized as the Cosa Nostra, but we’re a hell of a lot tougher in a fight. Or at least some of us are.

The Camorra and the Cosa Nostra fuckin’ hate each other. Always have, always will.

So when those Sicilian fucks sent one of their families to Naples, we weren’t about to take that shit lying down.

It wasn’t out-and-out warfare, exactly. More like a long, grinding battle where nobody ever got the upper hand.

Like the rest of the Cosa Nostra, the Amatos worked from the shadows. They were fucking pussies who’d stab you in the back instead of fight you face-to-face like a man.

Anyways, I’m pretty sure Amato bribed the police chief to arrest Papa. A dozen cops with shotguns got him at the restaurant where he ate every Friday night with whatever chick he was banging at the time.

It wasn’t a secret. Papa had been going to the same joint every Friday since I was a kid. If the cops wanted to pick him up, they could’ve done it anytime they wanted.

That fuckin’ police chief finocchio wouldn’t have dared cross my father unless he was paid off… and Amato was the only asshole stupid enough to do it.

Amato must’ve bribed the judge, too, because Papa got 13 years in San Vittore.

And since I was his only son and our clan’s Enforcer, I took over while he was gone.

Now, don’t get me wrong:

I fuckin’ hate my father.

He was an asshole.

He cheated on my mother with every whore in Naples –

And he beat me nearly every day of my life.

But he made me stronger.

He burned the weakness out of me –

Until all that was left was pure killer.

Which is why I became our clan’s Enforcer when I was only 22.

I’d shot a dozen men by that point.

I killed two dozen more by the time I was 23.

People who knew the score in Naples were scared shitless of me.

But did Papa take advantage of that?

No.

We could’ve bulldozed through a dozen other clans – wiped them out and taken their territory –

But Papa was too much of a pussy to make it happen.

Too old.

Too much We gotta keep the peace and not enough We take what we want.

Unfortunately, things didn’t change when he went off to San Vittore.

Papa called me and my sister Lucrezia on the prison payphone every day.

The conversation was always the same: him asking how ‘the bakery’ was doing.

‘The bakery’ was our business. Lucrezia would tell him how much money we took in, what our expenses were, if other ‘bakeries’ were horning in on our business – that sort of thing.

Most of it was boring everyday bullshit. But if Papa had any orders that were particularly rough – like whacking somebody – he sent them through the prison guards we’d bought off.

It went on like that for over a year…

Until the riot happened.

I was working out in the gym when I heard about it.

I call it a gym, but it was really a meat-packing plant our family owned.

I’d watched Rocky as a kid and loved how Stallone punched hanging slabs of meat to train for his fights.

So when I turned 14, I bugged Papa until he let me go down to the meat-packing plant and whale away on a side of beef for an hour every day.

Even though I wrapped my hands like a boxer, my knuckles were bleeding and raw for the first two months. Lucrezia begged me to work out on a punching bag instead, but I refused. I was going to be the toughest motherfucker in Naples, and I was going to do it the hard way.

It paid off. My knuckles got so callused that I could punch a brick wall and not even feel it.

These days, though, I didn’t work out on slabs of beef.

I practiced on morons who tried to fuck with my business.

The day I heard about the riot, my punching bag was a piece-of-shit bookie who worked for the Lugaro clan. He’d been horning in on our territory, so I had my guys pull him off the street the night before.

When I got to the packing plant, they duct-taped his mouth so he wouldn’t scream as loud.

Then they duct-taped his hands together, hoisted him up on one of the meat hooks, and I went to town.

He blacked out in two minutes. Or at least he stopped making noise.

I’m pretty sure he was dead after the first five.

Didn’t matter. I kept going.

There is absolutely no substitute for the feel of your fists slamming into a real human being. Nothing else will prepare you for a fight like that does.

I’d already turned the bookie’s face into a bloody pulp when Romeo, one of my top guys, walked in. He was a big guy – 6’3” and built – and normally acted like nothing phased him. But today he looked worried.

“There’s something you should see.”

He held out his phone and showed me a news program while I pulled off my blood-soaked hand wrappings.

The bookie’s blood. Not mine.

A cable news anchor was talking over a shot of Milan.

“…prison guards have put down a major riot at San Vittore, the notorious Milanese prison that houses hundreds of members of organized crime groups. Authorities report at least a dozen inmates were killed during the violence.”

“Get me the warden,” I snapped at Romeo.

Thirty seconds later, I was on the line with the top dog.

Actually, ‘top dog’ was way too generous. He was a mealy-mouthed little pussy who would drop his pants and bend over for a couple thousand euros.

“Is my father okay?” I asked angrily.

“Signor Caproni,” the warden whimpered, “I’m afraid I have some terrible news…”

My father was dead.

Somebody had slit his throat.

Not only that, but they’d killed five of Papa’s guys.

“WHO WAS IT?!” I screamed at the warden.

He didn’t know.

“FIND OUT!” I roared, then threw the phone across the room.

Romeo backed out of range of one of my punches.

He was smart. If it had been anybody else, I would’ve put them up on a meat hook to work out my rage.

“Is Don Caproni okay?” he asked quietly.

“He’s fuckin’ dead,” I said.

I paused for a second –

Then burst out laughing.

Just howling.

The concrete meat locker echoed with my laughter.

Romeo stood there staring at me, confused as shit.

“DON’T YOU SEE WHAT THIS FUCKIN’ MEANS?!” I yelled at him joyfully, bunching up his fancy suit jacket in my bloody hands.

“…you’re in charge now,” he realized.

“FUCKIN’-A RIGHT I AM!” I howled, then turned and punched the dead bookie’s head a few times with my bare fists.

It was like I’d snorted a line of cocaine, I felt so good.

Once I was finished, I wiped off my bloody fists with a towel.

“Things are gonna fuckin’ change around here,” I growled, mostly to myself. “Things are gonna totally fuckin’ change.”

I had Romeo drive me back to the family compound.

As soon as we pulled up, I stormed into the main hallway of the mansion and yelled at the guy keeping watch downstairs, “Where’s my sister?!”

“Up in her bedroom, boss.”

I ran up the stairs like a kid on Christmas morning, sprinted down the hall, and burst into Lucrezia’s room.

She jerked around in fright, then got a pissed-off look when she saw it was me. “Jesus, don’t you fucking knock?”

She was sitting at the desk beside her unmade bed, looking at a fashion magazine. It was almost noon, but she was still dressed in a black negligee.

She had on her Chanel sunglasses like she always did, even inside the house. They had flaps on the side so you couldn’t see her eyes at all.

She never went anywhere without them on – not after what I’d done to her when she was 17 and caught her cheating on me.

I went a hell of a lot easier on her than I did on the guy, though.

He hadn’t had a face after I was finished with him.

“Is that your blood?” she asked in alarm when she saw my red-stained wifebeater.

“Nope.”

“What do you want?” she asked grumpily as she turned back to her magazine.

“Papa’s dead,” I said, unable to keep the glee out of my voice.

She froze with her back to me, then slowly turned around.

I couldn’t see her eyes because of the sunglasses, but her expression was pure shock.

“…no,” she whispered.

“Yes! Prison riot at San Vittore. Somebody slit his fuckin’ throat.”

She stood up like she was sleepwalking –

Then started laughing insanely, just like I had back in the meat-packing plant.

“OH MY GOD!” she cried out.

“I KNOW!” I yelled with a huge grin on my face.

She ran towards me –

And kissed me.

I kissed her back.

I only stopped when she bit my lip so hard I bled.

“Fuck you!” I laughed as I pushed her away.

She giggled, then drummed her hands on my chest in excitement. “What are we going to do first?!”

My mood suddenly darkened. “Find out who killed him.”

She snorted. “We already know that.”

“What?! Who?!”

“That Cosa Nostra fucker from Tuscany. The one Papa got hired to put out a hit on.”

“…Rosolini…?” I asked, struggling to remember the name.

“Dario Rosolini,” she said, then huffed in exasperation. “That was the whole point of the riot – to give Papa cover to kill him! Jesus, do you not read the messages Papa sends us at all?”

Actually, I didn’t. I relied on Lucrezia to handle the business end. I was the one who led the troops and did all the killing.

“Who paid for the hit?” I asked.

“We don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “It was anonymous – came through one of Papa’s lawyers. He thought it might be someone in the Cosa Nostra who wanted Rosolini dead.”

“Cosa Nostra pieces of shit,” I grumbled. “They’ll backstab their own family just to make a buck.”

“You do realize we’re celebrating our own father’s death, don’t you?” she asked sarcastically.

“Yeah, but we didn’t kill him. And now I’m going to skullfuck the bastard who did.”

“You ought to be thanking this Dario asshole. After all, he got you a promotion.”

“I’m still going to kill him,” I snarled. “Blood is blood, even if Papa was a son of a bitch.”

“I guess we owe him that,” she said grudgingly. “I’ll have one of our men in San Vittore do it.”

“Rosolini killed five other guys besides Papa.”

“At the same time?!”

“Yes.”

Lucrezia’s eyebrows shot up. “Really.”

“That’s what the warden said. He didn’t mention any names, so I’m guessing he doesn’t know Rosolini did it – but whoever it was killed all six of ‘em.”

“Hm… impressive…”

Suddenly jealous, I grabbed her hips and pulled her into me. “What – you wanna fuck the guy?”

She giggled again as she crawled one hand up my chest like a spider. “Why… does it make you hot?”

“…yeah,” I growled as I bit her neck. “It kinda does.”

“Too bad,” she laughed as she pushed me away. “But it wasn’t just one guy. Rosolini obviously had help. Nobody can kill six men singlehandedly.”

“I could.”

She tilted her head to the side like I had a point. “Maybe. But it doesn’t matter if it was Rosolini alone or if he had help. Papa obviously underestimated the situation. We should send every man we have in San Vittore after him and – ”

“NO. I’m going to do it myself.”

Lucrezia sighed in disgust. “Little boys. Always having to measure your dicks.”

I grabbed her hand and put it on my crotch. “You know who’s got the biggest.”

She rubbed my cock through my jeans. “Mmmm… I do…”

I moved to kiss her –

“Dario Rosolini,” she purred. “Or so I hear.”

“Bitch,” I said, pushing her violently off me.

She crashed back against the bed and laughed. “Fine – you can kill him. But it could take years for him to get out.”

“I can wait,” I said as I unbuckled my belt.

She licked her lips. “Looks like you can’t wait for something else.”

“Nope,” I said as I kicked off my leather boots. “Time to celebrate.”

She grinned. “What are we going to do until Rosolini’s out of prison?”

“Kill that Cosa Nostra asshole Amato and take over Naples.”

“Oooh – that’s ambitious.”

“We could’ve done it already if Papa had any balls.”

Lucrezia made a face. “With years of planning, maybe.”

“Fuck that. We could whack Amato tonight.”

“You idiot – that’s the perfect way to get killed. Amato’s organized, he’s careful, and he’s got funding from the rest of the Cosa Nostra. In fact, rumor is that Rosolini’s family backs Amato financially.”

“You’re kidding me,” I said in shock.

“You don’t pay attention to anything Papa says unless it’s about killing people, do you?” she asked contemptuously.

“Why should I, when you handle it all?”

“I wonder if somebody else shouldn’t get the promotion,” she said snarkily.

“You can run things. I’ll just kill everybody.”

She smirked. “So – like normal, then.”

“You gotta admit, it makes even more sense to kill this Rosolini piece of shit if he’s backing Amato.”

“Maybe. But I’m serious, Cesare. Before we go after Amato, we need to amass a lot more power. Killing him will create a power vacuum in Naples, and our clan’s not big enough to fill it.”

“So we get bigger, then.”

“It could take years.”

“I’m a patient man.”

She laughed. “No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” I agreed as I started biting her neck. “But I’ll find something to keep me occupied.”

“Mmmm,” she murmured. “We should consolidate first… take out some other clans, like the Lugaros. Did you kill that bookie we picked up last night?”

“Yep. In fact, this is his blood.”

“Gross,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Go take a fucking shower.”

“No,” I growled as I pushed her onto the bed. “Besides, you like it like this.”

“You’re right,” she whispered with a smile as she pulled me on top of her. “I do.”