Chapter 3
Present
Upper East Side, New York City
MY LEOPARD PRINT D&G HEELS clicked against the entrance stairs of the DeMone Tower’s – Prestigious Hotel & my family’s Headquarters.
Doors were opened for me the way they always were. I strutted across the marble checkered floors, my trench coat protecting me against the late summer chill.
I’d been at the salon, getting a blowout, when I got the call.
My dad holding a random meeting was never a good sign. Especially when it was only with me and my brothers.
That meant one of two things.
Either one of us fucked up.
Or he was about to tell us something that would never leave the room.
“Ms DeMone,” One of the soldiers with an earpiece nodded as the elevator doors opened on the boardroom level, holding his hand out like he was going to guide me himself.
“I got this, Rocco,” I waved him off, heading towards where I knew my father and brothers were already waiting for me.
I took a deep breath before entering.
My father was already sat at the head of the business desk in his office that sat only six, Gìovanni and Antonio on each of his side. No one would hear or disturb us here.
Gìo was the older, colder brother. Clean.
Sharp. Polished. Politicians saw him for his Yale degrees, college football quarterback star reputation, and bank account with tens of zeroes – the respectable diplomat of the gangster family.
The Mob saw him for his power and charming looks – the future King of the Cosa Nostra.
That was how he drew everyone in.
But none of them saw him for what he truly was.
And before they knew it, he’d already squeezed the life out of them.
He was one cold motherfucker. And no one ever saw it coming.
Tony was the younger, hot-headed brother. Reckless. Aggressive. Impulsive. People saw him for what he was. And he couldn’t give less of a fuck. He partied like there was no tomorrow, fought like he was invincible, and carried himself with the air of a greek God.
With his left hook, he could knock anyone out. With his right, he would kill them.
Tony, they feared because of how fucking psycho he was.
Gìo, they feared. Period.
People always thought my brothers were so different, but they were both equally unpredictable. That alone, made them more similar than anyone realized.
Everyone on the outside saw me as the rich nepo-baby that spent all of daddy’s money. That was fine. Because when I walked into a Cosa Nostra meeting, Bosses across the US lowered their heads when I walked past.
I was the youngest woman in the Italian-American Mafia to date to take the Omertà – the blood oath I’d taken at just fifteen, when I returned from Boarding School. My father had sent me away to snuff out my fire, yet I returned more ruthless and blood-thirsty for power than ever.
I’d cut a gash into my palm, gave the Cosa Nostra my blood and vowed: I enter alive and will leave dead.
“Hey, guys.” I smiled, taking a seat at the other head of the table. My brothers both took theirs at thirteen.
My father stared into my souls the same way he did with Capos across the states. Unlike them, I didn’t flinch.
“I told you not to take the meeting with the older Diablo.”
So it was me who’d fucked up…
“I can handle him.”
Diablo was an urban legend. Leader of the Mexican Cartel, ruthless and cut-throat, who’d been around since the seventies. Notorious for his empire’s long-lasting ruling for over the past fifty years. Faceless as a ghost, and even more feared.
No one except a select group of people on the inside knew the original Diablo had been Leonard Di’Ablo, who’d passed down the name and business to his two sons. First, his oldest, Matteo…
Alright, princesa. You got yourself a deal with the devil.
And now, Zach. Though he was taking a break at the moment. Hence, my meeting with his asshole of an older brother two weeks ago at the club.
“That’s not the point. You don’t listen, Francesca–”
“I had to get us the deal. I knew I could do it–”
“You don’t interrupt a Don when he speaks, Francesca.”
I gave a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry, Dad. I get passionate.”
A sigh escaped him and his voice softened. “I know, cara. Which is why you are one of the best Consiglieres this Organization has ever seen. But that temper… You need to control it.”
“Yes, sir.”
He pointed a finger at me, leaning forward. “And stop threatening my business associates.”
I rolled my eyes. “Did he tell you that?”
“No.” Leaning back in his chair, he clasped his hands as a mischievous smile lifted the corner of his lips. “But you just did.”
A laugh escaped me. “I threaten all of them. He’s not special.”
Gìo chuckled too. “Maybe. But right now, we need him.”
“Maybe you should have stepped up and talked to him since you seem to be such good buddies.” I gave a big, fake smile.
My brother rose a brow at me in dry amusement. “I would’ve if you’d waited until I got back from Vegas like we initially agreed.”
I rolled my eyes. He always had to right.
Him and Matteo had been friends for ages. Both worked together back when they took over North America. Matteo would’ve agreed to the new business proposal without hesitation if Gìo had been the one to talk to him.
I wasn’t sure why I took the meeting myself. I guess I just wanted to prove I could do it. Disrespect and all.
“What matters,” My older brother continued, “Is that we got his support to move forward with the expansion.”
“I’ve been saying we need to push West for months. Sitting here with our dicks in our hands while the Bratva moves closer to Vegas every day–”
“Tony…” Gìo warned.
“He’s not wrong,” I cut in before it could spiral. “Every week we wait, we lose another cut.”
Tony smirked at me, proud. His black t-shirt wrinkled from the night before, chain glinting under the light.
“However,” I continued, turning toward him, “If you go into Bratva territory waving your dick around, you’ll get it cut off and nailed to a church door. This isn’t one of your street wars, Tony. It’s going to become international trade. Smarter moves. Cleaner fronts.”
My father leaned forward. “Walk me through the plan.”
I reached into my vintage two-thousand-ten Fendi Peekaboo purse, and slid three folders across the table.
“Montenegro, Croatia, Bulgaria. We use Matteo’s ports in Ensenada and Veracruz to push product out, labelled under the shell companies we set up last year – agricultural imports, textile exports. Everything clean. Everything buried.”
“And when the Russians push back?” Gìo asked.
I smiled. “We make it look like an internal power struggle. They bleed from the inside. We never touch them directly.”
Tony gave a low whistle. “Damn. Chess.”
“Language,” My father warned without looking at him. Tony rolled his eyes, but shut up. My father leaned back in his chair. His eyes moved between me and Gìo. “I want both of you working together on this.” His focus returned to Tony. “And you will be shadowing them.”
Tony tsked, looking up from his phone. “You can’t be serious, pop. I’m busy with the upcoming fights in Vegas. I ain’t got time for this–”
“I’m not asking, Antonio.” Dad’s words left no room for argument. He then gave me a knowing look. “Don’t make me regret this.”
I nodded. “You won’t.” Even if it killed me.
He smiled and clapped his hands, announcing the conclusion of the meeting. We all stood and made our way together to the elevator.
Dad threw his arms around Gìovanni and me, giving us squeeze on the shoulder before advancing to catch up with Antonio.
Once close enough, he took a light hook to his ribs.
Tony reacted on instinct, bringing his hands up and doing a couple of light head movements and escapes while Dad pretended to try to get in a couple hits.
Dad laughed, throwing his arm around Tony and shaking him slightly as he side-hugged him.
“Ready to show off those moves in Vegas and win those fights?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good son.”
I exchanged an amused look with my older brother.
Ever since he’d been born, Tony became everybody’s favorite. He was twenty and still the baby of the family. Gìo and I couldn’t complain either – he was our favorite too. Funny. Easygoing. Crazy, but more loyal that anyone we’d ever come across.
Once we stepped out into the underground parking garage, Dad fell back to talk to me again. He handed me the contract for the legal expansion with a raised brow. “I trust you to deliver and get Diablo to sign this?”
“Will be on your desk in the morning.”
He smiled, cupping the back of my head. “Good daughter.”
Smiling too, we parted ways, each of us heading to our respectable vehicles.
“Gìovanni,” Dad clicked his fingers before getting in his town car, as if he’d just remembered. “How’s the take-over coming along? Did you get the others on board?”
Gìo simply unbuttoned his suit jacket as he opened the door to his Aston Martin and stepped inside. “I got a feeling Boston, Philly and Chicago will fall in line after I have the sit-down with them.”
The following Sunday, while the whole DeMone Family had lunch at the family home in Long Island, all three Bosses were shot execution style.
Stepping out of the Hammer Truck and onto seventy-sixth street, the driver closed the car’s door behind me. My Dolce heels clicked against the pavement before softening into the plush of the red entrance carpet.
Doors opened for me.
“Good evening, Miss DeMone.”
Doormen and lobby managers tipped their heads when I walked past.
“Miss DeMone…”
Elevators were held for me.
“Mr Di’Ablo is expecting you.”
And the button for the twenty-sixth floor was pushed for me by the operator before he stepped out to give me the privacy.
The doors slid shut, engulfing me in the spacious private elevator, dark and gold accents creating a dim, discreet sort of ambiance.
I glanced up at the floor count as my heart seemed to beat heavier in my chest. Frowning, I brought my hand up to my cleavage and rubbed the skin above my thundering organ in attempt to relax.