Silent Night With Alessio

1. Alessio

1

Alessio

T he reports spill across my desk, the ink dark, fresh, heavy. One sighting here, another there…Vitale goons poking around the Luciana’s Las Vegas properties, scoping out our safe houses, tailing our runners.

They’re getting too close. Far too close. I’ve got that feeling again, that cold crawl at the base of my neck, like someone’s sliding an ice pick into my spine. The attacks are a constant at this point. It’s exhausting.

I sit back, stretch my fingers, and push the papers away, clearing my line of sight to the window.

Snow piles up outside, blanketing the grounds of The Bellini Lodge, stretching out in a clean sheet of white, as far as I can see. The pines look ghostly, half-buried under snow, and the sky’s hanging low, swollen with clouds.

We’ve got everyone in the immediate Luciana family here for the holidays, the lot of us up here in Winter Haven. Tucked away from the heat of our enemies in the city.

It’s supposed to be a break, a safe distance from all that chaos back in Vegas, and I’m grateful for it, even if I don’t fully believe in "safe" these days.

I pull another report in front of me, scanning it for patterns. Strange cars parked on the same corner twice in three days, men loitering around the old gambling hall down on Fremont. Vitale dogs, circling.

If they’re looking for us, they won’t find us up here. Still, the itch doesn’t leave.

Everyone's been on edge lately, as they should be. The Vitale Family keeps sniffing around us, looking for cracks.

They’ve been able to find out that we came here, but Winter Haven is enough of a neutral ground it gives us a chance to breathe.

Business doesn’t follow us to Winter Haven, but I can’t afford to let my guard down. I’m on the phone with our guys back in Vegas every hour, getting updates, tracking any hint of trouble. Making sure nobody so much as stumbles across where we’re holed up.

Anything I hear, I pass straight to Elio, my boss and the chief advisor. He’d want to know, even if he’s not here to handle it himself.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? The man should be here. I’ve scoured every inch of this lodge looking for him, like some kind of ghost hunter in a haunted house. But he’s just... gone. No message, no explanation, nothing. And it’s not just about business or keeping tabs on Vitale’s latest trick. This year’s holidays mark something different, something bigger.

The city’s buzzing about the upcoming signing ceremony, a tradition held once every twenty years, bringing together the most powerful families in Winter Haven, the Luciana family included. It’s an occasion that carries weight, respect. It’s a chance to reaffirm alliances, settle scores, and secure the Luciana name for the next generation.

Elio knows this. He knows the stakes, knows the eyes of the entire city are on us. So where the hell is he?

With the Vitale trouble at our necks and Massimo still working to assert himself to both friend and foe that he is more than worthy of his new position as Don of our Mafia family—we need everything running smoothly, without a hitch, to show that he has a good grip on things.

Why would Elio be missing in action right now? The man is sharp, too sharp to disappear without good reason.

Unless... unless it’s something he doesn’t want me to know about. But that doesn’t sit right either. When it comes to the family, we don’t leave each other in the dark. Not with something this big.

I reach for the phone and dial his number, my fingers tapping faster than I’d like to admit. The line rings, and each ring is another second. My patience thins. Finally, I hear a click. The line goes silent.

"Elio," I say, my voice steady, but the edge in it is unmistakable. "Where the hell are you?"

Elio’s voice breaks through the static, steady, cutting. “What’s the matter, Alessio? Can’t handle things on your own?”

I grit my teeth. “It’s not that. It’s just... things are stacking up. The Vitale are creeping around, and then there’s the signing ceremony in two weeks.” My voice tightens despite myself. “Aren’t you supposed to meet the boss for the ring?”

There’s a pause, a long silence on the other end. I can almost see him there, weighing my words, deciding what he’ll let me in on. When he finally speaks, his tone is short and decisive. “Handle it. You can take care of it.”

I press the phone closer. “Sir, you’re the Chief Advisor. It’s usually the chief advisor who does this.”

“Yeah, well, now I want you to go do it.”

I bite down on my tongue, holding back the frustration clawing up my throat. “What do I tell the boss when he asks why you’re not the one getting the ring?”

A sharp exhale from Elio cuts through the line. “Damn it, Alessio! I’m busy with other stuff, alright? Can’t you see what’s happening? The Vitale is on our tail everywhere we turn. I’m handling something right now, and I can’t talk about it. Not yet.” His voice drops low, as if admitting he’s got his own cross to bear.

Guilt lances through me. He’s right. Vitale has been stepping up their game, pushing us at every corner. I’m sure there are other attacks that I’m not even aware of.

Elio’s the type who holds his cards close to the chest. I should’ve known he’s working on something. He’s probably keeping his hand tight until he’s ready to move.

There’s a sigh, heavy through the phone, then, “Just tell the boss I’m working on something that’ll give us the edge over those Vitale dogs. Capisce?”

“Yeah. I got you, Elio.”

The call clicks off, and I’m left staring at the receiver. My mind spins, running back over the conversation. Elio’s been advising the family long enough to know this game better than anyone.

The family trusts him, and for good reason. His savviness has pulled through more than once, and I know that. But lately, he’s been... distant. Making moves I don’t always agree with. Then again, everyone’s got their own way of handling pressure—and right now, the whole family’s feeling that pressure.

I down the half-full glass of whiskey on my desk, letting the burn settle, steadying myself for the conversation ahead. It is both liquid courage and some heat to ward off the winter cold. I didn’t sleep last night. Can’t afford to be getting stiff.

This talk with the big boss? It should’ve been Elio’s job. The boss trusts him more than anyone, especially for something like this, something as important as the signet ring. But if Elio says it’s mine to do, I’ll handle it.

I rise, stack the files neatly, letting a last glance linger on the papers. Those can wait for now. Since we’re all here, no one is in immediate danger.

On the other hand, the signing ceremony is coming up, and with Elio away, it’s on me to represent. I have to focus and give it my best. The Luciana Family deserves nothing less.

Straightening my jacket, I step out of the office, the taste of whiskey on my tongue, ready to face the boss.

The walk to Massimo’s office is short, the hallways quiet, with most people tucked away in their rooms or other parts of the lounge. I reach his door, give two solid knocks. His voice cuts through almost immediately. “Come in.”

I push the door open, and the smell of Cuban cigars rolls over me like a wave. It’s the boss’s signature, filling every corner, thick and rich. It’s enough to make me crave my next smoke, but I push the thought down and look up at Massimo Luciana.

Through the haze, he sits behind his desk, looking over stacks of papers, his face obscured by clouds of smoke. Over the years, the man’s grown hard, unbreakable, ruthless, even.

Losing his father to a Vitale hit did that. That day changed him, pushed him into the seat he holds now, carrying the gravity of the Luciana legacy on his back. The vengeance that drives us all burns especially hot on him.

An accountant stands beside him, droning on about offshore accounts and money laundering set-ups. I barely register it, eyes drifting across the space. The office always hits me the same way…imposing, perfectly furnished, every piece reflecting the edge and elegance of the man himself.

But Massimo’s not a man for distractions. He waves the accountant off, and he slips out with barely a sound. Silence hangs for a moment, and I feel the depth of the boss’s gaze as he sizes me up.

“Alessio…” he finally says, his voice low, smoke curling from his lips as he speaks. “Any reports I should hear about?”

“Nothing new, boss. Just a few Vitale sightings here and there, but they haven’t made a direct move on any of our bases yet.” I keep it steady, letting the words settle as he takes them in.

Massimo nods, slow and thoughtful. Then he asks, “So... what did you come to see me about?”

“It’s about the signing ceremony coming up. It’s two weeks away, boss.”

“Yeah, I know.” He pauses, studying me. “Where’s Elio?”

The question hits, and I feel a lump in my throat, but I keep my face straight. “He’s handling some things, says it might give us a leg up with everything the Vitale’s throwing our way. He asked me to take care of the ring with him wrapped up in all that.”

There’s a beat of silence. Massimo’s eyes narrow, sharp as knives, studying me, reading between the lines. He takes a long drag from his cigar, letting the smoke drift out in slow waves that blur his face. “Elio… always coming up with something.” There’s understanding and deep trust in his voice.

Then, he rises and strides over to a tall shelf behind his desk, brushing aside a few thick books to reveal a hidden safe. I watch as he twists the knob, clicks in the code, then opens it with a smooth turn of the key.

He pulls something from the depths of the safe, something small, and returns to his seat, sinking back into the chair’s leather embrace. He beckons me forward, his gaze as steady as stone.

“Come here…”

I cross the office, feeling the grandeur of the room press down as I approach his desk. The safe's contents sit on his desk, a small case, and inside, there it is: the Luciana singlet ring.

I’ve heard the stories, whispered reverently among the family, about how beautiful it is. But nothing prepared me for the sight itself. The ring is striking. Massimo notices my awe, and with a low, proud voice, he speaks.

“She’s beautiful, ain’t she?”

I nod, barely aware of myself. Massimo takes another puff of his cigar, the smoke curling lazily before him as he continues, his tone reflective, as though he’s talking more to himself than me.

“In two weeks, it’ll be a hundred years since Winter Haven was founded. This town…it's been more than just a place for us. It’s been woven into my family’s history over generations. And my family has woven itself right back into the fabric of this town. Every twenty years, the cardinal families stamp their signet rings into the town’s history book. No family is more central to Winter Haven than the Lucianas... which is why, every twenty years, we stamp first.”

He pauses, the room quiet but for the faint crackle of burning tobacco, his gaze drifting to the ceiling as if searching the past. “It’s the first one I’ll be doing. The first I’ll witness without my father.”

There’s bitterness in his voice, and it lingers in the air like the smoke. He shifts his attention to me, his eyes steady. “Do you know why I’m telling you this, Alessio?”

I answer, but he continues, cutting through my half-formed thoughts, “I’m telling you this because this ceremony must go off without a hitch. No mistakes. Not with history on the line, not with everything we’re up against. The Lucianas must present a strong front, show we’re unbreakable. There will be no interruptions, no problems.”

His voice is firm, leaving no room for doubt. He gestures to the ring. “Go on, have a look.”

I hesitate but reach out, lifting it from the case. The weight settles in my hand, immediate and unmistakable.

The jewels catch the light, and the engraving, a Phoenix, rising, eternal, is as bold as the legacy it represents.

I commit every detail to memory; the ring burning itself into my mind’s eye, etching a place in my photographic memory. Nothing I’ve seen has felt more worthy of it.

“That’s 24 karats of pure gold, encrusted with diamonds,” he says, letting the moment stretch. There’s a rare softness to his words, almost as if he’s giving me a moment to savor it. Then his voice sharpens, pulling me back.

“Take it to the Marino jewelry shop. Federico will look at it. The Marinos always looked over the ring before the ceremony. Their family’s been with us for years.”

I nod, but there’s a tug of remorse in my gut, knowing I have to bring up the news. “Boss… Federico Marino passed away three years ago.”

Massimo’s brows pull slightly, and though it’s subtle, I catch the shadow of sadness in his eyes.

“Now, his granddaughter runs the shop,” I finish, my voice quiet. “I sent flowers on behalf of the family when it happened.”

He just nods, taking a slow drag from the cigar, the smoke lingering as he waves me away. I carefully place the ring back in the case and pick it up, turning toward the door. As I reach it, his voice calls out behind me.

“Alessio…”

I stop, glancing back.

“Thank you,” he says, the gratitude heavy. “For sending flowers on behalf of the family.”

I give him a nod and step out, the significance of the ring’s history settling within me as I close the door behind me, carrying not just the ring, but the responsibility it stands for.