Chapter 1
1
R eeves stepped off the plane at Dallas/Fort Worth international airport and headed straight for the Grand Hyatt hotel. He had a meeting later that afternoon at a museum in downtown.
Of all the places the Serrano boss wanted to meet, Reeves found it ridiculous. At least it was public , he thought. Throwing the leather strap over his neck, he adjusted the duffel bag where it rested against his back and headed for the hotel.
The air in the Dallas airport was bustling with people coming and going. Reeves felt the weight of the bag against his back, the familiar leather strap cutting into his shoulder as he made his way through the terminal. He’d been here before, countless times, but this time he was there to lay things out for the Serranos.
Walking through the bustling airport, he passed travelers hurrying to their gates, families in tow, some laughing, some arguing. The noise was almost a relief…a welcoming distraction from his thoughts.
The hotel wasn’t a far walk as it was located steps from the TSA checkpoints. He chose it not for the executive suite he’d booked, but that the hotel offered direct access to all terminals. The last thing he wanted in the morning would be to deal with the trams and long TSA lines. Staying close by, he would avoid those things.
The Grand Hyatt was a sleek, modern building, a far cry from the ranch. The lobby was as immaculate as ever, marble floors reflecting the light from the polished chrome fixtures overhead. It was all designed to impress, but he wasn’t impressed. Not anymore. He’d seen enough of this world to know the shine on the inside often hid the rot underneath.
He walked to the check-in desk, offering a polite smile to the concierge, but the pleasantries were just that…polite, empty gestures. After receiving his room key, he headed for the elevator. It was time to freshen up, shake off the fatigue, and prepare for whatever Serrano had in store.
After checking into his room, Reeves checked return flights just in case the meeting was quick. He’d rather be back in Texas Creek than in Dallas twiddling his thumbs sitting in a hotel bar. His next order of business was checking in with the car service he hired. Being on time was something Reeves prided himself on. Probably a bad idea being a creature of habit. Monroe said it made him an easy target. Who was Monroe kidding? All of them were easy targets.
Reeves had dealt with Mario Serrano before. He was like all the rest. Big-time players, power brokers, all people who thought they could borrow and/or owe them without conscience. He kept his focus, his eyes scanning the crowd as he navigated toward the airport tram where he could get checked into his hotel before he had to rush off to the meeting.
The meeting was later, but Reeves couldn’t shake the feeling this wouldn’t be just another day of business. The tightness in his gut hadn’t loosened since the flight, and the sense of something looming, something dark, stayed with him as he rode up in the elevator.
He didn’t like the idea of meeting in the museum, a place where all the history of what they were on display made it feel more like a public performance than a real negotiation. But it wasn’t his call. He was in the Serrano’s territory.
A museum meeting. Ridiculous. And yet, he had a feeling it was going to be a lot more than just that.
As he made his way out of the hotel, the Texas heat slapped him in the face. He glanced up at the sky -clear, almost painfully blue. He felt a pang of frustration, but smothered it quickly. No time for distractions. He needed to be sharp. Focused. In control.
The drive from the hotel to the museum seemed to take minutes, although it had taken half an hour. “I’ll be out within the hour”,” he told the driver. Sliding out of the car, Reeves noticed the building’s signage. The sign said the National Museum of Organized Crime using interactive entertainment technology to re-create the rise and fall of organized crime in Dallas. Reeves had to walk the tour to get to his meeting in the Mob Bar speakeasy at the very back of the museum.
As he walked the tour, he stopped and looked at life size cardboard cutouts of famed mobsters. The museum’s setting was full of intrigue, suspense, and mystery. He watched as a young family read information in front of one display. Then they hit a button, and the story came to life with the voices of ‘gangsters.’ Reeves chuckled hearing the voices and walked to the next display.
One display caught his attention right away. Leaning in, he stared at the men in the background in the array of photos. He recognized two young men sitting at a table in the background of one photo. It was his dad and his uncle. The look on his old man’s face said he knew the deal. But what deal? Reeves would love to know. The other men in the photo display were the members of the Seville crime family. The original Dallas Mafia.
He also recognized the men in the photos from seeing some of the same photos in the restaurant. Hitting the information button, he listened to the explanation. A deep, heavily accented male voice came across the speaker.
According to the museum, Carlos Siranio began the Dallas faction of the American Mafia in 1921 with his brother Anthony Siranio as his underboss. Carlos was described as the “original head of the Mafia in Texas.” Anthony assumed control in 1956, when Angelo Siranio died at age 78. Seville attended the infamous meeting of all the Mafia leaders in 1957, a time when he controlled narcotics, gambling, prostitution, and nightclubs in most of Texas. After the meeting, the FBI began keeping closer tabs on Seville.
It wasn’t all correct, but at least fifty percent was. He could give them the actual story if they wanted it. The Seville family had become the Siranio family, then became the Serrano family. It wasn’t a stretch from the Siranio to Serrano to see how the original Dallas family had easily changed hands.
The sound of Mario Serrano’s chuckle behind him revealed their strategy: leak information to the FBI to eliminate the Sevilles and seize control of Dallas.
Cocking a look over at Mario, he smiled. “Is that a veiled threat?”
Mario played with the toothpick in his mouth. “Not at all. Just stating the facts.”
Turning to face Mario fully, Reeves’ smile faded. “Didn’t the last boss of the Seville family die in nineteen seventy-three?” Reeves knew his history, especially pertaining to the mafia families of Texas. He also knew there was more to the takeover than just the Serrano family feeding the FBI info on the Seville family.
“Yes. That was Gianni DeCarlo.” Mario’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes flicked briefly over the crowd, scanning the room with the practiced ease of someone who’d been on the other side of too many deals, too many eyes in the shadows.
Reeves adjusted his jacket, his fingers brushing over the cool fabric as he kept his posture casual, but his instincts were on edge. Watching visitors rush by, Reeves put his hand in his pocket.
He wasn’t sure if it was the suits or the presence of something more dangerous hanging in the air. The museum being a public place. It was neutral ground, but in a world like theirs, nothing was neutral. “That had to be a big spot to fill after Seville and Marcello hired the hitmen to assassinate JFK.”
“They proved that was just a rumor,” Mario said as he turned to continue towards the back of the museum.
“One day I’d love to know which family killed JFK,” Reeves commented, noticing the group that had just passed were still staring back at them. He glanced at the groups passing by, admiring the interactive scenes, but their eyes lingered just a little too long, just a little too focused. Two women in particular, wearing oversized sunglasses, seemed to talk in hushed tones as they glanced over at them.
Across the room, a pair of men stood near a large display, their hands in their pockets, but their heads turned at a sharp angle toward Mario and Reeves. He wanted to laugh at their curious stares.
Mario stopped and waited for Reeves to step up next to him. “None killed him. That doesn’t mean none of them hired the shooter.”
Reeves glanced around, “I think we’re being watched.”
“Ah, they probably think we’re part of the interactive part of the museum. Let’s go straight to the bar. You can educate yourself on your way out.” Mario said leading the way towards the speakeasy.
Reeves needed no more explanation. He knew exactly what Mario meant. It wasn’t uncommon for people to stare at him, especially in places like this. He knew firsthand anyone could be a threat - an innocent-looking visitor, a tourist snapping photos, anyone with a grudge and a gun could get to him in a place like this.
“If I was in a playful mood, I’d say let’s give them a reason to stare,” Reeves said, his gaze briefly flicking over to the group of people who were still eyeing them like they were prey. “But, since I’m not…” He started walking towards one of the galleries, aiming to keep moving to stay off the radar.
Reeves nodded to Mario to lead the way. Something about this felt off. He didn’t like the way the crowd seemed to shift around them, or the way people had gotten quiet when they’d entered the room. He couldn’t shake the feeling they were being herded, even if they hadn’t crossed the line into danger just yet.
Reeves gave the small group a hard stare as he walked past them. He heard comments about they knew he was mafia. If they only knew the truth, they’d have run far away. Fast.
As they moved deeper into the museum, the soft echo of their footsteps was the only sound between them. Reeves stayed alert, his eyes catching every flicker of movement around him, every slight shift in posture from the people passing by. He felt like a chess piece being maneuvered on a board he couldn’t quite see.
They reached the back hallway, a quieter part of the museum, and Mario paused. His head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowing in concentration. “Here we are.” Mario smiled.
Reeves glanced over his shoulder one last time before walking through the door Mario had opened for him. As they entered the private space, the air felt thicker -like the walls themselves were holding secrets. Then it opened into a lounge.
The bar was a throwback to a time long past. The dark wood, fireplace, rows of books, and cocktails named after mafia families and bosses created a warm, cozy atmosphere where time seemed to stop.
Taking a seat at the ‘family table’, set up on a raised platform in the back corner, Reeves gave Mario Serrano a disappointed stare. “Really, Mario.”
“What? It’s fun.” Mario chuckled as he looked around. “I don’t get many opportunities to have fun.”
Reeves wasn’t there to have fun. He was there to hopefully settle an issue before more serious problems arouse between the Salvador and the Serrano families. “So, you want us to have a serious conversation while you’re having a bit of fun?”
“Actually, this is a safe place for us to speak.”
Reeves looked around the bar not liking the situation. There was the potential of being recorded both with video and audio. Before he could comment, the server walked up, greeting them. Not wanting to be obvious, he ordered an Old Fashioned and decided Mario could talk and he’d listen. But he wouldn’t be offering anything that would incriminate himself or his family in any illegal business. Then a thought hit him, “Mario, do the Serranos own this museum?”
Mario pulled the toothpick from his mouth. “I wish. This place is a gold mine. And a legit business.” Mario looked around the bar. “The fun I could have owning this place.”
Something told Reeves Mario’s idea of fun was vastly different from his. “Let’s get down to it.”
“Always in a hurry to get things done,” Mario commented as their drinks were delivered. Picking up his martini, Mario nodded to Reeves before taking a sip of his drink.
An hour later, Reeves sat staring at Mario Serrano. His drink had gone warm due to him not drinking it. He didn’t trust the environment or the company he was keeping. “Mario, you’re always entertaining with your stories.” Standing up Reeves buttoned his jacket. “It was great catching up. Maybe next time suggest somewhere that knows how to make a true Old Fashioned.” Shaking Mario’s hand, Reeves let the older man pull him into a hug. “Our territory isn’t open to you. If we find out your running product through it,” Reeves leaned back, staring Mario in the eyes. “We won’t be having drinks.”
Letting go of Mario, Reeves walked out of the bar and made his way back to the parking lot. Slipping into the backseat of the black sedan he’d hired, his mood was sour and his alarm bells were going off. I’m overreacting .
Settling into the seat, he told the driver to drive him back to the hotel. What a waste of time, he thought. Checking his watch, he noticed there was time to catch a flight back to Texas Creek.
When the car veered right instead of left towards the airport, Reeves knew what had his spidey senses tingling. The driver looked at him through the rearview mirror. Not the same man that drove him to the museum. This was how Mario Serrano wanted to play things. Okay , Reeves thought, let’s dance asshole . Reaching down, he slid the knife from his boot. The privacy divider was partially open, giving him enough room to do damage to the driver. That would leave him in the backseat of an out-of-control car. Best to let the game play-out.
Looking at the driver with boredom, Reeves settled back and just continued staring at the man. Eventually, they’d have to stop. His attention went to the exterior of the car. Fields of wheat colored hay laid out for miles. They weren’t heading further into the city. They were heading further from it. Movement caught his eye, ducking down the bullet fired from the driver’s gun hit the leather seat. The whirl of the divider lowering gave Reeves the opportunity he’d hoped for.
Lunging up, he shoved the knife into the driver’s throat. As the car swerved, Reeves drove the bloody blade into the man’s face, the steel sinking with a sickening thud. The driver, eyes wide with panic, fought to stay in control, his hands desperately jerking the wheel as the tires screeched against the pavement. But Reeves wasn’t about to let him regain the upper hand. He kicked the back of the seat with brutal force, driving the driver’s head forward into the wheel, and with one final, jarring impact, the man slumped over, unconscious.
With no time to waste, Reeves scrambled through the divider window, his hands steady despite the chaos. He grabbed the steering wheel just in time to prevent the car from veering off the highway. Gotta love lane and steering assistance , he thought grimly, feeling the subtle guidance of the system as it held the car steady despite the situation.
His eyes flicked to the unconscious driver beside him, barely giving the man a second glance. Reaching around, he unlocked the door and shoved the limp body out into the road. The car veered slightly as the man’s weight pulled it, but Reeves quickly corrected it with a swift jerk of the wheel. He climbed into the driver’s seat, his grip tightening on the wheel, and slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched as the car came to a halt, and then he yanked the wheel hard, spinning the car around in a sharp U-turn.
Reeves gunned the engine, sending the car roaring back toward the museum, his mind locked on one thought. Mario Serrano better pray he didn’t find him .