Wounded King (Savage Kings of New York #3)

Chapter Marcello

I should have fucking stayed in Sicily. My father and his summons be damned.

In Sicily, I was my own man. Accountable only to myself and my soldiers.

This bullshit? La Famiglia? Where was the so-called Famiglia when my father exiled me?

Where was La Famiglia when I scraped my own empire out of nothing but blood, hard work, and cunning? Nowhere near me! That's where.

And now they want me back? Want me to play ball? I would say fuck this and return to Italy in a heartbeat if it weren't for the temptation of finally getting even with my father. Showing the bastard who is in control will be my biggest victory yet.

So, I'm playing ball. But by my rules.

"Marcello, I'm glad to meet you," Matías, the head of a Venezuelan gang out of Los Angeles, Los Conquistadores, greets me.

He's part of the whole playing ball condition.

I stare at his outstretched hand, "This is not a friendly meeting," I remind him. He might have flown across the country to come to New York, but I don't believe for a second that he did it just for this meeting.

He can barely mask his hatred for me with a frown. Good, I don't like you either, asshole.

"Don't be that way, compadre, come, sit, let's have a drink and talk." Matías tries for a smile and waves his hand toward a sofa arrangement.

Matías is nothing but a punk, a low-life street rat who thinks he wields power because he runs a small gang. I ate boys like him for breakfast when I was making my way up in Sicily.

"Yes, let's talk," I agree and grab him by the throat, pushing him against the wall, while Luciano, my second-in-command, and Casimo, one of my bodyguards, draw their guns, aiming them at the three men who came with Matías.

"What are you doing, puta madre, let me down," he chokes out.

"Let's talk about Alfonzo Romano and his wife, the couple your compadres tortured and killed, eh?" I watch Matías' face twist in panic.

Alfonzo Romano was—until recently— La Famiglia's accountant.

"I told your boss that these were rogue men. They didn't do this under my command." He tries to feed me the same bullshit line he fed Edoardo Zanello, our Don. For whatever stupid reason, Edoardo chose to believe him. I don't.

"What you're telling me is that a big bad gang banger like you can't control his own people?" I snarl in his face.

"No, no. I'm still looking into it, man. Your boss knows."

Now he's pissing me off even more. He keeps calling Edoardo my boss. Technically, Don Edoardo—our Capo dei Capi—does hold the title, but I never swore allegiance to him. That was my father. Edoardo is a weak man and too young for the position he's holding.

"I paid my dues to your Don. Ask him," Matías' voice is high-pitched now, like a trapped animal.

His words, however, ring true. I ease my grip ever so slightly. "You paid him?"

"Sí! Sí!" He nods frantically.

That, I believe. Edoardo would take the blood money and not say a damn word about it. Probably never even passed it along to the other families.

"I'll pay you too," Matías offers. "How much do you want?"

First and foremost, I'm a businessman. I like power—the kind that comes from, but isn't limited to, money.

Lots and lots of money. Paired with ruthlessness and brutality, it doesn't just open doors to power—it drags you right inside.

I'm not ignorant or na?ve. It goes without saying: a man who runs New York wields a hell of a lot more influence than some old-school boss rotting away in Sicily.

But I'll never accept a bribe, especially not from a lowlife rat like Matías.

"This isn't about money," I spit out, flinging him onto the couch he wanted me to sit on earlier. His bodyguards twitch, but Luciano and Casimo keep them in check. "What are you and Edoardo cooking up? Why are you here? In New York? Your territory is in Los Angeles."

"I came to show my respect to Antonio DeLuna, we're sharing territory in LA. I don't want any bad blood because of the bad business with your accountant."

How na?ve is this Bastardo? Toni was nearly executed for the bad business with the accountant.

If he thinks we'll just forgive and forget that members of his gang kidnapped, tortured, and killed our accountant to get information on our finances, he is stupider than a jellyfish—no insult to the jellyfish intended.

The LA territory Matías is referring to used to belong to my father.

But Edoardo made him give it to the DeLuna family as blood money for killing Toni's father, Jacomo.

It pissed my father off endlessly because, according to him, Don Edoardo ordered him to kill Jacomo DeLuna.

An accusation he made during a meeting but was forced to recant.

He might be telling the truth on this one; he might not.

But I fully intend to find out. Not for him, but if Edoardo is playing the capos and their sons against each other, I need to know.

I'm not the only one asking questions. Enrico and Stephano—heirs to two other capos—and Toni are seeing the same cracks I am. Over the past few weeks, we've been digging into Edoardo... and a few other things that don't fucking add up.

That's the real reason I'm here.

Fuck. I rub the bridge of my nose. There is too much politics in La Famiglia for my taste. Compared to this, Sicily was easy. But I'll be damned if I give up my birthright. My place is here, and nobody is going to take it from me.

My father is currently on trial for fraud, among other things. I don't know Toni's full plans concerning dear old dad, only that right now he's moving heaven and hell to put my old man in jail, and I'm all for it. The sooner I'm rid of the old bastard, the better.

Do I believe Toni will stop at putting my father in jail?

I'd be an idiot if I did, and I'm not an idiot.

But honestly, I don't care. Patricide isn't my thing.

I don't mind killing people, but killing one of the people who gave me life is a bridge I'm not sure I want to cross, no matter how nasty that person is.

Fortunately, if Toni handles it and gets his revenge, it's a win-win for both of us, without my having to go there.

I bring my focus back to the room. I don't believe a word this little street rat gang leader is spewing, but I came here to feel him out, not to kill him, not yet anyway.

I narrow my eyes at him for another second before I send a nod his way, then a second at Luciano and Casimo to put their guns back.

They keep an eye on Matías's gangster friends while I take a seat next to him on the sofa.

He scoots away from me but tries for a forced smile. "All good then?"

"All good, friend." I lean forward, pretending not to notice how he flinches back, and pat him behind the head in a show of affable affection. "Did you happen to find out what information those rogue gangster buddies of yours got out of Alfonzo before his wife died?"

Matías forces a smirk, but his fingers twitch where they rest on his lap. He's nervous, and I intend to keep him that way.

"I don't know, man. My guys were dead before I could ask them much."

That much is true. Toni had a chance, though. Unfortunately, Matías's men were tougher than their so-called boss sitting across from me and never uttered a useful word.

"That so?" I murmur, letting the silence stretch between us. I've learned that silence often makes men uncomfortable, prompting them to speak.

Matías is no exception. After a moment, he shrugs, forcing casualness. "What can I say? Someone handled them before I could."

"Convenient."

"Not for me," he huffs, rubbing his throat as if that'll help. "You think I wanted that shit storm? It cost me good men."

"Good men?" I repeat, amused. "I thought you said they went rogue?"

He freezes. I love it when men hang themselves with the rope I've given them.

"The interrogation of their compadres was messy," Matías covers quickly. "I had to find out if there were more traitors. Unfortunately, it cost me some loyal ones."

I lean back and watch him scramble. He's so fucking pathetic, I'd be doing him a favor shooting him in the head.

This is why I no longer conduct business on the streets.

They're overrun with bullies with no brains, like this one.

I'm not even going to call him out on the last lie.

Why would he have lost loyal men? Unless he's utterly incompetent.

Which he can't be. He's not the biggest street rat, but he is cunning enough to stay alive and become the boss of one of LA's most ruthless gangs.

Toni and some of the heads of the other mafia families suspect Edoardo is up to something and using Matías. And until we figure out what, Matías will need to stay alive.

I lean back and watch him. He avoids my eyes; he's being shifty, like he needs a hit of something.

"You didn't answer my question." I finally call him out.

"Which one?" He challenges, without the balls to back it up.

"What did they get out of Alfonzo before they killed him?"

"I told you, I don't—"

"—know?" I cut in smoothly. "Yeah. You said that already. But you do. So why don't you quit wasting my time?"

His jaw ticks. He wants to lie again, but he won't risk my catching him in another contradiction. So he plays dumb. "Look, man. All I know is what I told your Don. Whatever information they got, I don't have it."

"You don't have it," I echo. While replaying his words in my head,

I don't have it. Interesting.

I could call him out on it, but for now, I keep my expression neutral and file his little slip away. "But you know who does."

Matías stiffens, just for a fraction of a second, before slouching back into the couch with an exaggerated sigh. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

I smirk. "I've been told that once or twice."

His eyes are glued to mine; sweat drops down the back of his neck. He can't figure out if I'm just fishing or already have the whole picture. I don't… yet. I have ideas, but I need a bit more information.

I press my elbows to my knees, leveling him with a calm, knowing look. "I ever find out you're lying to me, Matías, you won't have time to regret it."

He chuckles, shaking his head like I amuse him. "Wouldn't dream of it, compadre."

I pat his cheek once, deliberately patronizing, then push up from the couch.

Luciano and Casimo step aside immediately, flanking me as I head toward the door.

Matías stays seated, watching me leave, wiping the sweat from his neck.

He thinks he got away with whatever he's up to.

He didn't. I'm positive, now, that Matías works with Edoardo.

I just don't know how or why yet. But I'll find out, and then I hope God will have mercy on them, because I won't.

Luciano, Casimo, and I enter the elevator to get back down to the garage where we parked the car and where the rest of my bodyguards are waiting.

I was born in New York and lived here for the first sixteen years of my life, which is longer than I lived in Sicily.

One could say I've returned to my roots, and they wouldn't be wrong.

I just need to get rid of the roots anchoring me to a rotting tree—to two rotting trees—my father, Carlos Orsi, and Edoardo. Both need to be cut down.

Surprisingly, Toni, the new capo of the DeLuna family, and a couple of the other sons of capos, like me, have already set things in motion.