Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Alejandro
“Piero, thank you for meeting with us.”
“Alejandro, it’s good to see you in one piece.”
Not good to see me, just good to see I’m alive.
Better than him being disappointed I’m alive.
“We’ve tried to stay out of your war, yet you and your enemies and allies draw my family in.
We should’ve ended this after what happened to Anneliese’s family.
Instead, we gave everyone in Italy and Sicily the benefit of the doubt and focused on the O’Rourkes and Kutsenkos.
Our graciousness is over. Accept our offer, Piero. ”
I haven’t told him yet what we’re willing to offer. It’s irrelevant. We could offer the moon or a pile of shit. He will bend to my will.
“You come to my home. You—”
“You’re a don, not Marlon Brando. We’re here to help. No one in Sicily or the Continent will lose, so you all win.”
“That’s not a win. That’s a stalemate.”
“Call it a truce.”
“Not good enough, Alejandro. The war didn’t start to keep things the same.”
“It won’t remain the same. Each family will come out richer for it. You’ll get money and territory beyond your borders.”
“You think you can play God.”
“No, but I’ll be an avenging angel if anyone comes near Vittoria ever again.”
I shift my focus to Vita’s father who’s remained quiet after our initial greeting. He defers to his don, but I know he has thoughts he wishes he could share. Our gazes lock, and I know he agrees with me. He’ll support anything that protects his daughter.
“Don Piero, we stand to gain as much as we could lose.”
Nicolò states the obvious, so it’s almost patronizing, but it’s also common sense.
It’s the gentlest nudge he can give in front of us.
Piero stares at me, ignoring my cousins.
Pablo sits to my right while Tres J’s stand behind our chairs in Piero’s study, much like they did during our meeting with the O’Rourkes.
“What’re you offering?”
“Each faction gets ten million to divide amongst themselves. Each family gets two of our trade routes into the Netherlands, Belgium, or the UK.”
Those are among the largest narcotics markets in Europe. The Netherlands and Belgium are the gateways to Europe, and the UK has a high consumption. We’re also among the leaders in weapons trading in the Western Balkans and Turkey. Our dominance in the region means we have money to spare.
“We have those already.”
Hijueputa desagradecido. Ungrateful son of a bitch.
“You can accept our offer, or we can take it all from you. If you wish to live by ‘it’s better to give than to receive,’ we’re happy to accommodate your generosity.”
I keep my tone casual and my body language relaxed, but they know a jaguar does the same while it observes its prey.
“You expect us to be happy with your handout while you give the same to our enemies.”
“We’re giving you first pick.”
“And that makes it better?”
“It does when we’ve put no restrictions on which we’ll give away. I never said I’d be so accommodating to anyone else.”
“You’d give away your best access?”
“Only to you and only for Vittoria’s sake. But the offer isn’t open-ended. It has an expiration date.”
Piero’s disdainful expression turns into a glower. I shrug.
“Piero, my family won’t strike yours, but our offer to help won’t last forever.
If you turn your back on us now, we’ll do the same when you need us.
And with the way things currently stand, you will need us.
You and the Torettas are in a better position than the Camorra and ’Ndrangheta, but when we lend them our support, you’ll lose your advantage. ”
Nicolò assesses me, knowing I’m not bluffing. He’s determining how significant their losses will be if they reject us. He glances at Pablo and knows switching to Italian won’t do them any good because my cousin’ll just tell me everything.
I observe the don and his consigliere’s silent communication as they look at each other.
From what I learned on the plane, they’ve been best friends since they were in kindergarten.
They bullied all the other kids, then they extorted them in high school.
Their family names made them untouchable.
They trained back-to-back, becoming Made Men together.
It was a foregone conclusion Nicolò would rise to consigliere when Piero ascended to his throne.
I’ve seen the same thing among Papá, Tío Enrique, and Tío Luis. I have a vague memory of Tío Esteban being no different. My cousins and I are like this too. Reading one another’s minds—the synchronicity—comes from a lifetime of trust and loyalty. Family by blood and by choice.
I allow the silence to stretch, knowing filling it won’t convince them. It’s their turn to come to me. After all, I flew a quarter of the way around the world to meet them. That I’m uninvited is semantics.
“We want a route in the Netherlands and in Belgium.”
Of course, they do.
“We’ll give you the second most profitable routes through Antwerp and Amsterdam.”
“Second?”
“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, Piero.”
“We’ll think about it.”
I rise, and so does Pablo, signaling the meeting’s end. I extend my hand, and Piero shakes before I reach out to Nicolò. Pablo does the same.
“Piero, I told you we won’t strike you for Vittoria’s sake. But fuck us over, and I’ll see it as an affront to my future wife. I won’t forgive.”
His left eye twitches, but he nods. From the corner of my eye, I watch Vita’s father. His expression’s not friendly, but it’s not as aloof as it was when we arrived. I think I’ve earned his approval. I pray I have.
Once we’re in our vehicle on the way to the airport, my cousins and I discuss the meeting.
“How long until he thinks he can slide by?” Javier truly trusts no one outside the family.
“After the wedding. Probably before the reception’s over.” Jorge has little faith in any of the Italians.
“We planned to work our way south, but perhaps we should go to Sicily next. See the Carosis’ ally before their enemies, that way they don’t feel left out.” I genuinely want my cousins’ opinions even though this is my mission to lead.
“No. I say we see the Camorra next. We have an in with them through Friedrich, even if he’s in Germany.
We already told him we’d visit, so I’m certain he called the don to let him know.
If we’re delayed or they find out we chose another Mafia over them, then they won’t be as receptive.
We use whatever reaction we get from the Camorra and ’Ndrangheta to wrap things up with the Torettas. ” Jorge’s argument is valid.
“All right, we continue as we planned. The Camorra in Naples, then the ’Ndrangheta in Calabria.”
We chat about the most recent soccer matches we’ve watched, who’s gotten gains when we work out, and what we want to eat when we land. Basically, the same shit we always talk about when we’re killing time.
“That went about as well as seeing the Camorra. Carachimbas de mierda.” Fucking faces of vaginas.
It loses something in the translation, but I’m pissed.
While Piero wasn’t excited to see us, he saw the merits of our argument.
The Camorra and ’Ndrangheta weren’t as amenable.
Not that we assumed they would be, but they dug their heels in, bragging that the Carosis and Torettas couldn’t hide behind us forever.
They can’t and won’t, but they didn’t put themselves in our crosshairs.
“I’ll wire the money to their offshore accounts.” Jorge has his laptop open while we ride to the airport.
“And I’ll let our regios know what’s coming.”
Pablo mentions our regionales; they’re the ones who oversee trade routes and commerce in specific regions. It has nothing to do with being royal or regal.
“And I’ll let Tío Enrique know we’re implementing our fallback.”
We always have contingencies for our contingencies. If they hadn’t cooperated, we’d have blown shit up left and right until they begged us to accept their apologies. We won’t blow up everything, but we’ll punish them.
“Hola, sobrino.”
“Hola, tío.”
My cousins echo me as we greet Tío Enrique.
“Ninos—”
“What happened?”
Five voices ask the same question. Our tío only calls us that when he’s about to break bad news.
“Where are you?”
“In the van on the way to the airport.”
Europe still doesn’t have enough large SUVs to carry so many men our size. We’re in a passenger van with one leading and one following, both filled with our men.
This is going from bad to worse if Tío Enrique’s ensuring we’re truly alone.
“Alejo, Vittoria got a call from Yuri.”
“That cabrón? I thought he was dead. What’d he want?”
There’s a protracted pause.
“He claimed you impregnated his niece and are a deadbeat dad.”
“He motherfucking what?!”
I see red. The allegation alone is enough to turn me into a blaze of fury, but he said that to Vita.
“Alejo, no one believes him. Vittoria basically told him he’s full of shit.”
“That means jack shit to me. He told her. I’ll fucking kill him.”
“About that…”
I sweep my gaze across my cousins, and our expressions surely match to the point of being uncanny. The Diaz family genes are stronger than our non-Diaz genes. We’re five peas in a pod. But none of my cousins feel the overwhelming rage I do.
“What did our mamás do?”
It’s Joaquin who voices what we all want to know. It’s one thing to attack us in business. Our mothers stay out of that. But when the attacks get personal, there’s no holding them back. Take every stereotype of Latinas ever created and multiply them by infinity. That’s our mamás.
“Fucking hell, Tío. There won’t be a brick left standing in Boston. Please tell me they haven’t left yet.”
Jorge’s voice trembles, and there isn’t a damn thing unmanly about it because we’d all be the same. We’re surely all a shade of green as our stomachs flip.
“We’re on the way to the airport.”
“Mamá?”
Once again five voices fill the air.
“Only Ellie is with me in the town car. Your mamás and their men are in the SUV behind me.”
“Tía Elle, you have to stop them.” I’m flat-out begging.