Chapter 3
three
. . .
“Boss?”
Lying on my stomach, I opened my eyes to find Gian crouched beside my bed, staring at me like he’d just witnessed a spectacle.
“What the fuck do you want?” I grunted, my voice muffled by the pillow.
“It’s almost six p.m. and you wanted–”
My head snapped up. “PM?” He nodded and I shot upright, my gaze jerking to the bedside clock. “How the fuck…”
“You still want to visit The Den?”
Cursing, I slid my legs off the bed. “Take Duke for a walk while I shower,” I referred to my blueish grey XXL American Bully.
“Fuck, boss, that dog hates me,” Gian muttered, straightening.
“He just wants a taste of your flesh.” I shrugged. “Give him some.”
Eyes wide, his mouth mumbling incoherent shit, he walked toward Duke. “Let’s go, big boy.”
I didn’t expect the animal to heed his command and grinned when Gian cursed. “Duke, go,” I instructed without looking at him.
I could hear the roll of his eyes in his snort. My chuckle soft, I looked at him and winked. Like me, my pet was an arrogant ass. His movement princely, he rose, turned and walked out, the click of his nails against the tiles almost a fuck you to Gian who hurried after him.
Mind still confused by how I’d slept through the day, I cracked the tendons in my neck.
Usually, my sleep was haunted by nightmares, and I’d wake tired or irritable.
Last night though, my nightmare had morphed into a dream, one so wet I was sure that tight feeling on the skin of my dick was crusted cum.
About to rise, my gaze fell to the stem of purple flowers on my nightstand. This wasn’t the first time they seemed to make it into my bedroom without my knowledge and worse, Duke never warned me of its source. Whoever they were, my dog knew them and that unsettled me.
Slowly shaking my head to clear the mess up there, I ignored the floret, stood, and headed for the bathroom. There, I glanced at myself in the large wall to wall mirror, noticing the stained crotch on my light grey satin pajamas, confirming my suspicion.
“The fuck?” Dragging my hands through my hair, I wasn’t sure if I was irritated or amused. The last time that happened I was a teenager.
Under the sharp spray, I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, letting the hot water sting my scalp. A flash of red eyes in an invisible face, shot my lids up. Frowning, I glanced around the bathroom, expecting to find those eyes on me.
“You’re losing your shit, asshole.” My self-reproach shifted my brain back into indifference.
Freshly showered with a green smoothie running through my well-rested body, I glanced out my window as Gian drove.
New York was once a highly contested territory where plenty mafia families killed each other to rule this city. Until the birth of the roundtable where each mafia head was given a city or state he wanted, never demanded.
Headed by Vincenzo Salvatore, a ruthless kingpin who reigned over half the fucking world and a man no one dared to challenge, the roundtable brokered peace among the families.
I never got the full story of how Lorenzo knew him yet one thing was certain, they had each other’s back and probably why when my brother, as a young capo then, asked for New York against the wishes of experienced dons, there was no argument.
And it flourished under him.
With three major airports, a bustling port and a national land transportation hub into various States, it was a smugglers paradise and a Rossi domain very few tried to fuck over until now.
Thirty-five minutes later, Gian guided the SUV into a parking lot at the back of The Den, an underground club for members of mafia families.
Despite the long sleep, the rest hadn’t tampered down my itch to kill.
Blood lust had become my yoga practice, it worked well with my gym routine. Yesterday, that hadn’t been appeased.
Because of Lorenzo’s clear warning, both Mario and Figo escaped my wrath which left me inwardly bent on chaos and outwardly, a motherfucking saint even a priest would trust. An achievement that took years in the making.
Stuffing my phone into my pants pocket, I climbed out, holstered my gun, buttoned my suit jacket and grabbed Verità from the trunk. I glanced at the decrepit building, scoffing. If I were into descriptions, I’d say it spoke well to the sinister dealings beneath.
“Are we going to kill some motherfuckers, boss?” My trigger-happy right-hand man watched me conceal my trusted weapon.
At first glance, Gian was easy to underestimate.
With na?ve good boy looks and an ever-ready smile, he was often mistaken for one of the young soldiers still learning the ropes.
Since he began working for me though, he’d upped his game, stayed on his toes and at times, I had to curb his enthusiasm to off fuckers before we had a chance to get the information we needed.
Not necessarily a bad thing given that had been my MO all my life but sometimes we needed to crisp the smaller fish into order to deep fry the big ones.
“Watch and learn.”
When my father died by my mother’s hand, I shed tears of pain and loss, while hating her. Grief stricken; my brother Lorenzo, had held himself together like the proper made man he was yet went out of his way to comfort me. In a matter of minutes, he’d become the father I’d just lost.
I was eleven then.
When my oldest brother, Mateo, died, my life took a turn for the worse. For twelve days I was alone in my misery, only because Lorenzo, by my mother’s hand, was prevented from consoling me. Slowly, I died on the inside until nothing, but a walking corpse remained.
I was thirteen then.
When I lost my best friend, my soul crashed too.
The nightmares were easier to handle than the grief.
I’d cried for three months, hating anything and everything, slowly losing my compassion.
Once more, Lorenzo became my conscience, reminding me to keep living, to keep breathing and most importantly to believe in fate.
Weirdly, I did. It made my days bearable.
I was fourteen then.
For the next twenty-two years, I stared death in the face many times without flinching.
I didn’t feel, I didn’t love, I didn’t care.
Through it all, Lorenzo became my one constant, never letting me forget he was always there for me.
He’d become my father, my brother, my friend, my family and the only man who I’d allow to dictate my fucked-up life.
So, when anyone with balls big enough took the liberty to threaten him, I made sure they’d regret it.
Once we reached the basement, I paused at the entrance to the massive entertainment arena consisting of blackjack and poker tables, half-naked girls pole dancing or having one of their holes fucked and headed for the cigar lounge.
Immediately, five women approached, baring their assets as if they could easily charm a fucker like me.
Ignoring them, I continued down the passage toward the main room. There, two suited guards nodded their greetings, each pulling open a large black door. Inside, I scanned the sea of faces, finding Tony Manetti, my mother’s nephew and the fucker I’d made the special trip to see.
“Stay here and keep your eyes open.” I motioned for Gian to wait at the entrance.
He nodded, opening his jacket to give him easy access to his gun as I walked further into the room. Shrouded in soft yellow lighting, a misty haze of smoke and a ton fuck of brown furniture, this place catered only to dons and their underbosses, no soldiers.
So when Tony, who ranked nowhere close to those titles, spotted me heading in his direction, he shot up from his seat, the color draining from his face.
My gaze shifted, taking in the long wooden table in front of him, cluttered with various firearms and stacks of cash.
A middle-aged man with a hardened face and sharp eyes, standing opposite Tony, glanced over his shoulder at me.
Emin Agassi, the Armenian mobster whose brother I’d killed a year ago.
Tony came around the table to Emin’s side and whispered something to the older man.
By the flare of Emin’s eyes, I guessed my stupid as fuck cousin just told him I’d offed the man’s brother.
I hoped for Tony’s sake, he also told him how I did it.
With my bare hand around the fucker’s neck.
“Hey, Remo,” Tony greeted, holding out a hand as I reached them.
“What’s scum like you doing in a place like this?” I ignored his hand, my tone dripping sarcasm.
He bit the corner of his mouth, knowing better than to argue, but I didn’t miss his arrogant smirk he quickly tried to hide behind a smile. “I was invited,” he offered, his gaze slipping to Emin.
Teeth grinding, the burly man’s dark eyes declared war on my soul. At his rear, two heavies, legs planted wide, their shoulders suggesting hostility, moved their hands to their holstered guns. They didn’t draw, yet.
“Hmm.” Disregarding them, I rubbed a hand along my jaw, glaring at my cousin.
“So, you want to tell me what happened to Hector’s delivery?
” He paled, his eyes jumping to Emin again.
“Don’t fucking look at him, Tony.” I clenched my fists or risked killing the bastard before he had a chance to explain shit.
Emin’s men stepped forward. “You boys seriously don’t want to fuck with my patience. ”
Either the look on my face convinced him it was in his best interest to stop them or my reputation preceded me, Emin quickly shouted something in his language and his men backed away.
“You were saying?” I brought my gaze back to my cousin.
“I didn’t have much of a choice. I was ambushed.” He pointed to the red splotch on his brow and a cut on his lip, reminding me of a kid who’d experienced his first school fight.