2. The Cleaner
The Cleaner
Micah
C offee steam curls from my mug while the others nurse glasses of whiskey. Ever since we sent the head of the Columbus Mafia, Marcus Barone, to prison, meetings between Ezekiel, Sebastian, Eli, and myself have been tense.
We’ve created enemies for ourselves, and we need to identify exactly who they are before we lose the power and freedom we gained. Whatever needs to be done, I’ll do it if it means keeping these men safe.
I’ve known Eli since my mid-twenties and he was barely an adult—two angry boys with more baggage than sense.
We worked construction together for a few years before dipping our toes into less honest work, spending weekends drinking cheap beer and raising hell.
When life threw punches, we’d throw ‘em right back.
We joined up with the Kings—brothers bound by blood and secrets—when they fled the New York’s mafia scene years ago and started over in Columbus Ohio with the intention of leading honest lives. That hasn’t worked out so well for any of us.
Especially since recent events have drawn the attention of Ezekiel’s former mentor and head of the New York Mafia, Nicolo Moretti.
Ezekiel or Zeke, the older brother, acts every bit of the leader that he is, while his younger brother Sebastian radiates charm that could disarm a room. They bought a rundown warehouse on High Street, transformed it into Club Velvet Petal, and started building their empire.
Eli and I were hired as security, but we soon became more—confidants, muscle when needed, the shadows that handled what couldn’t see daylight. I watched the Kings bring order to Columbus’s chaos, establishing themselves as powerful men who operated outside both the law and crime families.
We’ve been loyal brothers by choice ever since.
Maps of Columbus sprawl across Zeke’s desk with problematic neighborhoods circled in angry red marker. The dim lighting in his second-floor office at the club casts long shadows over our weathered faces as we plan our next moves.
I tap a circled area near the warehouse district. “Costa territory. With Alessandro and Giovanni dead, their people are scrambling. Some will jump ship to the Barones, but others…” My finger traces a path north. “They’ll look for new leadership.”
We had no choice but to take out the Costas when they threatened Zeke’s wife and Columbus Police Department detective, Eve. Alessandro had the audacity to send his son, Giovanni, to Eve’s house to kill her. That didn’t end so well for Gio and nearly put us at war with the local mafia families.
Thankfully, we came out on top, but unless we take control and act like the head of the local mafia, I fear this war is far from over.
Zeke leans forward, dark eyes intent. At fifty-two, he carries authority like a second skin—earned through decades of carefully balanced violence and strategy. “We need those soldiers before Nicolo swoops in from New York.”
“Marcus being in jail helps,” Sebastian adds from his position by the door. He’s the youngest of us at forty-five, but there’s nothing soft about him. “His sister Francesca’s smart, but she doesn’t have his connections. People are nervous.”
“They should be.” Eli’s deep voice rumbles from the corner where he looms like a sentinel. “Nicolo won’t let this power vacuum stand. Not to mention his anger at us for making it this way. He’s probably already got people feeling out allegiances.”
“We need to move fast,” I say, studying the map. “The Russo and Gallagher families will try to expand their territories now that the Costas are gone and the Barones have lost power. But Victor Russo’s getting old. His son Nick is unstable. He’s more likely to start a war than build alliances.”
Zeke makes a note in his precise handwriting. “And Connor Gallagher?”
“Still bitter about that boxing match you rigged against him years ago.” I can’t help the slight smile. “But he’s pragmatic. Might be willing to negotiate if we approach right.”
“Through his sister Rachel,” Sebastian suggests. “She handles their legitimate businesses. More level-headed.”
“What about the remnants of Alessandro’s operation?” Eli asks. “Diana Costa’s still running that restaurant downtown.”
I shake my head. “She’ll sell. Get out while she can. Woman’s not stupid. She knows which way the wind’s blowing.”
“Could be useful,” Zeke muses. “Right location. Good cover for meetings.”
“I know someone who might be interested in buying,” I offer. “Legitimate businessman looking to expand. We could maintain access without direct ownership.”
Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you know legitimate businessmen?”
“I know people,” I grumble as I tap the map again. “Speaking of which, we should look at expanding our protection services into these areas. Lot of nervous shop owners watching the power shift.”
“Good cover for maintaining presence in disputed territory,” Eli agrees.
Zeke studies the map intently. “We’ll need more men. Trusted ones.”
“I’ve got a few prospects,” I say. “Ex-military mostly. Looking for work, disciplined, know how to keep quiet.”
“Vet them carefully,” Zeke orders. “Last thing we need is someone flipping to Nicolo when he makes his play.”
“We should consider approaching Tommy Moretti,” Sebastian suggests. “He may be a Barone enforcer, but he’s Nicolo’s cousin. Could be useful intel there.”
I shake my head. “Too risky. Tommy’s loyal to whoever pays best, and Nicolo’s got deeper pockets than us. For now.”
“Agreed,” Zeke says. “We focus on consolidating what we can hold. Build our strength quietly before Nicolo realizes how much territory is up for grabs.”
The familiar weight of planning violence settles over me.
I’ve spent decades in this world of shadows and power plays.
First with small local families, now here helping Zeke build something different.
Something almost legitimate. Still on the gray side, but with the club no one can pinpoint our activities with clarity.
My coffee has gone cold. I push it aside, studying the map again. So many pieces in motion. So many ways this could go wrong. One misstep and we’ll have a war on our hands that none of us want.
“The Barone woman,” Eli says suddenly. “Francesca. She’s ambitious. Might see this as her chance to step out of Marcus’s shadow.”
“She’s also pragmatic,” I counter. “Smart enough to know she needs allies. Might be worth feeling out where she stands.”
Zeke considers this. “Do more research on her. Make sure she’s a go before we approach.”
I nod, already mentally cataloging possibilities. This is what I do best—analyze threats, plan contingencies, keep people alive. It’s why Zeke trusts my judgment. Why he brought me in when he first came to Columbus.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. Whoever it is can wait until this meeting ends.
“Timeline?” Sebastian asks.
“Fast,” Zeke replies. “Nicolo knows too much. We need our pieces in place before he decides to make his move.”
I trace potential conflict points on the map. “The warehouse district is key. Whoever controls that controls the flow of goods through the city. Costa’s people know that. They’ll hold out for the highest bidder.”
“Then we make sure that’s us,” Zeke says with finality. “Work your contacts, all of you. I want to know every whisper, every deal being made. No surprises.”
The meeting continues, details hammered out with practiced efficiency. We’ve done this dance before, though never with stakes quite so high.
The Columbus underworld is shifting, and we need to be ready.
The winter wind whips across the back lot of Club Velvet Petal, carrying the promise of more snow.
I pull my scarf tighter around my neck as I head for my truck, boots crunching through the thin layer of ice coating the pavement.
My breath comes out in white puffs, joining the swirling flakes that have started to fall.
Despite the sunny day, it’s still cold as fuck, leaving the world around me covered in ice and snow. But sunshine is still better than gray skies.
Recalling the missed call earlier, I fish my phone out of my pocket with gloved fingers, frowning at the notification. Naomi . She never calls during the day. A flicker of unease runs through me as I try calling back, but it goes straight to voicemail.
She’s fine , I tell myself. Probably just wanted to ask about dinner plans. But the knot in my gut tightens. Something feels off.
The truck’s engine roars to life, heat slowly seeping from the vents. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, debating. The meeting with Zeke laid important groundwork. I should start working on Francesca Barone and figure out an angle to pull her to our side. But Naomi’s missed call nags at me.
Traffic crawls through downtown Columbus, brake lights glowing red in the gathering dusk. My unease grows with each passing minute. By the time I reach my building, the knot in my stomach has twisted into a cold weight of dread.
I take the stairs two at a time, ignoring the protesting creak of my knee. The dread crystalizes into ice in my veins when I reach my floor. My apartment door hangs ajar, the frame on one side splintered like kindling.
Training takes over. I approach silently, scanning for movement, threats, ambush points. But what I find stops me cold.
Lucas—my son—lies face-up on my floor, a puddle of blood beneath him. One of my kitchen knives protrudes from his chest right next to his heart. And there, huddled on the floor of the kitchen like a wounded animal, is Naomi—covered in blood, her green eyes wide with shock and terror.
Powder paces the perimeter of the scene, tail puffed to twice its size. Her distressed meows seem very far away as I try to process what I’m seeing.
My son. Dead.
The boy I lost to Sandra’s manipulation decades ago. The man who grew into someone I couldn’t recognize—a monster wearing my son’s face. Now he lies still, his blood soaking my floor.
And Naomi … Christ.