Chapter 2
FRANCISCO
“If anyone on our payroll is talking then we need to find them,” Giovanni, my brother, states.
Edoardo considers this, “But we don’t know that it is our people who are feeding information to Andretti.” I understand Edoardo’s hesitancy to believe it, but the fact of the matter is loyalty will only go so far when money is involved.
“What other explanation is there for one of his men to conveniently be spotted in the exact location where Francisco was supposed to meet with a supplier?” Giovanni questions.
“Alright,” I say, deciding to settle the matter. “We need to know if we’ve got a leak. I assume you have some suspicions.”
“I could try to dig up some leads,” Edoardo says.
“Do it,” I say, looking at Giovanni to see if he wants to add anything.
He doesn’t.
Edoardo nods and walks out the door, leaving me and my little brother alone.
I hate this part of my job. I wonder briefly if I were a regular CEO, would I be having trouble with loyalty.
Of course, regular business dealings have their share of espionage, so I’m probably not alone.
Still, it feels like I spend way too much time chasing down people who are trying to line their own pockets rather than being focused on the good of the family.
“I’m sure he’ll find them,” Giovanni says, studying the liquor tray from across the room.
“Help yourself,” I tell him.
Giovanni goes over and pours two glasses of scotch.
After a lifetime of working together, we know each other’s rhythms. He doesn’t need to ask me if I want a drink.
He just pours one out of habit. I take the glass when he hands it to me, and I drink.
The liquor burns down to my stomach in one gulp, giving me the jolt I need to clear my head.
“It’s not that,” I respond. “I’m just tired of watching my back all the time.”
“It has to be done,” Giovanni reminds me, sipping his drink with caution.
“Why don’t you be the boss for a day?” I ask him.
He laughs, walking around the expensive leather sofa in my office to take a seat.
We both know it’s a joke. We’re comfortable in our roles, and he’s never expressed any interest in the leadership position.
I wouldn’t mind sharing the crown, but I get it.
He doesn’t want the responsibility. At least I know I’ve got a few people I can trust not to go running to the Andretti family with their hands out.
As boss of the Corello crime family, I have to pay attention to a thousand things at once. I’ve got men working for me all across the city, doing a variety of things that could get them into trouble. And each and every one of those men is looking to rip me off.
There’s a fine line between positive and negative motivation, and like any other corporate leader, I have to walk it.
I appreciate the loyalty of my brother and Edoardo.
There are other people I can count on: my son Frankie, even though he doesn’t exactly have the stomach for the more violent parts of the job.
I can also count on Marcello, my consigliere, and right-hand man after Giovanni.
He saved my life, taking a bullet for me.
He even tried to save my parents but failed in the end, not that he could have made much of a difference that fateful day we almost all lost our lives.
The day I took the throne as the Don, I rewarded his loyalty, and he’s never let me down.
I walk to the liquor cart to pour myself another. Two at a time is all I’ll allow myself. I can’t afford to get drunk on the job, and I’m always on the job.
“I am worried we’re gonna start a war if we go poking around, but it needs to be done,” Giovanni confesses.
“Worry less,” I say. “I’ll worry. You just go do your job.”
Giovanni nods, appreciating my gruff response. He stands up to go, but then my phone pings and I wave him back into his seat.
“Who is it?” Giovanni asks.
“Frankie,” I say.
Frankie was the apple of my eye when he was born twenty-odd years ago.
When his mother passed, it hurt him badly.
It hurt me too, and for a long time I wasn’t able to appreciate the pain my son was in.
I know he’s got a good heart, but he doesn’t focus well.
This law school thing is the latest in a line of activities he’s tried over the years.
He tries hard, and I wish we had more in common.
“What’s he say?” Giovanni asks.
“He says he found a tutor,” I reply, reading the optimistic text my son just sent me.
“That’s good, right?” Giovanni guesses, not sure which way I’m going to lean.
“I guess,” I admit.
“Hey, go easy on the kid,” Giovanni suggests.
I sigh. Giovanni’s right. Sometimes I let my parental expectations get the better of me.
As a kid, I couldn’t wait to grow up and follow in my father’s footsteps.
There wasn’t anything that could stop me from taking my place at the head of this family, not the sight of blood, and certainly not all the work involved.
I was expecting my son to be the same, but he’s looking for a different way to help out.
He doesn’t want anything to do with leading the family, and he’s been clear about that.
I suppose I’m a little disappointed, but I need to get over it.
Frankie’s doing his best, and I need to let him follow his own path.
Where’d you find this tutor? I type. The alcohol in my system only partially makes up for my general hatred of texting. In my day, people called each other on the phone or they wrote letters. None of this smiley face, eggplant emoji crap.
Frankie: On the street.
“He says he found the tutor on the street,” I tell Giovanni.
“What, in a dumpster?” my brother scoffs.
I have to chuckle. “I’m sure she’s just some pretty girl he met.”
“More than likely,” Giovanni agrees.
Me: And how much are we paying?
First things first. I need to know how much of my hard-earned money he’s throwing away on someone who hasn’t even been vetted.
Frankie: We can talk later.
I put my phone down carefully. I’ve been known to break things, and I don’t want to go through the hassle of buying a new phone, but I’m pissed.
‘We can talk later,’ means he offered this girl a lot of money.
I wish he had a better grasp of economics, but that’s partially my fault.
He didn’t want for anything growing up, so he just assumes that money isn’t an issue.
“What’d he say?” Giovanni asks. He can see I’m upset, and he’s trying not to laugh.
“He’s not telling me how much he paid her,” I snarl.
Giovanni shakes his head. “For a kid who don’t want any part of your organization, he certainly knows how to push your buttons.”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I complain. This conversation is hitting a little too close to home, and I’ve got more important things to do.
Giovanni knows better than to argue. He gets to his feet quickly as lightning and shoots out the door.
I pick up my phone again and glare at the screen until I can come up with something to say.
I want to pour out all my frustrations. I want to shout at him that he’s the best thing that ever happened to his mother.
How dare he disrespect her memory by being so frivolous?
If Alessia were alive today, she would be mortified.
But I can’t fit that all in a text. Besides, it’s not like the boy doesn’t know how I feel.
We’ve had the same argument every day for years.
He keeps coming back with, “I’m trying, Dad.
” To which I respond, “Try harder.” No matter what I do, it seems like we can’t connect.
I know that I’m partially to blame. I wasn’t around to give him the kind of attention he needed growing up.
This tutor thing is just the next step in the same dance that we’re going to be performing until the day I die. And I’m sick of it.
Me: This better be the best damned tutor the universe has to offer, because I’m not paying for anything less.
I barely manage to tap out all the right keys.
He responds almost immediately.
Frankie: She will be.
I can’t argue with that. His sixth sense must be working on overdrive if he thinks he can just pick up any random female off the street and have her teach him law.
Maybe there’s something about the girl that makes her stand out.
There must be some reason he picked her of all people to tutor him in law.
I put the phone down, realizing that I’m on the losing side.
If Frankie wants this woman to tutor him, then I’ll go along with it.
I might even find the energy to be cautiously optimistic.
Just because they didn’t meet in an academic setting doesn’t mean she’s a hooker.
I’ve got to think positively. And even if the whole thing goes to crap, my job is calling to me, and I’ve spent enough time worrying about my son’s new tutor.
I sit down to go through the notes on my desk, looking for my schedule.
I’ve got a full day ahead of me, and there’s no time to waste.
I pick up the phone to make the next call, allowing myself to forget about Frankie for a while.
He’s a good kid, and there are only so many ways this thing can go wrong.