18. Luca
Luca
“How was Montana?” Mikey asks the next morning when I pick him up at the estate.
“Great. We had a really good time.”
He nods once, his attention already back on the phone in his hand.
The rest of the drive passes in comfortable silence.
I pull away from the estate and make my way toward downtown Los Angeles, the morning commute already in full swing.
Traffic crawls in a few spots before finally opening up as we get closer to the business district.
Glass office towers rise higher with every block until I turn onto the familiar street leading to Amato Towers.
By the time I ease the SUV beneath the covered entrance, Mikey has already slipped his phone back into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
I climb out and make my way around the front of the SUV, opening Mikey’s door.
He steps onto the sidewalk and straightens the front of his suit jacket.
“Park, then meet me in my office.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Without another word, he heads toward the front entrance while I climb back behind the wheel and pull toward the underground garage.
I pull the SUV into the underground garage and park in my usual spot before shutting off the engine. After grabbing my keys, I make my way to the private elevator reserved for executive staff. The doors slide open almost immediately, carrying me straight to the top floor.
The receptionist looks up as I step into the executive suite.
“Morning, Mr. Amato.”
“Morning.”
She offers a small smile before gesturing toward the closed office at the end of the hallway.
“He’s waiting for you.”
I nod my thanks and make my way down the hall. The familiar scent of polished wood and fresh coffee lingers in the air as I stop outside Mikey’s office. I knock twice against the door.
“Come in,” his voice calls.
I open the door and step inside.
I step into the office, closing the door quietly behind me.
Mikey sits behind his desk, his suit jacket draped neatly over the back of his chair while he works through a stack of papers spread across the polished wood.
Marco is already there, occupying one of the leather chairs in front of the desk with one ankle resting on the opposite knee.
He looks up as I walk in before giving me a small nod.
Mikey signs the page in front of him without looking up.
“Have a seat.”
I move to the empty chair beside Marco and wait.
Mikey sets the file in front of him aside.
“Any movement on Sal?”
Marco shakes his head.
“Not yet.”
“He’ll make a mistake.”
Neither of us disagrees.
“They always do.”
Silence settles over the office.
“When we find him,” Mikey says, “I don’t want him dead.”
Marco nods.
“No.”
“I want him alive.”
My jaw tightens.
“He deserves to understand exactly why he’s dying.”
Mikey reaches for another file.
“What else?”
Marco opens the folder in front of him.
“One of the collectors on the west side has been skimming.”
“How much?”
“Just under twenty thousand.”
Mikey doesn’t react.
“Did he think we wouldn’t notice?”
“No, Boss.”
A long silence fills the room. Then Mikey closes the file.
“Bring him to the warehouse.”
Marco nods once.
“Today?”
“Today.”
Mikey’s voice never changes.
“He stole from this family.”
Another pause.
“He doesn’t work for this family anymore.”
Neither Marco nor I asks what that means. We already know. Mikey looks at me.
“You leave for the Bahamas next week.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Enzo will cover your responsibilities while you’re gone. Get him caught up before you leave.”
“I will.”
He gives a single nod before reaching for the next file on his desk.
“Go to the warehouse.”
Marco is already on his feet.
“Yes, Boss.”
I stand beside him.
“Yes, Boss.”
I kill the engine and sit for a second, staring at the warehouse door. Marco drums his fingers on the dash, waiting. The debt collector is inside, zip-tied to a chair, already sweating through his shirt. We both know what has to happen. He skimmed from the family. From Mikey.
We step out. Inside, the man’s eyes go wide when he sees us.
Marco doesn’t waste time. He walks straight up and drives his fist into the collector’s gut. The man doubles over, coughing.
I grab his hair and yank his head back so he has to look at me.
“Vito, you don’t steal from the boss,” I say. “You took money that wasn’t yours. Now you’re going to understand why that was a mistake.”
Marco hits him again, this time across the face. Blood sprays from a split lip. Vito tries to speak, voice shaking.
“Luca—please—I can pay it back—“
I twist his arm behind the chair until the shoulder strains. He screams. Marco kicks his chair over, sending him crashing to the floor. We keep going—fists, boots, controlled force—until the message is burned into him. He won’t skim again. No one will.
He’s on the concrete now, blood pooling under his face. Marco plants a boot on his ribs and leans down. “You thought you could dip your hand in the boss’s pocket and walk away clean. Wrong. Every dollar you took belongs to the family. Every cent you hid is blood money now.”
Marco grabs his broken arm and wrenches it again for emphasis. Vito howls, body jerking. He grabs him by the collar and slams him back into the chair, then drives his knee into the man’s sternum. Ribs crack under the impact. He wheezes, blood dripping from his mouth onto his shirt.
“Tell me where the rest of the cash is,” Marco growls, twisting the man’s fingers until one pops. “Or I start breaking the rest of you.”
Vito gasps out an address between sobs. I pull out my phone and text it to Mikey’s guy. “Boss wants the full amount recovered. Every dollar.”
Marco doesn’t stop. He lands another punch to the jaw, snapping the collector’s head sideways. Teeth loosen. Blood sprays across the floor. I step in, grab the man’s chin, and force him to meet my eyes.
“You skimmed once. You won’t again. And every low-level asshole who hears what happened today will think twice before touching what isn’t theirs.”
Marco kicks the chair legs out again. The collector hits the concrete hard, shoulder dislocating with a wet pop. He screams until his voice cracks. I crouch, press my boot to his throat—not enough to crush, just enough to remind him who decides if he breathes.
I wipe my knuckles on his shirt. “You’re breathing because we decided you keep breathing. That’s the only reason. You live to tell every other greedy fuck what happens when they try the same stunt.”
I turn toward the door. “I’m gone next week. You cover my end until I’m back.”
Enzo nods once. Vito sobs on the floor, the lesson carved into every bruise and broken bone.
“Clean him up enough so he can crawl out of here. Show everyone what happens when you steal from the family.”