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Chapter One
Santino
“He’s gone.”
I take a slow breath and count to myself as I process the news. Tension fills the room as my men wait to see how I respond, unsure if I’ll show my trademark cold façade or finally snap like my grandfather used to. It’s only ever a matter of time, they seem to think, and I let them think it. Let them think I’m the monster they believe me to be.
Underneath my cold, dominating façade, fury burns. I’m half tempted to burn this city to the ground. But a rat isn’t worth that energy or that show of power.
He’ll still pay, of course. Rats always do. But exterminating a pest or two doesn’t have to suck up all my resources.
I finally exhale slowly, keeping my cool even as my anger simmers. I am not an irrational man, which I know still shocks some of my men. My grandfather had been something of a maniac, given to fits of rage in which he’d end up killing a few of his own. For decades, such behavior was tolerated in fearful silence.
Frankly, with the amount of blood he spilled unnecessarily, he didn’t deserve to pass away quietly in his sleep like he did. But then again, nothing he ever did was just, and he wasn’t a just man. Of course he got the peaceful death. I’d never hope for the same, not at this point.
Unlike him, I’m willing to face the consequences of my crimes.
These past few weeks, however? They’ve had me questioning my choice to follow him in his line of work. Annoyance after annoyance has plagued me as I’ve tried to expose whatever network of pests has made their home among my men. Anger doesn’t even begin to describe what I’ve felt constantly as we’ve made every attempt to hunt them down discretely. Now I have no choice but to get messy with it. I won’t be able to expand my operations if I don’t.
If my gut instinct proves correct, it’s likely one of my uncles sticking his nose where it never belonged. There’s a reason the old Don chose me over them, even though I’m a generation younger. The only thing that’s keeping them alive is the fact that family infighting would make it look like I’m threatened, but the reality is that it’s just bad for business to have weak men in my ranks.
Loyalty means everything for men in my line of work. Any weaknesses must be eliminated.
“How did he get away?” I finally ask, keeping my tone even and calm.
“We’re not sure yet,” my man says, his shoulders sagging with relief when he realizes I’m not about to gut him where he stands. Baby steps to recover from the mania of my grandfather. “At this time, we believe the rat had help from the inside or was inside already.” More things I already know, but I keep my expression carefully cold. He continues, “No one there noticed anything unusual until the smoke detectors went off, which wouldn’t be possible—”
“—Unless they were already there,” I finish for him. “What were the losses?”
I have to keep myself from flinting as he tells me that the warehouse (and all of the counterfeit money we had ready to get laundered, plus the equipment we used to make it) went up in flames. A total loss. Emergency responders didn’t—or couldn’t—get there in time to save the building or anything inside. And who knows that they’ll find as they investigate the site, I think to myself. This could be incriminating in more way than one for me.
For months, these sabotage efforts have dogged my operations, and my patience is thin. Perhaps it’s time to let these fucks see the monster they know lurks underneath the surface.
“Any human losses?” I grumble, standing up from my desk and buttoning my suit jacket.
“No, sir,” another man says.
Finally some good news. I straighten my cuffs and survey the room before looking my second, Marco, in the eye. “Detain them,” I order. He nods at me firmly, as if he knows exactly what’s at stake. “I want each one questioned about what happened. Use whatever methods you deem necessary or unnecessary. I want information, and one of them has it.”
“We’ll find out which one,” Marco assures me before pulling out his phone to start mobilizing.
“I look forward to your report,” I say nonchalantly, not even looking at him as I make my way to the door of my office. “Don’t give me a reason to not like it. I’d hate to have to get my hands dirty with rat poison.”
The energy in the room stiffens instantly at my threat. While the men in the room have proven themselves loyal to the organization, if not me personally, a reminder of the pecking order is in order at times like this. They need to know I’m watching everything, even if they think I’m occupied with other matters.
My time as a foot soldier was spent showing my brutality … but now? That brutality comes in the form of cold, hard efficiency.
And I know that they’ve always found my coldness unnerving, especially when violence is involved. Let them keep thinking I’m an unfeeling beast. When they talk about me amongst themselves, they don’t talk about the violence I’ve ordered or enacted. They talk about how little I seemed affected by the incidents. They talk about how I don’t let rage dictate my actions or cloud my judgement. My brutality is different from that of my grandfather, and that will earn their true loyalty faster and more effectively than the bastard ever could have dreamed.
When I finally step outside of the building, midnight greets me. The air is fresh and cool, and the sounds of the city soothe me immediately. It might be dangerous for some people to walk around my territory this late at night, but not for me. Not even my uncles, foolish and sloppy as they are, would dare take me out in the open.
As I start to walk down the sidewalk, I mull over the situation.
Logic would dictate that the rat in my ranks has already made himself scarce, I can’t rule out the possibility that he’s still in the city. I sigh as I remind myself that my men have their task and know what to do with the people who were at the warehouse. I’m used to working as a lone wolf, doing the bidding of my grandfather as a hit man; entrusting others with something like interrogation is difficult, but the urge to do it myself is not insurmountable. I can resist it. I can’t let myself seem bothered by this shit or let anyone think I’ll show my hand because of a few rogues within my men.
The dimly lit streets feel like a maze, but I know them like the back of my hand. And with the late hour, there’s not much to see—or, at least, there usually isn’t. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a shadow stir across the way. When I look up, I see it duck into an alleyway.
Instinct compels me to follow. It’s easy to slip back into the headspace of the predator I really am beneath my calculating exterior. The beastly monster isn’t an act, after all, whereas the brutally cold leader is still something I’m getting used to.
