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Prologue
The dim glow of the desk lamp focuses solely across the dusty, worn pages of Sun Tzu's "The Art of War.” Given to me by a loyal associate on the day my father was buried, the giver told me that this book possesses all the knowledge I might need to solidify my position in this world.
To date, I refer to marked sections when the responsibilities that come with being a mafia don demand that I stay vigilant and educated on the tactics of war.
I take a deep breath and turn the page, ready to retire for the night after this section ends when the quiet serenity of my office is shattered in an instant by a door slamming open.
I look up to see a breathless and disheveled Franco, my right-hand man. His eyes are wide, almost manic with excitement, and beads of sweat stream down his forehead.
"Boss," he gasps, struggling to catch his breath. "I have news."
"Slow down, amico mio - my friend -," I reply, setting the book aside and studying him closely. "What could possibly be so urgent?" Despite my calm demeanor, I’m mentally preparing to gather my men. Did something happen with one of our enemies?
"Forgive me for interrupting you, Boss," he stammers, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "But I just heard something that I couldn't wait to share."
"Speak then," I command, my curiosity piqued. What could have led to such disarray in someone as typically stoic and collected as Franco?
"Okay," he takes a deep breath and straightens his posture. "You know that whore I visit sometimes? Renocia? You know, the one with the most beautiful body in all of –"
"Si, get to the point,” I cut him off before he gets distracted with describing this whore of his. I often say that Franco is a man of honor, but the right woman could make him sell his soul.
"Alright, alright," Franco rushes to continue, clearly caught up in his own description of her. “Boss, she’s so beautiful that oftentimes, she has a waiting list. Men have started bidding wars to spend the night with her.”
“Your point being?”
“My point being, Boss, that it’s only the rich men, the powerful men, who can truly have the honor of spending a night with Renocia.”
I raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "I'm hoping to eventually see where this is going, Franco. While Renocia may be a beautiful woman, why should I give a damn?”
Franco continues, seemingly growing even more excited. "You might find it interesting that all of our enemies have been her clients.”
My calculative frown turns into a small smile as I make the deduction. “An intriguing woman, indeed,” I mutter, berating myself for underestimating my most trusted associate’s weakness for women to be just that. Now, I am realizing how Franco thinks.
“Yes,” he chuckles, “intriguing indeed. She’s been on our payroll for quite a while and has become the most valuable source of intelligence we could ever hope for. She's been feeding us information about our enemies’ plans. Who is opening what business, how much they make, what territories they work out of, things like that. And here’s the real kicker, Boss, tonight…” he pauses, for effect.
“Go on,” I nod, wishing Franco would get to the point.
“Tonight, she told me of a legend.”
The word legend seeps into the very marrow of my bones. I lean closer to my desk and grip the wooden panel on the edge, my knuckles turning white. Of all the legends in the world, there is only one that Franco would dare disturb me for during my hour of solitude.
“After all this time?” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Impossible.”
Franco takes a deep breath, all too aware of the gravity of the news he's about to share.
“She drugged a mobster tonight. They fucked, and while she rode him like a horse, she made him cum so hard that he closed his eyes, roared his head back and screamed that someday, he’d bring her a diamond unlike any she’s seen before and make her all his. It was the way she says he spoke about it,” Franco whispers, while the very air around me stills, “that made her curious. After they were done, she poured him some wine and drugged him again. In and out of consciousness, high in a different world, she asked all she wanted to know about this diamond. Boss, she told me the man said it’s the only known natural diamond to capture the color of the ocean. When you look at it, it’s like you’re staring into the endless depths of the big blue. You need two hands to hold it, and this gemstone, rumored to be so beautiful that it must have been cut by the gods themselves, is the very stone of envy - shaped as a heart.”
I suck in a deep breath as my hands begin to shake, itching to possess this very stone. “She called it–”
“The Heart of Italy,” we both finish the sentence at the same time.
“She says her client told her that even the Brits’ Kohinoor dwarfs in comparison," he pauses for effect. I can hardly believe what he's saying.
A strange sensation permeates the air. Ever since I was a child, I have had a curious affinity for understanding the moments when my life would alter forever. These moments make no sense, but I feel the warning bells in my bones, my back, and the hair on my arms. Sometimes, it feels like there’s an angel by my side, guiding me to focus on what this moment means.
And this is one of those moments.
Franco gives me a few moments for everything to sink in and then continues. “Hear this, Boss. She says that the diamond is split in two, and this man says he knows who one half belongs to.”
