I nod at my men, who open the door to a private entrance I had installed. My knuckle taps the button for the elevator to the underground garage, fortified with reinforced concrete and steel to withstand explosions.
“You should switch your women up,” Andrea says.
“And you should mind your own dick.”
Aldo waits by my car to drive me to our meeting. I’ll go back to Castiglione de Sicilia later tonight.
“Did I hit a nerve?” Andrea chides from the driver’s side of his car.
I’ll regret asking this. “What’s the number of the woman you call from up north?”
He grins. “Bianca. I’ll text you her info. A good fuck might make you more tolerable.”
Andrea keeps a roster that he flies in for weekends. We’re attracted to the same women, so looks aren’t in question.
Maybe Bianca is what I need.
“The people around this table have proven their loyalty to the Scilari and our alliance.” I look from Angelo to Emil. Andrea is to my right with a plate of lobster ravioli meant to be shared.
Emil is the first to ask the obvious. “Where is Nunzio?”
“Dead,” I say over my scotch glass.
“Is it safe to speak freely?” Angelo glances at the rectangular chandelier above our food.
Don’t call him an idiot to his face.
“Would I have mentioned a dead man if it wasn’t?”
He squints at the coffered ceiling like the answer will appear.
Our suite on the luxury cruise liner is the only room available on the floor. The rest are “under construction.” Unless someone scaled the side of the ship undetected, no one is listening.
“Andrea scrubbed the suite like he does every time we meet. We have a sound masking system in place. As I was saying…” I cut my eyes at Angelo. He’s still thinking. “My patience these days is thinner than what’s left of Nunzio.”
Emil shifts in his seat. “What happened?”
“He got caught working with a gang planning to move on your territory and fit nicely inside one of the new filleting machines for my distribution center. After I beheaded him.” I lift a plate. “Tuna tartare, anyone?”
Emil’s lips press together, shifting the wrinkles under his toupee. “No thank you.”
Angelo’s face pales like we’re out at sea and not docked.
Andrea’s fingers wiggle over the two pieces he grabs and shovels into his mouth.
The difference between inherited positions and enforcement work before taking the reins plays out across the table. Emil and Angelo have never gotten their hands dirty, and it shows. They’re gaping at the plate like human flesh is on it and not tuna.
Andrea and I racked up kills before we were teenagers. I’m not proud of taking lives so young, but people think twice about fucking with us.
Emil tips what’s left of his hair to me. “We appreciate your support, Mr. Bennici. Your leadership since taking over your family has helped us maintain our markets.”
Killing Nunzio wasn’t a courtesy. He got messy working with trafficking smugglers in my fucking city. Andrea and I steer clear of the drug business and old-school methods of gaining power within our crime organization.
Racketeering.
Extortion.
Counterfeiting.
