Page 1 of The Boss

ONE

GINO

LATE MAY

I would have thought by this point in my life, my business would’ve started and my mafia don days would have been behind me. Sadly, they’re not. I had a completely different plan for myself. By now, I would have started my security and investment company with my friends, the plan we’ve had since college, but things don’t go as planned.

These last few days have been a fucking disaster. My best friend and right-hand man has been kidnapped, and his wife, my sister, just found out she’s pregnant. I sent him to Italy to finalize a deal to hopefully end this mafia madness we’ve been a part of for way too long. But someone on the other side of that deal wanted more and is using him as the collateral to do that.

The number one priority is getting him back. But there’s added intensity to it now.

“Gino.” I hear a soft voice call out.

I pry open my eyes to see Juliet, one of my closest friends. Her dark black hair is tied in a high bun, her brown eyes are tired, and her warm beige skin is perfect without makeup, as it always is. And she’s wearing a gray sweatshirt and plaid sleep shorts that fit her perfectly.

I rub my eyes and lean up from my desk chair, the small movement forcing every muscle in my body to feel strained.

“Gino, you should really go to bed,” she whispers, leaning over me.

When I sat down at my desk, the sun shone brightly into my office. Now, the darkened sky tells me it’s late, and the only light around us comes from the small lamp on the corner of my desk.

“No, I need to keep working,” I mumble.

“You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep doing this,” she whispers back.

“Juliet, I can’t stop right now.”

Over the last decade, she has been the one person outside of Mateo who has been around constantly for me; not even my father could do that.

“Yes, you can.” Her strained voice showcases her concern.

Not only am I concerned about Mateo, but my sister Vanessa, whom I just connected with a few months ago, is nervous and scared. Due to being raised outside of our family, she knows very little about this mafia lifestyle. And since my father died two years ago, I’ve tried to get out of it to build the security and investment business my friends and I had planned. But as each day passes, it’s getting harder to achieve.

We had it all planned out. Once my father died or passed down his assets, we would formally close down the mafia side and create a business. An enterprise, if you will. Everyone would play their own parts, too. Juliet would run the finances, and Ryan would assist her, while also handling all the investments. Mateo would lead all the legal aspects, such as contracts. Drew would manage the tech side. And the Cambio brothers and Alonso would run the security and logistics division, considering what a large aspect of the business it would be, including shipping and transport services, personal protection, and private security.

We all knew what a big task it would be, but we were going to make it work. The first stage is getting out of all of this mafia shit and using some of the contacts we have in place to start the shipping and transport business, using the docks my father was shipping and receiving from for decades.

“Fine.” Letting out a long exhale, I rise from my chair and begin to leave when I notice Juliet isn’t right behind me.

Turning around, I see her attempting to clean the files on my desk.

“Juliet, you need to sleep too,” I say firmly.

“Hmm?” She looks up at me from my desk.

“Come on, you need to sleep too,” I protest.

She walks away from my desk and comes up right behind me. “Let’s go to bed.”

Walking to my room at the end of the hall, I turn to see Juliet walk into hers, two doors down from mine.

When my father died, I moved her here because she was someone who saw it all. I may or may not find her very attractive. I don’t know if I’ll ever admit to her how I feel.

Over the last decade, I have spent too much time thinking about her. Two years ago, I made a move and failed. Ever since then, I have been kicking myself in the ass about it, trying to figure out how to make it right.

2 YEARS AGO

Running my hands down my face while perched at the bottom of the stairs, the last person finally leaves my father’s—now my—house after his funeral. My best friend walks over and sits next to me, offering me a glass of scotch.