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"Your local biker gang."
"Some of the biggest arms dealers on this coast," Lucky affirmed.
To that, Lorenzo leaned back, letting out a sigh, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. "From what I can tell, the Russians are just trying to br
eak into the market. I might be able to swing it if they are allowed to bring something else in through your port."
"That something else can't be drugs. You know my old man."
"Old school," Lorenzo agreed. "I can respect that. The families back in the seventies and eighties, they wouldn't touch that shit. I never understood why that rule went out the window."
"RICO," Lucky said, shaking his head. "All the bosses of old getting locked up after all the bastards rolling."
Lorenzo reached up, crossing himself in a "heaven forbid" gesture.
"Alright. No guns or drugs. These Russians are a resourceful lot. I think they can come up with some other kind of racket. And then Pops will be happy. All the families can take a collective breath. You all can carry on as usual."
"We would appreciate that," I agreed, nodding. "If we have to go to war, all the families suffer. No one wants that."
"Exactly. You're being smart there."
He would never say it out loud, but there was always a tone, always something just under the surface that said he didn't agree with the way his father handled the family.
Which was understandable, because that seemed to be the consensus with all of us. Arturo was hot-headed, too swift to action, not thinking things through enough.
That said, because he had a temper and a tendency to act on it quickly, he was also the most violent boss since the fifties. If he even just had a bad dream that you crossed him, your family was planning your funeral a couple days later.
So while most of the five families in New York, and most of us in Jersey, Philly, and Chicago didn't agree with him as being the best boss for the job, no one had the balls to stand against him either.
"So this container thing, is it over? Do we have a name?"
"We have a front. We are waiting on another shipment because we believe there are more women and girls on it. And maybe we will be able to get a few words with some of them before the cops show up and usher them away. If we can get descriptions, we have someone who might be able to get us leads back in Venezuela."
"That's a hell of a contact," Lorenzo said, draining his coffee.
"It's his woman," Lucky offered, making me want to reach across the table and slap him.
My woman.
Yes, she was mine.
But in only my head.
And temporarily, for the time being.
I wanted more.
But that didn't mean she was more.
Not yet.
And saying shit like that to important people in other families was not smart. Especially if they linked things together, found out that we'd been keeping things from them.
"You got a woman now? Good luck with that, man," Lorenzo said, shaking his head. "The woman I've known lately, she's been nothing but a fucking handful," he added, looking a little traumatized by whoever she was and whatever she had done.
In general, I wasn't one to wonder about someone else's personal life, but I found my curiosity piqued. What woman could get under the skin of someone so fearless, so unfazed by everything as Lorenzo Costa?
"It's new," I said, giving Lucky a hard look. "Not something that should be talked about yet."
