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Coke and alcohol. Never a good mix. I never should’ve accepted Claro’s offering.
But it’s necessary if I’m to function. Especially now, thrust into taking up Gio’s role.
They gave me my marching orders and sent me off to Vegas. The backup to the main, taking over the Family’s latest operation.
Giovanni had just gotten a foothold on the city. Now I’m expected to fill in the blanks.
Do my best Giovanni impersonation. The only use I serve.
I move into his resort. I take over his office. His casino, his crew, his everything has become mine.
Just like that. I’m handed what I’ve never had—the spotlight. From the time I was a boy, I’ve been going through life with somebody else who was me. He had my face, my fucking DNA. But while he was the Golden Child, I was the Black Sheep.
Second best. The backup.
Coming to Vegas is another reminder. My brother excelled ascapo for the Sorrentino empire. He lived and breathed our lifestyle. He died by it.
I line up a gram of white powder on the desk counter—a desk which once belonged to him—and I snort up every grain with a rolled up hundred-dollar bill.
The stuff works wonders in an instant. It’s a pure adrenaline shot, fizzing through every inch of me.
What was once a dull numbness transforms into hyperactive chaos. Sober my life’s in black and white. When I’ve got a good high going, everything’s in color.
I can handle this so long as I don’t lose my edge. I stop functioning when I do. The mask slips and my performance wears off. I crash into what can only be described as a dark vacancy.
A man without a single feeling of his own. Nothing but blank space.
But now I’m alive. I’m able to perform.
There’s a knock on the office door before Fozzi pokes his head in.
“Do you have a sec, Giancarlo?”
I wipe my nose and throw him a glance over my shoulder. A harsh grunt leaves my throat.
“Some of the guys’ve been talking,” he says, shutting the door so it’s just the two of us. “We’re a little concerned about our assignment.”
I stare at him. He’s the reddest Italian-American I’ve ever seen—hair a ginger color that clashes with his pasty, sunless skin.
For some reason, we’ve been best friends since we were kids. Kind of like Giovanni and Robby Greco.
The difference being, Fozzi’s never worked under me in my crew. He’s always been assigned to Gio. You’d think his loyalty would lie with me, but you can never be so sure.
I can read between the lines. Even when I’m blitzed out of my mind. Childhood friend or not, he doesn’t trust me. Neither does the rest of my brother’s crew.
There’s been speculation. Some theories have been floating around. They must think I’m dumb not to pick up on it.
Giovanni’s dead…but who killed him?
“Make it quick,” I say. “What’s the concern?”
“A rumor’s going around. You’re bringing in your guys. Some of us are about to be reassigned.”
I spin the large leather office chair around. “If you are reassigned, it’s no matter. You don’t make decisions. I do.”
“Understood, Giancarlo…but some of us have been part of this crew for years. Don’t you think it might be too soon to make big moves? Giovanni—”
“Is dead,” I interject. “I’ll assign you—and anybody else—wherever I assign you. Stop worrying about things beyond your control. Now get the fuck out of my face.”
