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Nico
“Did you catch that dickhead Lucchese pawing at my sister last night?” Max grunts and tosses a football into the air while reclining in a plush leather chair in front of my desk. “Fucking guy has some nerve.”
Did I see it? Maybe the more apropos question would be have I been able to think of anything but that dickhead pawing at her? I clench my fist tight around the bottle of Vitamin Water, denting the plastic. “Don’t worry about him. He’s just trying to flex his muscles now that he’s back from California.”
“Yeah, why the hell is he back here again? I thought he was gone for good when your grandfather banished him from northern Jersey.”
So did everyone else in the family. But my father has other plans and ordered him back here. It doesn’t make Alfonse deVincenzo — the bookie he robbed a quarter of a million dollars in bets from — happy. And it sure as hell doesn’t make Max happy, since he was angling to become deVincenzo’s business partner and lost hundreds of thousands right along with Alfonse all because of Rocco. Max is also the one who blew the whistle on Rocco, who had been operating as a bookie without getting the necessary permission from Grandpa. Rats are rats regardless of the good that came from it, and Max’s reputation went spiraling down the toilet after that. Once a rat, always a rat. “I’m sure Dad has his reasons. Don’t worry about him.”
“Worry? Give me a break. He’s the one who should be worried. deVincenzo has been foaming at the mouth, waiting for an opportunity to sink his claws into that douchebag. And you already know how I feel.”
“If deVincenzo knows what’s good for him, he’ll just let it go. Same goes for you. Grandpa punished him, and now my dad claims the debt is cleared.”
“It’s a bunch of bullshit. He’s a fucking two-faced thief who’d cut his own grandmother’s neck for a nickel.”
“You do realize his grandmother died last year.”
“Fine. You know what the hell I’m talking about, man. He’d do it if she were still alive.”
“Max, you have to let this shit go. Just forget it. He’s a thief, but you’re a snitch according to the rest of the family, which is just as bad. Rocco served his time, and now he needs to start over with a hell of a lot of suspicious eyes on him. It won’t be easy for him to rehabilitate his rep. But you’ve had opportunities while he’s been dicking around in California. The job here at the club can be a real stepping stone for you, but only if you don’t let yourself get sucked back into the past.”
“I still didn’t like the way he looked at my sister. I’d fucking kill any of the guys if they laid a finger on her,” Max grumbles, his tirade against Rocco silenced only for the few seconds it takes him to gulp the remaining Blue Moon from his glass.
And what would he do if he knew his best friend had laid more than just a finger on his baby sister? Underboss or not, mine is the throat he’d be cutting. So I snoozed on the most important decision of my life, making it open season for guys like Lucchese who think a fat wallet is the only thing that will make Shaye Oriani happy.
It isn’t. I knew what would make her happy. I just couldn’t give it to her.
“I think they know that.”
“She’s home for the next few weeks. Maybe I should make an example out of Lucchese so the other assholes know I mean business. I don’t want any of them getting any ideas about her.”
“She’s a big girl. I don’t think she’d appreciate you putting Rocco in the hospital for comforting her at the funeral.” I look around my office…it’s large, sleek, and occupies its own floor of Culaccino, the “nightclub” that I singlehandedly opened and turned into the hottest spot in downtown Manhattan. Sex, drugs, top-shelf booze — we can get it all. The Salesi family runs the biggest gambling and prostitution rings in the country, and those businesses have made us very rich. But we don’t play in the drug ring. Breaking into that business is what caused the fallout between us and the Orianis in the first place, and it was decided a long time ago that it would never be one of our primary money-makers. But even though drugs aren’t a primary focus, we can get our patrons anything they desire because of our connections, for a price, of course.
I’ve spent the better part of the past three years making this club famous — or infamous — for Hollywood elite, politicians, musicians…if you’re an A-lister, you’ve either heard of my club or been here for one of the many VIP events we host, especially during awards season. I’m damn proud of what I’ve done here, and I know Grandpa felt the same way. I’ve never been an enforcer. My skills lie on the business side, and they’ve made me a hell of a lot of cash.
But recently, my success has only shone light on the things I’ve had to give up along the way…namely, Shaye Oriani.
Because this isn’t a life for her. It’s not a life for us. And as much as I’d love to give it all up and walk away, I can’t. Too many people depend on me, and too many people have invested in my vision. There are expectations, ones you just can’t escape from, especially if you’re Joe Salesi’s son. And now that Grandpa is gone, there are a lot of rumblings among the families. People are trying to grasp whatever slivers of control they can, and that includes Tony Oriani, Max and Shaye’s dad. Grandpa was the glue that held our organization together. He had proven himself to his allies and made them plenty of money over the years because he knew people, knew what they wanted, and most of all, knew how to deliver. He also knew how to negotiate for the best possible outcome. Now everyone is trying to build their own empires, to see who can rise the fastest and grab the available reins so they can keep the cash flowing. But they will never be Grandpa. Never in a million years be able to fill his shoes.
My dad was never one to control the masses. He always preferred to stay in the background, letting Grandpa exert his will. Truth be told, I don’t even know if he really wanted this life or if he just allowed himself to get sucked in.
Like I did.
But now he’s front and center, like it or not. He has decisions to make and alliances to build…quickly. Tony Oriani is a problem — he always has been with his big ideas and equally big ass mouth. Dad knows he needs to work fast and smart to hold him at bay before he does something that will throw the whole organization into upheaval. Hell, he’s the reason for the feud between our families. Tony had the bright idea to partner with one of the New York families to run drugs, and he laid the plans in motion before letting Grandpa Vito in on the details. That didn’t go over well—with him or my dad. And the head of that New York family, Frank Cappodamo, was not happy when the deal crumbled. He lost plenty, as did Oriani.
Oriani was always a power-hungry bastard, and he’s carried a grudge against my dad ever since, just waiting for the chance to get out from under his thumb and take over. Maybe he thinks that time has finally come.
But neither he nor Max knows that we have a supplier, one who is in direct competition with Cappodamo and wants nothing more than to decimate his business. Because the Russian bratva has nothing to lose and everything to gain if Cap is taken out.
“If Rocco shows up here, I’m going to take him outside and shove a baseball bat so far down his throat that it’s gonna come out his ass.” Max picks up a second bottle from my desk and takes a long swig.
Grandpa always liked Tony, and never took sides when he and Dad had their falling out. It’s always business, never personal, he’d say. I agreed, and since Max is my best friend, I wanted to help him out. Nobody wanted the liability of having such a hothead involved with their businesses after that whole thing with deVincenzo, so I gave him a job. I figured, just like everyone else did, if he was affiliated with me and a successful business, doors would open up for him.
But they’re still slammed shut.
Grandpa even tried to give Max jobs to get him exposure to the other family heads, but everyone knew his reputation and how dangerous it would be to have him on the inside, especially after he’d snitched and gotten Rocco banished to California as punishment for his deceit. So now I’m stuck. And Max has given me more fucking headaches than I care to think about. Fucking the staff, knocking a couple of them up, beating the crap out of patrons for so much as looking at him cross-eyed…it’s a miracle I still have a business.
“Are you still pissed off about him and Sloane? You’ve been hot on her this whole time. Is that your problem?”
