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I smiled at the fucker. “If you’re still here by the time I return, then I’ll make sure you leave in a much less pleasant way than you’d originally planned.” I let the threat linger in the air. As I opened the door, I was silhouetted into the dimly lit room. “Permanently.”
If I’d learned anything in this life, nothing motivated someone to move faster than when you threaten their life. It was a shame, really, that I had to go through such lengths to have people obey me. When it came down to it, I’d rather be respected out of fear than to have my people love me.
Love could be persuaded or ended. It was a weakness and a liability that I couldn’t allow myself to indulge in. Too many suckers had been duped and killed over the concept of love. Whereas loyalty was something different that I would choose every time.
When I opened the door to the guest room, I wasn’t surprised to see Stefano standing there. Apart from my own father, there was no one I trusted more. His undying loyalty had given me many reasons to trust him through the years. He was a man who would lay down his life for mine if the need arose. He took his job of protecting me very seriously. Always by my side, or at least near me, and no one spoke to me without going through him first.
Tall and nicely built, at just over six feet, I looked short compared to his six and a half foot frame. His hair was cut in the classic style of most Italian mafia men. His brown eyes looked almost black when he was angry. I had seen them darken like that many days, when his anger mirrored my own in situations that required us to work together. Stefano knew his way around weapons and could fight with the best trained military unit.
“Any clue what my father wants?” I asked him with a raised eyebrow. He hadn’t said anything through the door, although that easily could have been because he hadn’t wanted the men to overhear what was being discussed. Stefano always told me everything he knew, whether it was to keep me safe or show me his loyalty.
Stefano shook his head. “He didn’t say, sir.”
“It better be good,” I said. “I was having a good time.”
“Family board game night is always a favorite. Which game did you play today?” His question was sarcastic, but I was tempted to tell him that next time he should join.
I sent him a knowing look. Stefano was a pretty stoic man in front of others. A force to be reckoned with even though he had a good few years on me, seven to be precise. I’d been a cocky pre-teen when we’d been introduced to one another, he had been eighteen, and I couldn’t get him to say much to me that wasn’t along the lines of ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ back then. It grated on me.
Several years had passed, and we now acted more like brothers. To me as a man without any siblings, he was my brother—just not related by blood. We did everything together, and he was the only man who felt as if he could talk freely to me without fear of repercussions. I needed that in this world. I wouldn’t be given any favors if every asshole following me around were yes men. That would surely be the fastest way to get killed.
When he was right or had something to say, he was wise enough to never do it in front of other people. Neither of us wanted me to be forced to show who was in charge. When it was just the two of us, we weren’t a man and his bodyguard; we were friends. The only true one I had.
“The game was just getting good,” I told him with a dark chuckle. I had sent Stefano to buy the board game at a local store just earlier today when I’d gotten word we had the bastard, captured in a whore house. No doubt using his blood money from selling us out to purchase a nicely wrapped STD. “Now, for whatever my father wants.”
“There’s a man in his office,” Stefano shared in warning. “I’m not sure who he is or what he wants, but it seemed expedient that you be there as well.”
“What did he look like?” If I could get a physical description and figure out who he was before I arrived, then I could prepare myself for what I was about to walk in on.
“Italian male. Shoulder length, dark brown hair and eyes. About 5’10.”
“Facial hair?”
“A bit.”
The description didn’t help me much. Most Italians had the same features, so it was hard to guess who it might be. A younger man, maybe, if his hair were still dark? As my father aged, his hair had slowly lost its warm tone and taken on quite a bit of white instead. This life had a good amount of stress that came along with it, and that tended to make our men age quickly, or die before getting the chance to grow older.
Leaving the guest house I always occupied when I was stretching my muscles with wetwork, we headed toward my father’s wing in the main estate. Luckily, we had an elevator to make things quicker. I stepped inside, and Stefano punched in the code to reach my father’s office. Only a handful of people knew it, and the two of us comprised half of them.
When the elevator reached its destination, we stepped directly into my father’s office, which for security purposes was the only way to access his suite of rooms. Unsurprisingly, there were two men stationed by the elevator doors. They simply nodded before moving aside to allow for me to enter followed by Stefano.
My father’s office was a large room, which wasn’t surprising considering that it took up more than half of one floor.
He was leaning against his desk, standing next to another man. Just as Stefano had described, the man had shoulder length hair, so dark that it may have actually been black. When he heard me enter, he turned around, and I immediately recognized him.
Marco Montrelli.
I kept every physical tick in check, knowing that my father had killed his son, I was surprised that Marco was showing his face around here. He was the enemy. Although, I didn’t let any of that surprise show. I couldn’t let him know what I was thinking or that I disapproved of this man being in our house. There should’ve been a meet on neutral ground.
They’d always called themselves the big bad wolves of Chicago, but they could only hold onto that title because we allowed them to. Their family ran a different circuit than ours in the city. We sold many various things, but their product and ours never overlapped, and if it did, lives were lost until it didn’t happen again.
We allowed them to continue to be the face of the mafia for the city, but if someone really got involved, they knew of the family in the shadows, the one who really pulled all of the strings—the Romanos. We liked it like that: many crimes from our end had gone unnoticed because the feds and city officials were busy with the Montrellis in the spotlight.
“Luciano.” My dad stated my name, although I thought it was more for Marco’s benefit than mine. He wanted Marco to know exactly who I was and what I was capable of. “I’m sure you recognize our goodfriendhere, Marco Montrelli, don’t you?”
I wanted to scoff at my father’s choice of words. How laughable to let Marco feel some sort of power—we were not equals.
“I do,” I said slowly.
