AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER ONE
Seven Years Ago - Luca
THERE IS NOTHINGquite like being summoned to the Don’s private office at seven am on a Monday morning to start your week off right. Yes, that is sarcasm. It’s been a rough couple of days and I just want to get on with my normal shit. I am tired and still seething from the betrayal I discovered.
On Saturday evening I got a call from the Port Master at our docks. He claimed our usual shipment of guns had been delayed. I don’t like kinks or deviations in our plans. Call me controlling, but when you sit at the table of a multi-billion dollar mafia empire that was built on blood with enemies searching for ways to extract more, you crave control. Demand it even.
Not willing to accept the delay as is, I hopped into my SUV with my closest men. Massimo my best friend and trusted enforcer, Val my blood brother and rising hacker, and Al my driver and bodyguard. I’d like to say I don’t need a bodyguard. I can handle business and defend myself just fine. I don’t, however, have eyes in the back of my head. For that I am thankful for his presence. He has saved my life on more than one occasion. Both literally and physically preventing me from getting stabbed in the back.
Being raised by the Underboss of the Caruso Family Mafia, I was made to be cold, calculating, and above all, loyal. Those three qualities are necessary for not only survival but success in our line of work. Being cold means I don’t trust easy. Trust in my world could get you killed. My lack of trust was why after hanging up the phone, I had a gut feeling something wasn’t right.
Could shipments be delayed due to unforeseen circumstances that were in no way malicious? Of course. Was my gut agreeing that this was one of those times? Absolutely not.
The Port Master had been in our pocket for years. He was mid fifties, married with a couple of kids. Seemed like an okay guy, though I couldn’t be bothered to learn his name. It’s why I always called him Port Master.
While on our way to the docks I had Val dig into his finances. It was the first place I always looked when I got a suspicion. Money talked and to shady fucks with no honor, loyalty could be bought.
Unfortunately for him, I was right. Val had accessed a bank account in his name that had been opened two days prior. A deposit of a half a million dollars had been made. Val traced the money through some offshore accounts where it had been bounced around in an effort to hide the trail before finding out the Irish Mob had initiated the transfer.
Before we got to the docks, ten minutes after our call, and five minutes after Val found the money, the Port Master had a change of heart. It was too late to be acquitted, but I listened anyway. He was immediately remorseful and pleaded for leniency. Said he was paid to report a delay in our shipment so the Irish could arrive before our men and steal our cargo. He continued to beg for forgiveness and said that once he hung up he felt the guilt and knew he had to make it right.
Once arriving at the docks, the Port Master and I, whose name I learned was Fred, had a conversation between my fists and his face. I hit him several times even though he started apologizing and begging for mercy immediately.
Ruthless. That was what my men called me. I had no patience for traitors. Even though Fred was not a soldier he was a paid employee. That warranted loyalty that he didn’t have. Fred learned the cost of his betrayal, one he wasn’t done paying yet. He was still breathing. For now.
After his initial beating he gave us all the details he knew on the Irish’s plan. We had about an hour before they would arrive. Which was enough time for me to gather a small army of men and have them hidden in the warehouse in strategic locations to take out the men the Irish sent.
It was a blood bath. One that resulted in no loses on our side, and complete obliteration of theirs. After my men cleaned up the scene, I reminded Fred once more what would happen if he ever betrayed the Caruso Family again. I hadn’t forgiven him. Not even close. And just because he was breathing now, didn’t mean he would be for long.
Walking down the hall with the Don’s office door in my sights, I wondered if I was about to regret letting Fred continue to breathe. I didn’t make a habit of second guessing myself, so these thoughts only added to the swirling of emotions that had no place in my head.
Would the Don question my decision to let him live? He had turned himself in before he caused any damage to our operation or cost us any money and I was confident he wouldn’t make that mistake again. Besides, he’d only be breathing long enough to get a suitable replacement in at the docks. The men under my direct command were keeping a close eye on him. He wouldn’t run or try to betray us further without a bullet between the eyes.
The Don has been in a mood lately. If he found my actions lacking I would be punished severely. I have yet to be punished by the Don and I don’t plan on ever being so. My father, on the other hand was quick to the belt when I was growing up. As his firstborn son, I was his heir. My actions reflected on him so he saw it as his obligation to correct my wrongdoings swiftly and harshly.
In my youth, I hated his lessons. I will never admit it to him, but now I am grateful for them. Learning the harsh realties of life in the mafia early kept me vigilant and has allowed me to move up the ranks quickly even with his name and position giving me leverage above others.
Fear of the whip made me the successful man I am today, and while I do not yet have the title of Underboss, I have been admitted into the Don’s inner circle and granted a place at the table. An honor only two other men currently share. My father, and the Don’s Uncle Santo, his Consigliere. Otherwise known as adviser.
My father, the Underboss, Ricco Mariani has been Don Bosco Caruso’s best friend for years. They make an unlikely pair. While the Don is barely thirty, my father is in his mid-forties. My father is shorter at five foot eleven with a budding beer gut, or more accurately, a whiskey gut. The Don is six foot four and built like a linebacker. Before they were friends, my father was a lowly soldier. He would have likely stayed one if he hadn’t gone down the wrong alley for a delivery twelve years ago.
He had a bag full of cocaine. It was meant to be dropped inside the back door of a local strip joint. Payment had already been made and the details of the drop confirmed. Ricco turned left into an alley a half a block too earlier. Luckily for Don Bosco that he did because he was laying on the ground with three grown men kicking everywhere their boots could reach. My dad hollered for them to stop and pulled his gun out from under his shirt. The men stopped but none of them had run off like he had thought they would. Instead they called his assumed bluff and returned to kicking the crap out of the future Don.
Ricco pulled the trigger quickly. He hit two men in the chest. The third ducked behind a dumpster before he could be hit and attempted to fire back. While Ricco kept the third man focused on him. Don Bosco was able to crawl to where his own gun had been tossed during the scuffle. Instead of going for a kill shot, he got the third in the kneecap before pistol whipping him into unconsciousness.
Four hours later, my dad and future Don had the body of the last guy hanging from meat hooks in the warehouse. His face unrecognizable and body ripped to shreds with the various tools they had used to extract information on the attacker’s bosses. They learned the beating had been a planned attack to take out the future Don by the Irish.
After that day they were inseparable and my dad moved up the ranks to Capo within months. Once Bosco took over as Don from his father, he immediately promoted him to Underboss. It caused a rift in the family for several months. The Underboss was a position given to blood. Much like the Don’s position it was inherited by a male son.
Don Bosco was seen as stomping on that tradition until it became common knowledge that his father’s Underboss had been secretly selling skin on the side. He had been using the family’s clubs as hunting grounds with his son leading the drugging and kidnapping of single women off of the dance floor.
The Caruso Family may sell drugs, run guns, own sex clubs and strip joins but human trafficking was a hard limit. The Underboss and his son were given a slow death and the rest of their family was banished to Italy where members of the old family would keep a close eye on them.
I take a deep breathe. My muscles are tense. I don’t remember the last time I had a day off. There is too much going on now. I should find myself a release soon though. Perhaps I’ll check on Vivid, one of our newer nightclubs tonight. Even on a Monday it should be busy which means I’ll have my pick of any number of women.
Standing at the closed door to the office. I need one last moment to myself before I go in. Too bad I don’t get it.
No sooner do I take my breath in than do I hear the piercing scream of an excited young girl. Milan, the Don’s eight year old daughter runs down the hall and launches herself at my legs.
