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“The fucking gonads on this guy.” My cousin Carmine says in distaste from the passenger seat of my car as we drive through the Upper East Side.
“I’d love to know what the fuckers long-term plan was. Did he seriously think it would go unnoticed?” My brother Luca says with a shake of his head from the backseat.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Fuck knows but it reflects badly on us. This is our territory, our men and he sold us out to the fucking Bratva.” It kept me awake all night last night. The thought that one of our men had the gall to turn their back on The Family? It's enough to send me feral.
My brother flips his knife around his fingers with a blank expression. “I mean it's one thing to betray us, but to get in bed with the Bratva? I don't know, man. Leaves a sour taste in the mouth.” You and me both.
Carm knocks his knuckles against the dash and grimaces to himself. “I could understand better if it was the Outfit. Or even the fucking Irish but The Russians? Jesus. The disrespect is monumental.”
Luca’s grey eyes darken as he looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Fuck the plan. We should just deal with him tonight.”
I shake my head once. “No. We’ll stick with it. It’ll be worth it if we manage to cause some collateral damage within the Bratvas ranks.”
Carm blows out a breath, rubs a tattooed hand over his mouth. “Fucking rats, man. How the fuck does he sleep at night?”
“Probably on a mattress stuffed with rubles,” I say blandly.
Luca scoffs a humourless laugh as he pulls a cigarette between his teeth. “As long as I get to have my fun with Joe, I'm satisfied.” Joe Bianchi, the son of Franco Bianchi who manages one of our most profitable strip clubs. He’s been feeding our gun delivery schedule to our enemies for the past two months. We only figured it out this morning. Well, Luca figured it out. He’s my second in command. He breathes out a cloud of smoke, rolling his window down. “It's a shame we don’t hold all of our meetings at the clubs. It would be a nice change of scenery. I wouldn't have to stare at your ugly mugs for hours on end in bleak underground basements. Talk about a fucking libido killer.”
He's a work-hard, play-harder type of man and he loves women. I mean don’t get me wrong, women fall over themselves for him. I guess you could say he’s the prettiest of my siblings, on par with our little sister to be honest. Thick head of black curls, our mother’s piercing Grey eyes but head to toe covered in tattoos. His only quality that would lead you to believe he isn't as nice as he looks.
“You've slept with most of them already, what’s the appeal?”
He shrugs. “Not all of them I’m sure.”
“Definitely all of them.” Carmine runs a tattooed hand through his blonde curls. We're full cousins but you wouldn't be able to tell. My and my siblings all have dark features but my uncle's kids? All three of them, golden hair and blue eyes. Carms is my third. He may not be my blood brother but he's as good as. We grew up together, me, him and Luca.
“You make it sound like a bad thing, don’t get mad because they make you pay.” Luca drawls.
Carms lets out a sordid laugh. “I’ll pay if it means they leave me alone after.”
We pull up out front and Carm chucks the keys to the valet. “Park it round the back, we're gonna be a while” The valet boy hurries towards the car avoiding eye contact with all three of us.
Franco’s already waiting inside by the doors to greet us and lead us past the entry to the main club and upstairs to the office. A bottle of whiskey and a box of cigars sit waiting on the desk. The piece of shit rat on a chair to the side. He stands, holds his hand out towards me. I don't shake his hand because quite frankly, I don't want to touch him.
He doesn't question it. Neither does his father. “Raff tells me profits are up 10% from last month.” I take a swig of the whiskey Franco just poured me. The liquid slides down my throat smoothly and I purse my lips. Yeah, they pulled out all the stops for this meeting. Could bet my last cent the cigars are Cuban.
“We hired someone to handle social media and marketing. It brought in more dancers as well as customers.” He swings his computer screen to show me a graph of some sort.
I nod but don’t glance at it because I have zero interest in engagement and demographics right now but my younger brother loves this shit. Give him an Excel spreadsheet and some lube and he's in for the best night of his life. “Email it to Raff, I want the rest of the clubs to follow suit.”
He nods, pulling the screen back towards himself. “Any updates with the Russians? We haven’t had any issues in a few weeks.” Sounds about right.
“A few weeks, huh?” Luca says his signature twisted smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he stares at Joe.
I cut in before either of them can reply. “They’ve hit our last three gun deliveries, they seem to be aware of the exact time and location of each deal.” I spare a glance at Joe and his jaw is clenched so tight it’s giving me a jaw ache. I slip in some bullshit location for the next drop so when the Bratva inevitably turns up, we get to make them bleed too.
“I hear the deal with the Irish was finalised yesterday?” Franco asks with a hopeful tone.
“It was.”
He throws his hands in the air, a wide smile on his face. “A union between the Irish and The Family for the first time in over 80 years, this calls for a toast. To Enzo and his new bride.” He raises his glass. Joe and Luca follow suit however, Luca has a shit-eating grin on his face because it’ll be me standing at the altar in a few months and not him. Smug motherfucker.
“To finally scrounging the Russian scum from our city,” I add. Usually, the only reason members of The Family marry is for business or politics. It's not a rule, it's just the way it is. Most marriages are to strengthen positions or bonds between families. To be honest, it's a welcome reprieve. Some might say I’m a cynical man but I prefer pragmatic. In any case, an arranged marriage free from any kind of feelings or expectations? Sounds ideal.
The Irish have been our enemies in this city forever, the Morettis and the Murphys have hated each other since both original families came to the city back in the 40s. Our histories have been intertwined with constant battles for territory although the lines have stayed consistent since I took over. The Irish have Harlem and the Upper West Side; The remainder of Manhattan is ours. Not to mention Queens, Brooklyn, The Bronx and Staten Island.
As you can imagine, there’s bad blood on both sides. However, The one thing we do have in common is that we hate the Bratva more. The Bratva have no roots, no history and no real connection to the city. They turned up 20 years ago and decided they wanted a piece. They didn't get shit. This deal with the Murphys has taken years of negotiation on both sides and now I have the pleasure of wifing up the eldest of the Murphy daughters. Lucky me.
