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Inside, the air is filled with heavy cigar smoke, making it hard to breathe. The light from the fixture above the big round table illuminates the forms of four men seated around it, playing poker. I take a few steps into the room, and the one facing me looks up from his cards and leans back while a smug smile pulls at his lips. I take an involuntary step back. It’s one of the capos. Rocco Pisano.
“We’re done for tonight,” he says and throws his cards in the middle of the table.
The other three men stand up, their chairs scraping against the floor as they rise, and collect their belongings. None of them meet my gaze as they pass me and leave the room. The door closes behind them with a soft click, but I flinch from how ominous that small sound feels.
“You sent for me, Mr. Pisano,” I choke out, trying to maintain eye contact without cowering. I don’t like the way he looks at me—like a cat who just got an unexpected treat.
“I did.” Rocco reaches for his drink and leans back in his chair, observing my drenched clothes. “There’s a debt that needs to be settled.”
A sinking feeling takes hold in the pit of my stomach. “A debt?”
“Yes.” He smiles and shifts his gaze to something behind me. “Isn’t that right, Vitto?”
I swivel around, and a strangled cry leaves my lips when my eyes fall on the curled body in the corner. My brother looks up, his face is smeared with blood, and one of his eyes is swollen shut.
“Oh my God.” I take a step toward him but the sound of a palm hitting the table stops me midstep.
“Come here, or I’m going to finish what I started!” Rocco roars.
I swallow the bile and make myself turn around to face the capo. Rocco nods toward the chair across from him and watches as I approach on shaky legs.
“Sit,” he snaps.
I drop down onto the chair and clasp my hands on my lap. I don’t know what’s going on or what the hell my brother is doing here, but I know it’s bad.
Rocco takes a drag of his cigar and blows the smoke in my face. “Vitto here thought he could play poker with the big fish. He came in earlier tonight, waving a stack of money, asking to be allowed into the game.”
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to stop the tears from falling. My father’s death hit my brother hard, and Vitto’s been causing problems ever since. Bad company. Stealing. Even selling marijuana. But I never expected he’d be crazy enough to come to a Cosa Nostra place to gamble.
“He’s only fifteen,” I whisper.
“The boy needs a lesson. He’s old enough to be held responsible for his words and actions.” Rocco smirks. “And old enough to pay.”
“How much does he owe you?”
“The four grand he brought was just enough for the initial deposit.”
Four grand. I wring my fingers. There is only one place where my brother could have gotten that money. The old cookie tin that’s under my bed. I’ve been working since high school to save money for college. Most of it went to cover the medicine when my father got sick, but I managed to save up about four grand in the last year.
“I’ll visit the bank and see if I can get a loan,” I say. “We’ll return every cent Vitto owes you, but please let my brother go.”
“I doubt any bank would give you a loan big enough to cover the amount your brother owes me. So, Vitto and I came to an agreement, one that will benefit us both. I will forget about the money and won’t kill him.” He blows the smoke into my face again. “And I will take you as repayment.”
Chapter 2
Present day
The snow crunches under the tires as I park my car in the driveway of a huge gray stone mansion. It’s almost six in the evening, but that’s the time I was ordered to report for duty. I turn off the ignition and lean back in my seat, regarding the house through the windshield. Given the location and the size of the surrounding property, it’s probably worth five or six million, but it’s smaller than I expected. Only two floors.
It’s a beautiful home.
And it’ll burn magnificently.
I exit the car and head toward the wide stone steps leading to the stained wood double front doors. Earlier, as I drove in, I noticed two guards at the gate. At least three more are positioned on the outside of the high perimeter wall that surrounds the property, but there are none at the front entrance or anywhere around the house. From what I’ve gathered, my new employer doesn’t allow anyone from his security team close to the house. That’s most likely the reason why every inch of the estate grounds surrounding the house is monitored by cameras.
As I set my foot on the first stone step, the front door opens, revealing a man in a light-gray three-piece suit. The yellowish light from the hall beyond illuminates his tall, lanky form as he stands before me with a smug expression on his face. Rocco Pisano. A capo in the New York crime family.
“Zanetti,” he says as he motions for me to follow him. “I’ll brief you in my office. It’ll have to be quick. We have to be at the theater in two hours.”
