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Too long. And Papa Bear doesn’t like to be kept waiting.
I guess I’ll have to give this catch to someone else. Well, at least I got a thrill out of it.
“Cain?” Andrea asks.
I stand up. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
~
Papa Bear. That’s what the family calls Alessandro “Orso” Ursini.
I wasn’t the one who came up with the nickname. I don’t know who did. The first time I heard it, I thought it silly. What kind of man would go by the name of a character from a children’s story, by a name kids would probably give their favorite stuffed toy?
But Orso is anything but silly. A little weird, maybe. His favorite red-and-green color combination can be a bit too much sometimes, and he’s the only Italian I know who hates basil. Funny sometimes. He likes to laugh out loud at his own jokes, sometimes for minutes on end. He throws the occasional temper tantrum, too. But childish? Fuzzy? Huggable? Not this bear.
As he enters the room, the massive library of his mansion where the capi have gathered, silence falls. All eyes turn to him as he lumbers toward his velvet chair.
I guess he is like a bear. Not the stuffed kind. A real one. Huge. Hairy. Intimidating. Even though he’s over fifty now, he looks like he could still easily pick up a man and throw him against a wall or rip an animal to pieces with his bare hands, just like he did to a wolverine once, or so I’ve heard.
He sits on his chair, which creaks beneath his weight. As he smokes his cigar, his pale blue eyes survey the room. The rings on his fingers – gold on his pinky and a larger silver one with a black diamond around his index finger – gleam.
Papa Bear. The head of the Ursini family. The godfather. To everyone else here, he’s exactly that – god and father. In this house, in this hall, his word is law.
Vito, his eldest son and spitting image, stands behind him. So does Andrea, his personal bodyguard, Luigi, his consigliere, and Frank, the underboss. And Leo, Orso’s teenage son, who also happens to be my half-brother.
My eyebrows furrow at the last member of Orso’s posse. What the hell is Leo doing here?
Is this why this meeting was called – to introduce Leo, who’s finally participating in family affairs? Yeah. I bet my mother loves the idea.
I don’t think that’s the reason, though. This gathering looks far too serious to be a welcome party. Besides, if it was that, we’d be in the dining hall with wine glasses in our hands and pasta on our plates. No. There’s something more important going on here.
Orso takes a puff from his cigar. “Last week, a friend of mine, Reuben Gellert, had his treasure trove stolen. He shipped over a collection of paintings from his house in Switzerland, which were supposed to be transferred to his new house in Chicago, but the shipment never arrived.”
Of course it didn’t. What was he thinking, shipping a collection worth billions of dollars?
“He’s thought of alerting the authorities, of course, but he bought many of those paintings through us. You know what that means.”
They were obtained illegally. Smuggled. Gellert is even stupider than I thought.
“Never mind the authorities, boss,” Charlie, one of the more outspoken capi – and by outspoken, I mean someone who tries to kiss ass at every opportunity, leccaculo as Andrea would say – pipes in. “We’ll get those paintings back.”
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Orso declares. “Thanks to Frank, we now know that the Esposito family, which we haven’t been on excellent terms with…”
That’s putting it lightly.
“…is behind this and we have information on the locations where the paintings are being held. Tomorrow night, we are going to retrieve them, and at the same time, we are going to teach the Esposito family a lesson.”
So this is war, then.
“It’s about time!” Charlie cheers.
I can tell from the expressions on everyone’s faces that they all agree. Bloodthirsty, all of them.
I remain quiet in my corner as the men in their chairs start to voice out their assents and plans, some in Italian, some in English, all heavy with excitement. They look like children who have just been given a new game to play.
Let them. I’m sure Orso has a different task for me or he wouldn’t have summoned me here.
Right on cue, his gaze pins down mine. He nods and I walk towards him.
If I was any of the other men in this room, I’d be down on one knee in front of him pressing my lips to his ring. If we weren’t in this room, he’d probably be hugging me, like he did when he first found out I’m the son of his wife. As things stand, I simply stand beside Orso and he puts his hand on my arm.
