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Chapter 1
FELIX
Iswear,ifyouever want shit to be handled the right way, do it yourself.
They only had one job. Find Bianchi’s underground poker ring and rob that fucker blind; after all, he did steal my patrons.
They were not supposed to let things get out of control and kill three of his men.
Needless to say, after the lengthy, grueling interrogation with my mafiosos, I need to get the fuck away from them to calm my nerves.
One simple job, and they fuck it up.
So here I am at a spot I rarely visit - the most dangerous place to be - The White Rabbit, Chicago’s best-kept secret. An underground bar catering to the most notorious gangsters in the windy city.
Disguised from the public eye, I enter the rickety, tattered wooden door and reach the concealed keypad.
I enter the secret pin for the night and watch as the shelves separate, leading me to a stairway that will take me to the debauchery I crave.
When I enter the White Rabbit, my eyes adjust to the dimmed lighting. The room, as always, smells like Cuban cigars and Italian wine.
A few women walk around half-naked, hoping to pick up the wealthiest clients for the night.
One crosses my path and gently lays her finger on the nape of my neck, gliding it down my torso. I smack her hand away before she even reaches my belly button.
I have many weaknesses, but paying for a woman isn’t one of them. I don’t need to.
I’m Felix fucking Carlisi. Half the Dons want to marry their firstborn daughters off to me, and the other half want me dead for flirting with theirs.
“Felix,” I hear my name from a corner of the speakeasy. A few people look up and notice my presence. Some nod in acknowledgment, some clutch their fists, and others reach for their guns.
But this isn’t where the fights happen.
The White Rabbit has one rule - break a bottle, barred entry forever, and being the only place where most of us can find refuge, we all host our white flags before entering.
“Luca,” I walk over to greet the man with every eye looking my way. “Keep it low, will you? I’ve had a rough day and need a drink ... or two.”
“A bottle?” he laughs, taking me in for a bear hug.
“My men fucked with Bianchi,” I confess.
“Bianchi’s nothing on you,” says Luca. “The cops have a kill-on-site with me. I’m meeting with the commissioner tomorrow to see what we can do.”
“You really did pull one out under them,” I say, shaking my head in disapproval. “Your men fucked up.”
“What can I say? I got rid of those bastards.”
I nod. “Well, sort out your mess. A hit on you is just a pathway for the cops to reign chaos on us all. Lay low, alright?”
“Si, Fratello,” he acknowledges me.
Yes, brother. Our families go way back – what’s the American word for it, frenemies?
I leave and walk to the empty bar while the rest of the mafiosos and drug lords wait for their drinks on their tables.
A woman stands with her back to me, the only one behind the bar. Her long, auburn hair cascades down her back.
I am drawn to her silhouette. Her tiny waist and big ass send an inviting shiver down my spine, and the image of me handling her curves as she’s bent over intrudes my thoughts.
