Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 193(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 193(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
2
RAFFAELE
“I’ll get you the money, I swear,” the greasy little man cowering in front of me whined. “Just give me a couple more days!”
Domenico, my bodyguard and best friend since we were children, dug the tip of his lethally sharp blade a little deeper into Jimmy’s neck, drawing a drop of blood. “Didn’t we already give this weasel an extension?”
Dario, my brother and lieutenant, sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Two weeks, as I recall. Pretty fucking generous.”
Giving people an extension wasn’t unheard of—we were the Mafia, but we weren’t complete monsters. However, the fact that Jimmy still had all his body parts, not even a broken bone or bullet wound, was definitely an exception to the rule. Jimmy was a Dominici, a distant relation to my cousin Nic, who was the boss of the DeLucas. Or the DeLuca Crime Family, as the media called us.
Nic’s great-grandfather had married a Dominici in the 1940s, not only making them relations by marriage but also bringing them into the Family—as we referred to ourselves.
The only names that held more weight in our organization were DeLuca and DeAngelis. Lorenzo DeLuca and Edoardo DeAngelis had been the beginning of our empire when they went into business together in the 1890s, running an underground gambling operation, then moving on to other interests like high-end brothels and gun running. During prohibition, the Family opened several speakeasies in New York, along with the illegal distribution of our own brand of whiskey—which we still produced and sold today. We had many other businesses, but the Dominici family were the ones who integrated the operation that was my specialty.
As a distant relation—not directly to me, though, because I was a product of our great-great-grandfather's second wife—I’d given him a little more leniency than usual. However, being blood by DNA or by oath didn’t mean a free pass if you fucked with the Family.
I’d been silent for most of this exchange, allowing my soldiers to take the lead. My presence alone was a sign that Jimmy should be very, very worried—something that he obviously understood since his eyes kept straying to me with a look of pure terror.
An appropriate reaction considering that when someone warranted a visit from the underboss, or “King of the South” as I was often dubbed, it was very likely that they wouldn’t be breathing for much longer.
It also spoke volumes that I was meeting with him behind a banquet hall where I was attending an event rather than a more private location. But we were on a clock, so meeting in such a public place was necessary.
“Jimmy.” I said his name like a statement, my tone even and without inflection.
At the sound of my voice, what little color was left in his face drained completely.
“While I have every intention of collecting on your debt, that is not the reason you’re here.”
“What else…?” He tried to look confused but withered under my stare and trailed off, his expression betraying his guilt. Then he stammered, “I-I-they-it wasn’t my fault!”
I raised a single eyebrow. “At this point, I don’t give a fuck how it happened, Jimmy. Your participation cut your ties to the Family.”
“I had no choice!”
He shook his head frantically but stopped and gulped hard when Domenico glided the tip of his knife from Jimmy’s throat to his groin.
“Keep lying, fucker,” he urged in a deadly voice. “The more you lie, the longer the boss will let me draw out your punishment.”
Dario and the other two men we’d brought chuckled, but my face remained impassive. My ability to remain unreadable was a huge asset as the head of the southern branches of the Family. I didn’t often have to make threats. I simply let my target’s imaginations run wild, drowning them in their worst fears. It also kept people on edge, making them easier to read.
“They’ll kill me,” Jimmy insisted. The flicker of his eyelids told me more than his words. Whoever “they” were, it was clear he wasn’t as afraid of them as he was of us. Perhaps he wasn’t as stupid as I’d assumed, which made me wonder if we’d underestimated him.
“We’ve already moved the shipment to another port, Jimmy,” Dario informed him. “You—”
I held up my hand to silence Dario, and Domenico also took the hint, backing away from my prey. Then I took three steps forward, closing the distance between Jimmy and myself. Before he could take another breath, the silencer on my Beretta 92FS was pressed against his flesh, directly between his beady eyes.
“This was your operation.” It wasn’t a question. “You used the money you borrowed to finance a crew to rob the Family.”
“You know I ain’t good with that shit, boss.”
It was for moments like this that I carried my gun with “condition three.” Having a loaded magazine with an empty chamber added a layer of safety, but mostly, I enjoyed the target’s reaction to the menacing click-clack of the slide being racked. It was an unmistakable and chilling indication that my next action would be pulling the trigger.