Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“I’ll hand it to you, Marco, your chef knows his business.” Julien Moreau lights a cigarette and takes a drag. That’s high praise, coming from the head of the only French crime organization in the city. His Milieu specializes in heroin and illegal soft cheeses, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard him compliment Italian cooking before.
“Took you long enough to admit you French aren’t the only ones that can cook,” Ronan says, leaning toward the Frenchman with a smirk. He’s the leader of an upstart Irish family that stands in direct opposition to the more powerful Quinns.
“Ah, I can admit it, but only when it’s true.” Julien waves a hand with a shrug. “This is only the first time the chef is worthy.”
Ronan laughs and looks over at where Adam Jankowski, leader of the Polish organization, puffs on his cigar quietly. He’s a big man, with dark hair and dark eyes, and doesn’t talk much. “What do you think, Jankowski? Got any opinions?”
Adam only makes a noncommittal shrug and finishes his glass of vodka. “None at all.”
“The eating is done, and now I think it’s time we speak.” My final guest, Dusan Petrovic, head of the Serbians, sits back in his chair and swirls his glass. He’s watching me with sharp eyes, and if there’s anyone in this room who might cut my throat before this alliance is ratified, it’ll be him. “You called the group here. I assume you don’t only want to talk about food.”
I let the others watch me for a few moments. These four men are some of the most dangerous criminals in the world, and I’m very aware of the tightrope I’m walking with them. I calm my heart and sit up straight before speaking.
“We can bicker about the things that don’t matter,” I say quietly and force the men to lean in closer to hear clearly. “But when it comes to the important things, we’re stronger if our organizations and families work together.”
“And what are the important things, exactly?” Dusan asks. His dark green eyes stare at me and a knowing smile plays on his lips.
“The Bianco Famiglia.” I look from face to face. Julian’s sneering; Ronan’s frowning; Adam looks like he swallowed a bug. Only Dusan’s smirk remains unchanged, but I know he hates them most of all. “They’ve been ruthlessly dismantling anyone who can possibly oppose their power in this city. We’ve all had run-ins with them over the last few years. You’re all aware that they hunted and murdered my former Don, Luciano Santoro, and left his daughter orphaned and alone in the world. I’m rebuilding his network, and slowly, we’re gaining strength. But the moment we’re a blip on the Bianco radar, they’ll bring their full weight down on us.”
More silence. I let the men imagine the parallels to their own situations. I know Dusan’s profitable trafficking scheme was ruined by the Biancos not too long ago. Ronan’s in constant fights with the Quinns, another Irish family that’s deeply connected to the Biancos through marriage. Adam and Julien have both worked around the edges of the Bianco system and have only survived because their gangs remain relatively small, like mine.
But that won’t last forever. Every man in this room is far too ambitious to remain quiet for long, and unsanctioned noise is one thing the Biancos can’t handle.
“That speech gets better every time you give it,” Ronan says at last, which makes all the others chuckle. Some of the tension in the room releases.
“Then I’ll keep giving it until you all agree with me. The Biancos want to be the dominant masters of the Chicago underworld. They want to put us in our places. But I don’t plan on letting them dictate my life.”
“You’re right,” Adam says in a low rumble. All eyes turn to him for a moment, but he doesn’t elaborate. He rarely ever does.
“Say we agree,” Julien says instead, waving his cigarette in the air. “We’ve been discussing and discussing, but in the end, we are all rivals. My dealers fight for space against Ronan’s petty thugs every day.”
Ronan’s smile is sharp and dangerous. “I’d be careful who you’re calling petty, my French friend.”
“Unfortunately, Julien has a point,” I say before they can start bickering again. “We’re at each other’s throats far too often instead of banding together to stand against the real threat. Nobody here will be destroyed by anyone else in this room. It’s going to be the Biancos, and we all know it.”
Ronan sits back, frowning at his hands. Julian seems thoughtful. I look down at my watch: it’s ten after ten. In a little under two hours, I’m meeting up with the enemy. I push that thought away and meet Dusan’s stare.
“How will this work? Do you propose to make the rules? Will you evenly distribute the drug corners like a little Commie dealer?” Dusan shakes his head. “While I am sympathetic to your idea, Marco, I’m skeptical that it can work.”