1. Angelo

Chapter 1

Angelo

I step out of the back gate of the prison that's been my home for the last five years wearing a suit that doesn't fit anymore, and I've never felt so good in my life. Corrections Officer Jackson lingers near the door giving me that hard-ass look he's famous for and checks his watch. "Anyone coming to pick you up, inmate?"

"Not an inmate anymore." I stretch my back and feel the suit jacket strain. I've put on a solid twenty pounds of muscle since going away and this fucking thing can't contain me anymore. "And she'll be here."

"Yeah, and she better be here soon. I got shit to do." Jackson squints at me. "So how long before I see you again, Bianco?"

"Probably sooner than you think." I turn and meet his eye, giving him a big, friendly smile. "Remember, I can find you on the outside now."

CO Jackson's face turns pale and he doesn't say another goddamn word until a black town car pulls up and my sister gets out of the back. At that point, he disappears inside while Elena wraps me in a hug.

"I missed you," she says, squeezing me hard. My older sister looks like she hasn't aged a day. She's always been the heart of the family, the only one in the whole damn group strong enough to keep everything together. She's wearing a silky top and dark slacks with her hair in a perfect twist like she's headed out to a charity function right after grabbing her brother from prison.

I pat her back. "Missed you too, big sis. How's the fam holding up?"

"You know, the usual." She looks tired as she steps back and studies me. "Your hair's short. And I don't love the beard."

I scratch at my scraggly chin. "I'll keep that in mind the next time I get locked up."

She grins and slaps my shoulder. "Good thinking. Now, come on, let's get you home."

We climb into the back seat. One of my brother's guards is behind the wheel, a guy I vaguely recognize but can't place. I have a feeling I'm going to experience this feeling a lot in the coming weeks as I get back up to speed with everyone.

The world doesn't stop when you get locked up. It leaves you behind because it has no other choice. I don't blame my family for living their lives while I languished behind bars, but sometimes, when I'm at my worst, I feel like they should've put everything on hold and waited for me to get out. I know that's selfish and dumb and unrealistic, but I wasn't exactly at my best while wasting away my time surrounded by the dumbest fucking killers and thieves in the entire Chicago area.

We have a half-hour drive back to the oasis. Elena fills it with gossip, mostly stuff I've heard before during one of our many phone calls, and it's like she's trying to catch me up on five years of shit I've missed. That's a whole hell of a lot: Santoro's dead and Dad murdered him, the big war is over, Davide and Simon are both married, Simon's wife had her baby, and Elena got hitched to an Irishman.

The world keeps turning.

"Hey, by the way, can we make a pit stop on the way?" I lean forward and squint at the time. "There's some stuff I want to pick up."

"Don't you want to get back to the oasis? Everyone's anxious to see you."

The oasis. My home. Elena has no idea how desperate I am to take a shower in my own house and to sleep in my own bed, but this is more important.

"This'll just take a second, I promise. Paulie Conti's been holding some stuff I want to grab on the way." I rattle off his address to the driver, who hesitates and glances at Elena in the rearview mirror. I don't love that—five years ago there wasn't a single guard, soldier, or fucking capo that would've looked to someone else for permission to follow my orders.

I've been gone too long.

"Fine, but we have to make it fast. Mom and Dad are anxious to see you. Heck, everyone's excited you're finally back." Elena shakes her head and squeezes my arm. "God, you haven't changed one bit, have you?"

"I'll take that as a compliment. And hey, driver, you got an extra piece I can borrow? Been too long since I carried and I miss the fucking weight."

Elena groans, rolling her eyes, but the driver produces a Smith & Wesson 642, a lovely little snub-nose revolver loaded up with .38 Specials. It's tiny, basically the size of my hand, but it's a reliable little fucker. I cradle the weapon, flip open the chamber, sight it, flip it closed, and shove it into my waistband along with the conceal carry holster. "Beautiful," I murmur, feeling more comfortable already.

"Yep, you haven't changed at all," Elena says and starts talking again about the family, about Davide and his wife, Stefania, and I do my best to listen as the city begins to grow around us.

Chicago, my fucking home. I missed this damn place. The bustle, the noise, the trash in the gutters and the closed-down buildings, the urban decay and the renewal of gentrifying neighborhoods. The joy and the horror, the enormous human crawl of a place packed tight with lives and loves and everything else.

I used to run this place. My crew and I were on top of the world. I was slowly building my reputation as a powerful capo in the Bianco Famiglia and proving myself as someone with more than just an important last name. I had my club, I had my boys, and I had my pick of women. Money was no object, and I was deeply connected into a dozen different schemes and plans, right up until everything got fucked.

They called it a gun charge. But really it was a message to the Chicago underworld: the DA's office didn't give a fuck anymore and were coming for anyone that stepped out of line. I went down, though not as hard as I should have, and I stayed down for five long years.

Until today.

"Mr. Bianco, this is the place." The driver squints at the squalid house as I push open the back door. It's not a great neighborhood, which doesn't surprise me. Paulie never was an ambitious guy.

"Are you sure about this? I can come with you." Elena moves like she's going to follow, but I stop her.

"I need some time to myself, alright, big sis? Just give me ten minutes and I'll be right back." Then I close the door in her face.

Paulie's house has seen better days. The landscaping's going wild and there's green mold growing up the siding. The windows look black from dirt and the shutters are all falling off. But despite everything, it's the same old house Paulie bought with the money from one of our first scores. Maybe not everything changes.

I knock on his door and wait. I like the way the gun feels against my hip. It's barely covered by my suit jacket, but that's good enough. I'm thinking back to the last time I saw Paulie, the night when everything went wrong, and I have a smile on my face when the door opens and he stares at me like he's looking at a ghost.

Paulie put on weight. He's older and it shows. There's a streak of gray in his black hair, cut short right now and slicked to the side. His beard is patchy and barely covers his double chin. He's got new tattoos, mostly ugly fucking things, the sort of shit I never would've let him get if he still worked for me, and he's wearing baggy jeans and a flannel shirt.

"Angelo," he says and takes a step back. He looks like he's staring into the open maw of a hungry monster.

I let myself inside. "Been a while, Paulie." I yank the door closed behind me. Paulie stammers as he shuffles into his living room.

It's messy, but not too bad. A few empty beer cans cover the coffee table. The couch is white and it's seen better days. Fucking Paulie always liked white furniture. I smell something cooking in the kitchen and Paulie's staring at me like he never thought this day would come.

"You alone in here?" I ask him.

He shakes his head. "My girl's in the kitchen. Lucinda. Lucy, I mean, uh?—"

"Bring her in. I want to meet her." I show my teeth. "Now, Paulie."

He turns and jumps toward the kitchen. I glance down the hallway and listen at the steps, but I don't see or hear anyone else. There's some furious whispering then Paulie reappears with a pretty girl, a little heavy but with a good face and dark hair, just how he used to like them. She's chewing gum and frowning at me.

"Say hi to Angelo Bianco," Paulie hisses and shoves her. "Don't be fucking rude."

"Hey," she says and looks back at her man. "Can I go now? Dinner's gonna fucking burn."

"Go ahead," I say, and she walks off, rolling her eyes. "Take a seat, Paulie." I point at the couch. He hesitates, but he listens like he always used to. Good old reliable Paulie. "How are things on the outside? You never visited me when I was doing my time."

"You never called. I didn't know—" Paulie clears his throat. "I should have. I'm sorry I didn't, boss."

"You still in touch with the other guys?"

He shrugs and looks away. "I talk to Vito sometimes. Tommy's got his own thing going at the old club. I dunno about Roc, you know how he was, kept to himself." Paulie clears his throat a second time. "You looking to get the old guys back together?" There's a pathetic hopeful note in his voice.

"No, Paulie. I'm not." I walk over and sit on the coffee table directly in front of him. We're inches apart. Our knees are touching. He looks extremely uncomfortable as I put my hands on his legs and hold him there, not letting him inch away like he wants to, staring straight into his face. I lean in closer, erasing his personal space. "I got questions and I need answers."

He blinks rapidly. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead and I can tell he wants to wipe it away. "Uh, yeah, Angelo, whatever you need. I'm not all that connected these days though. I married Lucy and we've been trying to have a baby and all that shit, and you know, when you went down, I was sidelined."

"I've been thinking about that night a lot. You know what you have a lot of in prison? Fucking time. And I put that time to good use." I reach back with my right hand and draw the revolver. Paulie's eyes go wide as I shove it between his legs, right up against his dick. "Now you're going to tell me some shit or I swear to fucking Christ I will make sure you and Lucy never have that fucking baby."

Paulie nods rapidly. Fear colors every inch of him. I like the way he's cringing back. He knows me better than almost anyone in the world, and he knows that when I say I'm doing something, I'm going to do it.

"Yeah, bro, yeah, I fucking swear, what happened to you, I had no clue that shit was coming, bro. I'm serious, it was fucked, it was?—"

"Who knew where the shipment would be?"

"Tommy. Maybe Roc. I don't know. I knew something was coming but not where. Vito definitely had no clue. Come on, Angelo, you didn't give me fucking anything back then. I just did what I was told."

He's not lying about that. Paulie was reliable, but he's not the brightest guy in the world. Of everyone on my list, he's the least likely to have stabbed me in the back.

"After I went down, who benefited the most? Who's spending big right now?"

"Tommy," Paulie says right away. "He's been running Club Cage. Vito and Roc still work for the Famiglia doing fucking grunt shit, you know how that goes. I've been doing my own thing. I swear, Angelo, I didn't know those fucking Serbian pricks were coming, and the cops?—"

"Shut the fuck up, Paulie. Last question. Did you see anyone on their phone that night?"

Paulie's face twists like he barely understands the question. He shakes his head. "I don't know. Roc maybe. Fuck, man, it was five years ago?—"

"Wrong answer."

I pull the trigger. The revolver cracks and a bullet rips into my old soldier's body, tearing his crotch to steaming, bloody flesh. He screams and doubles over, falling to the side as I get to my feet.

"Oh, fuck, Angelo, fuck, call an ambulance, please?—"

"You know, I almost feel bad about this. I don't think you were involved in all that shit, but here's the problem. I can't be fucking sure. And I want everyone that was there that night to wonder if they're next. It's nothing personal."

His eyes widen. "Angelo?—"

I aim the gun at his head and pull the trigger twice.

Blood and brains stain the white couch pink and red. He twitches a few times, so I shoot him again, just to be sure.

Paulie stops begging.

Lucy appears in the doorway. Her hands come to her mouth and I can tell she's trying not to scream. Horror plays across her face as she looks at me then falls to her knees and starts to babble, begging for her life.

"The Famiglia will provide for you," I tell her as I walk to the door. "My condolences."

The girl breaks down into sobs, doubled over on the floor. I should feel sorry for her, but mostly I think she's got really bad taste in men, and I just did her a fucking favor.

Paulie probably didn't betray me. But probably isn't definitely, and I've had five long years to decide how I want to play this.

Just like I told him, there's nothing but time behind bars, in the fucking cage they threw me, left me to rot, left me to stew on all the shit that went wrong.

I did my time. I kept my mouth shut.

And now I'm going to find the fucker that betrayed me and I'm going to put him in the ground.

Him and everyone that was involved in that night.

Outside, Elena's standing next to the car. The driver's coming around toward me, his weapon pulled. I grin at them and toss him the revolver, which he barely manages to catch, cursing the whole time.

"You probably want to get rid of that," I tell him as I head to the back door. "Wipe it down first."

"What the fuck was that, Angelo?" Elena looks more annoyed than anything. My sister's harder than nails.

"There's a girl in that house. Lucy something, I don't know the last name. Make sure the Famiglia pays her off and takes care of her. She's Paulie's widow."

Elena stares at me and shakes her head. "You haven't changed at all."

My sister is one of the smartest people I've ever met. I respect her opinion more than almost anyone else.

Except she's dead wrong about me.

I've changed more than she knows.

And everyone in this fucking city is about to find out exactly how much.