Chapter Twelve

Bradley Gray

Hell's Kitchen, Manhattan, New York…

The bustling restaurant was a symphony of clanging pots, sizzling pans, and the occasional outburst from the infamous Chef Gordon Ramsey. The dining area was a chic blend of industrial design and modern elegance, with exposed brick walls, sleek metal accents, and soft, warm lighting that created an intimate atmosphere amid the chaos of the kitchen.

Diners buzzed with excitement, their eyes darting between their plates and the open kitchen, eagerly awaiting the next dramatic moment. The air was filled with the aroma of savory dishes and the hum of animated conversations, punctuated by the occasional gasp or cheer as Chef Ramsey delivered his trademark critiques.

Amid the lively scene, two men sat at a table, engaged in a conversation that seemed out of place in the vibrant surroundings.

"Why you wanted us to meet here, I"ll never understand." Bradley Gray, a distinguished gentleman in his mid-fifties, exuded an air of sophistication and power. His tailored suit and perfectly coiffed salt-and-pepper hair spoke of his status and influence, yet his eyes sparked with annoyance. "We have serious matters to discuss, not listen to Gordon Ramsey curse and scream at cooking competition chefs." Bradley made no secret of his irritation, but he had no choice but to sit across from the snow-white-haired man known as Iceman, one of the front bosses of the Genolere Mafia.

Iceman grinned, his eyes glinting with amusement. "It seems to me it's the perfect cover, Mr. Gray. No one will bother us or pay attention to what we say since everyone's attention is riveted to the cooking area. All show and glamour, just as you like it."

Bradley looked around, finally noticing the cameras for the first time. An engaging smile immediately formed on his lips as one of the cameramen moved around the dining area, filming. As usual, he primped for the show. If there was one thing Bradley Gray couldn't resist, it was free publicity.

"Why am I once again meeting with a front boss and not the real McCoy? I'm tired of pussy footing around. I thought we came to an agreement at our last meeting?" Bradley chucked down the complimentary champagne handed out at entry. His frustration was evident in the set of his jaw.

"You, of all people, should know that Don Lombardo never appears in public, especially at a place like this where his identity could be compromised."

Bradley gave Iceman a deadeye stare. "Other than me, you mean? I have more to lose than him, Angelo."

"Iceman," he said in a clipped voice.

"In public, it's Angelo Grecco. At least that way, no one could accuse me of publicly whoring with criminals." His eyebrows drew into a straight line. "Or did you happen to forget who and what I am? More importantly, what I aim to become."

"Oh, you make it difficult to forget, Mr. Gray."

"I'm tired of your holier-than-thou attitude. You know as well as Lombardo does what benefits I would bring to the organization."

"About that," Iceman said as he took a leisurely sip of his drink. The amber liquid swirled in the glass as he replaced it on the table. Bradley felt his mouth water as the aroma of a single-malt Irish whiskey wafted to his nostrils. "Why are you so interested in forming a bigger coalition than you already have with the Genolere Family? What are you really after?"

Bradley lifted his hand to draw the attention of the server. A young man dressed in a crisp black suit and tie appeared by his side.

"Yes, sir?"

"Bring me one of those, please." He pointed to Iceman's glass.

"Right away, sir."

With fingers tapping the rhythm of the jazz music playing in the background, Bradley stared at his nemesis. He had taken a huge leap of faith when he approached Giovanni ‘The Viper' Lombardo through the dark web. As the owner of one of the most lucrative and biggest private banks in the United States, he had contacts very few people had. Finding out that Lombardo had a private account at his Manhattan branch had been the best piece of information he ever uncovered. Bradley had dreams of grandeur from a young age. Born of money, he had never wanted for anything. Wealth and luxury were the only ways he knew how to live. Some, who were in the same boat, were humble. They shared and paid forward to those in need.

Bradley Gray wasn't one of them. Spoiling him and paving his way with money and unwarranted praise awakened the dark desire for more money, for power that would make him the king… feared and revered. Trust and respect weren't what he was after. In his position, he expected it from everyone he dealt with. Those who spurned him learned the hard way the control he held.

Imagine waking up and finding your bank accounts were all empty, that you didn't have a job anymore, that your social security number had been voided… that you, in the eyes of the government and the world around you, did not exist. That was the kind of man Bradley Gray had become.

No one ever opposed him. Now, he was after more power and an untapped income stream that would never dry out.

To become the leader of the biggest of the Five Mafia Families in the U.S.—The Genolere Group. All he needed to do was get rid of the current top dog, Giovanni Lombardo.

Setting up Jax Crowthorne, the biggest and wealthiest property developer across the States, was the first step. As a man who always walked the straight and narrow, he was the perfect puppet to set up to lure Don Lombardo out of his lair.

"What am I really after, you ask?" He returned his attention to Iceman.

His long ash-white hair was tied in a ponytail. As always, he was dressed in a crisp, slim-fit black Giorgio Armani silk and wool suit, white silk shirt with collar bar, black silk tie and scarf, sterling silver cufflinks, and black Oxford shoes. He could be pulled through the eye of a needle—he was that perfectly groomed. Bradley felt undistinguished, sitting opposite him.

"You'll find I'm not as easily fooled as Don Lombardo. You might have made an impression on him as the rich owner of statewide Investlink Bank, but I pick up on the small things. Like that glitter in your eye whenever you mention his name. You're after more than making a cut in white-collar dealings you fund through your bank. So… are you going to tell me, or should I guess?"

"It seems we are at odds end, Mr. Grecco. You obviously don't trust me, so I see no reason why you even bothered to meet with me. I made it abundantly clear to Lombardo what I expect the outcome of this meeting to be. You are wasting my time."

"Time is never wasted, Mr. Gray. It passes, yes, but every minute of every day is a treasure. My purpose is not only to ensure Don Lombardo is kept safe but also to verify every deal that we as an organization make adds value, not only to our cash coffers but also to every member in the family." He leaned forward and growled through clenched teeth. "We don't deal with two-timers, Mr. Gray. Are you out to fuck us over?"

"Do you think I'm stupid? I know how powerful the Genolere Family is, Angelo. Ah, finally," Bradley said as the server returned with his whiskey, placing it on the table with a quiet clink. Bradley lifted the glass to his lips, savoring the rich, smoky aroma before taking a sip. The liquid burned his throat, but he welcomed the sensation, using it to steel his nerves.

"I suggest you don't forget that, Mr. Gray. It would be a shame if you had to stand next to your wife's or son's grave before Christmas."

Bradley turned to stone. Regardless of his desire to be all-powerful, one thing was indisputable. He was a loving and good husband and father. Having his family threatened didn't sit well with him.

"I suggest you settle the fuck down, Iceman. Leave my family alone. You and the Genolere Family's business is with me and me alone."

"You're even more naive than I imagined. Once you step over the line into our world, Mr. Gray, you bring everyone who means anything to you along with you. They become leverage… our leverage. I suggest you don't forget that."

The power shift wasn't subtle. It was delivered like a slap in Bradley's face. For a moment, he was dumbstruck that Iceman had the audacity to act like he was the boss. Then determination pushed through. A Gray never relinquished their position. Angelo Grecco was nothing other than a front boss. He wasn't the one who held the power. Giovanni Lombardo did.

Iceman leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he studied Bradley's face. Bradley stiffened as a smirk played at the corners of his mouth, hinting at his amusement with the situation.

"You're an ambitious man, Mr. Gray. I'll give you that. But ambition can be a dangerous thing in our line of work."

Bradley's jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around the whiskey tumbler.

"Ambition is what drives progress, Angelo. Without it, we'd be stuck in the same old patterns, never reaching our full potential."

"And what, exactly, is your full potential?" Iceman asked, his voice low and measured. "You're already a powerful man with connections that reach far beyond the scope of our humble organization. I ask again, what more could you possibly want?"

"Your organization is anything but humble, Angelo, and you know it. Me? I want to be untouchable," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to be more than the owner of a private bank or the mayor of the city. I want to be the man who pulls the strings of the bastards who bank with me, who makes the decisions that shape the economy of this city. And I can't do that without the backing of the Genolere Family."

Iceman chuckled, shaking his head. "You're playing a dangerous game, Mr. Gray. Don Lombardo isn't a man to be trifled with. If he suspects that you're trying to usurp his power…" The words drifting off were deliberate, a show of the dangerous territory Bradley dared step into.

"I'm not trying to usurp anything," Bradley responded with eyes flashing angrily. "I'm offering an opportunity for growth, for expansion. The Genolere Family has been stagnant for too long, content with their little corner of one state while the entire U.S. winks. It's time to think bigger."

"I'll relay your message to Don Lombardo." Iceman smirked, indicating he wasn't impressed by Bradley's show of self-confidence. "But don't expect too much. He's been in the business a long time and is a cautious man. One who doesn't take kindly to outsiders telling him how to run his business."

Bradley drained his glass, setting it back on the table with a decisive thud.

"He'd be a fool not to grasp the benefits of a partnership with me, Angelo. I have resources that could take the Genolere Family to new heights. It's in everyone"s best interest to work together."

Iceman nodded, a sly grin spreading across his face. "I'll do my best, Mr. Gray, but remember, in this world, there are no guarantees. Only opportunities and the risks that come with them."

"Thanks for the reminder, Angelo. Now, I am done wasting my time." Chucking the rest of the drink down his throat, he got up. "I am ready to pave the way to the top of the white-collar business leaders. If Giovanni Lombardo wishes to proceed in a partnership with me, I'm open to discussion… with him, no one else. Until then, don't bother contacting me again."

Moments later, Bradley stepped out of the restaurant. The chill of the night air hit him like a blast from a freezer. The bustling sounds of the city seemed muffled, distant, as if he were walking through a dream. His heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm echoing in his ears like a drumbeat of fear.

Glancing over his shoulder, he half-expected to see the barrel of a gun pointed at his back. The shadows seemed to twist and writhe, taking on menacing shapes that lurked just beyond the edge of his vision. Every sound, every footstep, every distant car horn made him flinch as his nerves stretched to the breaking point.

The short distance to his car felt like miles, and each step was a struggle against the weight of his own dread. His hand shook as he reached for the door handle. Fingers slick with sweat despite the chill in the air, he only managed to open the door on the second try. With rubbery legs, he slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut behind him, immediately locking it with a decisive click.

For a moment, he sat there with his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles turned white. He closed his eyes and forced himself to take deep, steadying breaths. The air inside the car felt stale, suffocating, as if the very atmosphere was conspiring against him.

When he finally turned the key in the ignition, the engine roared to life and shattered the eerie silence that had settled over the street. He threw the car into gear and peeled out of the parking spot with the tires screeching against the asphalt.

As he sped through the darkened streets, the city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of color, and the buildings loomed overhead like towering monoliths. The chill of the night seeping into his bones was a physical manifestation of the icy fear that gripped his heart.

He knew that his meeting with Iceman was only the beginning, a prelude to the true test that lay ahead. Don Giovanni Lombardo was not a man to be trifled with, and Bradley's bold proposal was sure to incur his wrath. The thought made his stomach churn, and bile rose in the back of his throat.

As he raced through the night, Bradley Gray knew that his fate was sealed. It was too late to turn back now. He had thrown the dice, and now he could only wait to see where they fell, no matter the cost. The fear that gripped him was a small price to pay for the power he sought and the influence he craved. The darkness closed in around him with a suffocating embrace that threatened to swallow him whole.

"Fuck that. I'm not backing down." He would face whatever lay ahead with the same steely resolve that had brought him this far.

"Now, it's time for Ms. Wicked Bitch to start earning her keep. Nothing and no one is going to stand in my way. Jax Crowthorne messed with the wrong candidate for mayor." He cackled out a laugh, which he swallowed within seconds. His voice returned to normal. "Call W Bitch."

"Calling W Bitch."

Annoyance colored his expression black as the call went to voicemail. The message he left was short and to the point.

"Ms. Bitch, I need a progress report. Wednesday afternoon at two. Make sure you're available to take my call."

By then, the information and virtual trail his personal hacker had built to set up Jax Crowthorne as an associate of the Genolere Mafia would be up and running. Either Wicked Bitch played ball, or she would be kicked to damnation, along with Angelo Gecco.