Chapter 12 MICELI

Candy Shop blasting, I do the last rep in my pull day and deadlift the 500 pound weighted bar bell. Every muscle in my posterior chain burns as my body shifts up, my hips hinging, my grip solid.

The music cuts off in the middle of my favorite line.

"You got enough weight on that thing?" My cousin Salvatore stands in front of me, eyeing the number of 45 pound plates on each side of the barbell.

Sev stands to the side.

"I could do more." Not a lot more, but damned if I'll tell my cousin that.

Doing everything I did to lift it but in reverse, I bring the heavy barbell back to hip level and then let it drop.

The plates clang loudly even though the mats muffle the impact.

"You in the thousand-pound club yet?" my brother asks.

"Like you aren't. When are you going to have our t-shirts made?"

The thousand-pound club is a competition some gyms sponsor, giving their members recognition for lifting a combination that equals 1,000 pounds in squat, bench press and dead lift.

As soon as I learned about it, I challenged my brother and cousin to make it. We've all hit the number and Sev knows it. He's just giving me shit.

"When I start wearing a friendship bracelet instead of a gun." Sev wraps tape around his hand, protecting the cut he made on his palm this morning.

It's an archaic tradition, but it has its power. No way in hell will I break that contract, or allow my little Aphrodite to either .

I saw the speculative look in her green eyes. Even though she signed the prenup just like I did, the Irish princess was plotting before she and her uncle stepped past the threshold to leave.

A mob princess who goes looking for a hookup without her bodyguards has to be watched. And watched over.

I've got that covered.

I stretch, starting with my arms and moving down my body one muscle group at a time. "You two going to lift?"

Sev and Salvatore are both wearing workout gear, but the tension in my brother's shoulders says he's in our home gym for another reason too.

"Yeah. Leave the plates on the bar. Today's a pull day for me too." Salvatore does a few stretches before grabbing a jump rope to warm up his muscles.

Severu does the same and I grab one too. Might as well. Sev's got something on his mind. I can stick around to find out what it is.

He's on our customized rack while Salvatore does bicep curls with dumbbells when he finally starts talking.

Sev does one measured lat pulldown after another. "I went to see Don Caruso after our meeting with Shaughnessy and his niece."

Salvatore pauses, but when my brother doesn't add anything else, he goes back to lifting.

The visit isn't a surprise. Our godfather had a supposed heart attack early this year. Supposed because it's more likely it was a stroke, but the risk of a stroke compromising his mind as well as his body means no one on his medical team is going to admit it.

He doesn't leave his house, citing security concerns. But again, doubtful.

"And?" The jump rope creates an air current as it whizzes over my head and under my feet in quick succession.

"He's a tough bastard." Salvatore sets the dumbbells down and breathes evenly, before doing his next set of reps.

"No argument there," I agree. But I watch my brother.

"He said it's time to start planning for his retirement."

Godfathers retire when they are dead. Which means the prognosis after his recent collapse isn't a good one.

"Is he going to back you?" Sev is young for a godfather, but that's what everyone said when he became the Genovese don.

He proved he could do the job with as much wisdom and ruthlessness as any man twenty years his senior. He is the man our father raised him to be, but even more he is the man he is determined to be.

Sev's features are set in satisfaction. "Yes. "

"Good," Salvatore and I say at the same time.

"What about Henry Caruso?" The godfather's nephew is a potential problem we are going to have to watch.

The Americanization of his good Italian name, Henrico, is only one strike against the asshole.

"He'll be the next Lucchese don, but Caruso doesn't think his nephew is up to the task of being godfather."

"Neither does anyone else." I stop jumping rope and wipe the sweat from my face and neck with a gym towel.

"We need a plan for swaying the other families to vote for you, Sev. The godfather's endorsement will go a long way, but some are so damn hidebound they might as well be in the rhino exhibit at the zoo."

My cousin is not wrong.

"Vegas and Detroit will support you." After wiping down the jump rope with sanitizer, I wind it into a neat coil and put it away.

"Detroit's a maybe," my brother disagrees. "And that still leaves New England, Boston and the other four families in New York."

The godfather is voted on by all the dons in the Cosa Nostra. Although most godfathers have come from New York, they don't always. And there are at least two New York dons who might challenge Sev's run for the position.

Salvatore dries his hands before moving on to his next set of reps. "I've got an idea about how to get leverage and/or good will with the Gambino don and Henry Caruso."

The plan my cousin outlines is a good one. There are five properties in New York state about to come on the market. Two are outside the city, but three are in Five Families territory.

Of course, my sister-in-law, Catalina, noticed the opportunity during her daily information gathering. She's the only one in the family interested in weird shit like I am, but she outdoes me for sheer volume of information processed.

Some of the men think she's part computer. I think she's part witch and a powerful one at that.

Sev pulls his body upward in a TRX row so smoothly, I swear he doesn't even displace air. "Get those properties, Salvatore."