Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Vittorio

It is a strange thing to be home. No. That isn't actually strange. What is strange to me is realizing this no longer feels like home to me. Oh, certainly, there are aspects of this place that are home. The food is far more what I want than on the West Coast. Garrett often makes spaghetti and meatballs at the Company 417 Firehouse, and it isn't bad.

But once a month, I make Sunday gravy just so my brothers there know how Italian pasta is supposed to taste.

Although I can find some Italian pastries back home, it takes a great deal more work than it should. I can find any pastries, cookies, or cakes I want here. I can also find authentic spumoni, real amaretti cookies, and plenty of home-distilled liqueurs you can't get in a liquor store anywhere.

And I can get actual sandwiches. I mean, not the crap people call sandwiches. Real sandwiches with real flavor. I haven't found anywhere back home for that. Sandwiches like the ones Tony Giardia makes at Sangwich Junction. I'm here now in line. There are six people ahead of me and it's not even lunchtime yet so that ought to tell you how damned good the sandwiches are.

I love my family and I love the neighborhood.

But I'm not Tor, here. Not like I am back in my new home. I'm Vittorio Leoni, Andreas Leoni's son. Andreas Leoni. The boss. When he took over the family business from my grandfather, he had a plan to make the family business entirely legitimate. It hasn't happened. He did divest us from drugs and dramatically reduced the violence in our operations but the Leoni's don't operate legally.

He raised me to take over. He still thinks I will, that someday he'll retire and I'll take over. He tells me often that I'm the one who can complete the transition to legal enterprise. I have no intention of taking over anything that isn't legitimate already.

But intentions change for a family like mine once the circumstances change. Dad is healthy but he's also getting up there, you know. He had me in his thirties. He's seventy-two. Even though we live longer lives than pure humans, he'll still need to step down sometime in the next six to eight years because we don't want humans to think about our lifespans. If he has no protégé in whom he's confident, he'll ask me to take over again.

And I'll very likely agree just to prevent the family from backtracking and further entrenching the illegal aspect of things. The legitimization of the organization is complicated and difficult. To an extent, it means handing over aspects of the business to others and if someone believes they were excluded from the spoils, there can be conflict.

In our case, conflict means death more often than not. Well, conflict for everyone but death for those who aren't my relatives. Not for us, for the most part. It's difficult to kill a shifter. That's what we are, lions. There are many stereotypes in the world of shifters and we haven't gotten around to thinking in terms of political correctness to change that.

Lions are the administrators, the organizers. Tigers are the aristocrats. Wolves are the overly passionate barbarians. Bears are the solitary grumps. I can go on. Horses are fucking crazy idiots who can't stand still.

Dragons are aloof and that's all we really know because just as shifters only revealed themselves to humanity about three decades ago, dragons only revealed themselves to other shifters shortly before that. They live for hundreds of years, maybe thousands. So, they're naturally aloof. Lions average a hundred and twenty-five or so.

None of that is very important at the moment. Getting sidetracked is easy when I don't want to think about what I'm thinking about. I don't want to think about my father asking me to take over. "Mr. Leoni!" Bobby Giardia says, drawing me from my thoughts. "You don't have to wait in line here! You should come to the front."

I shake my head and say, "I don't mind waiting at all. You're working here for your grandfather now?"

He nods. "In between classes. I thought you were in California. Are you back?"

"Just a visit."

Bobby nods. "Well, it's good to see you. Things haven't changed much here, huh?"

I think of Isabella and shrug. "Oh, I don't know. It always feels different when you come back home, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get you. To be honest, I wouldn't mind getting to try something new, but, eh." Bobby shakes his head. Like me, he knows about family obligations. "Anyway, what can I get you?"

I order a pepper and egg sandwich, and step to the side for the next person in line. I watch the shop for a bit, the bustle and the faces I know and don't know. I smell the familiar smells and, suddenly, my run-in with Isabella is front and center again.

I've known her for a long time, and I always thought she was special. She's about nine years younger than me, so when her father would bring her to our house, I had to deal with a little kid tagging around after me. I didn't mind, though. Bella was always an energetic, sweet, and fun kid.

Today, though, she was so grown and beautiful. I just can't stop thinking about how much she has changed. It makes me happy and sad all at once, you know?

"Here you go, Mr. Leoni." He hands me my sandwich and, when I try to pay, just waves my hand away. "My Nonno would kill me if I took your money."

I'm not going to change his mind but I get a little victory when I say, "Call me Vittorio, though. My father is Mr. Leoni."

He nods with a smile. "Go enjoy your sandwich, and I hope I see you later, man."

I thank him and don't bother to argue because he's right. A lot of the shop owners in the community will give me special treatment because of my father. When you're the mob boss's son, you have to get used to the attention and the special treatment.

Not getting that treatment is one of the perks about living all the way in California. I'm only a firefighter out there. A simple guy just working and paying bills like everyone else.I don't like California any more than any other place but being a normal person and not the son of royalty, so to speak, feels very good.

But damn, I really do miss this food!

My first bite of the sandwich sends me right back in time when I used to hang out here after school, trying to look cooler than I was. Really, I loved the people and the food.

I finish off my sandwich in record time and decide to go check out the old convenience store two blocks over. It was where I tried a fake ID to get some beer for a party, and, of course, stupidly forgot that everyone knows who the hell Vittorio Leoni is, and that I wasn't suddenly a guy from upstate named Ray Mars.It didn't matter. They sold me the beer.

I step in and see that, like the Sangwich Junction, the place is now being run by a younger generation, the owner's son, Paolo Caproni. We all call him Paulie, though. I walk through the aisles and find my favorite candy, torroncini . Another thing I've missed.

I catch Paulie's eye on me, and I wave. "Hey there, Paulie."

He gives me a big toothy grin. "Vittorio, hey, back to stay? Do I call you godfather yet?"

Our conversation mirrors the one I had with Bobby. He's taken over the family business and, no, I'm not planning to take over the family business or stay in town that long. "Just missing home a bit and had some time off."

He shakes his head. "I wish I could take some time off. This place is a nightmare I don't know how to wake up from." He laughs, but I can't help thinking he's telling the truth.

"Well, let me take some candy from this nightmare and see how I feel."

And again, my money is no good. "Anything for Don Leoni's son, and my old friend, eh?"

I thank him and hurry outside. I'm suddenly not feeling as nostalgic.

I head back to my car and drive home. I keep thinking about Bobby and Paulie and I think about how the family business gets everyone. Paulie and I used to hang out and get into a lot of trouble back in the day. Now, well, it's different.

And it pisses me off.

I pull into my family home, where I'm staying, but thankfully in the guest house. I hope and pray my father hasn't noticed me drive past. I really need to think.

Today has felt wonderful and not so wonderful, but there was a highlight. I think of Bella again and I smile like a fool. "She has definitely lived up to her name."

Isabella, Bella, the bell of the ball. I go back to her time and again the rest of that day.

When I left home, she was eighteen and I could finally see her as a woman and not a girl. Maybe I did. Maybe I've noticed it on my visits.

Maybe the food isn't the only thing I've missed since being away from home.