6. Marcello

Marcello

PRESENT DAY

T he elderly man in front of me takes a long drag from his cheroot, the smoke swirling around his head like a gray halo. I raise an eyebrow at him, intrigued by his boldness.

"You're not what I expected," he finally speaks, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"And what exactly did you expect?" I ask, curious to hear his answer.

"A coward," he states matter-of-factly, a sly smile creeping onto his face, revealing yellowed teeth.

I can't help but feel a twinge of amusement at his response. "What makes you think I'm not one?"

"You're here," he gestures towards me with his cigar, "unarmed and without an army of bodyguards." He continues to grin at me.

"Should I have brought some?" I play along, taking on a more serious tone.

"Perhaps," he chuckles, taking another leisurely draw from his cheroot. He then motions for me to take a seat in front of him.

"Call me Francesco," he introduces himself with a polite nod. I oblige and take the chair across from him, wondering what kind of game this old man is playing.

Francesco had been my brother's underboss and trusted right hand. And he was among the only ones to join the ranks after father's death. I'd read the report. Valentino had helped Francesco and his family, bringing them from Italy to the States and promising a better future for his children.

Francesco had sworn fealty to my brother and had quickly climbed the ranks to become a most trusted asset. After a week at the Lastra house, I'd realized that things were more dire than I'd expected. The finances were a mess, and over the years someone had been siphoning money from almost all accounts. Valentino, in his quest for revenge, hadn't seemed to care that much to keep up with the business.

His sole focus had been Jimenez.

I'd immediately guessed that the problem lies with father's men. Aside from Francesco and the young soldiers, all the important men in the famiglia were among father's inner circle. Which is also why I'd come to meet Francesco. If I want to make a change within the famiglia, it has to start from the inside.

Francesco's sharp gaze meets mine as I slide the stack of papers across the table. The evidence of irregular activity is neatly compiled, every detail meticulously researched and documented.

"I think you know why I'm here," I say, my voice firm and steady. Francesco takes his time perusing the sheets, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"So?" he finally says after placing the papers back on the table.

"I thought you might have some insight," I reply calmly.

He scowls at me, clearly irritated by my assumption.

"And why did you think that?" he challenges.

"Because I've been told that you don't play well with others," I respond, not backing down. Francesco regards me silently for a moment before speaking again.

"And who told you that?" His tone is accusatory.

"I can't reveal my sources," I shrug, knowing that much of the information came from Vlad, a questionable ally. His relationship with Valentino had been closer than anyone realized, but Vlad's motives were never clear. He likes to manipulate and toy with people, giving them bits and pieces of information but never the whole truth.

But I'll take what I can get. My goal is simple: gain power within the famiglia, solve the ongoing shipment crisis, and eliminate any traitors or corrupt members. It sounds straightforward, but dealing with old-school mafia men is anything but easy.

These are hardened gangsters who have weathered decades of violence and betrayal from both enemies and law enforcement. I know that approaching this situation recklessly will only lead to disaster. That's why my first step is finding allies I can trust.

"Things are going to change," I state firmly. Francesco's lips curl into a snort of disbelief.

"Change?" he scoffs, taking a long drag from his cheroot. "You think your brother didn't try that?"

"Not enough," I reply calmly. "I won't pretend to know the full extent of how Tino ran things around here, since I wasn't privy to it at the time. But what I do know is what those reports are telling me. The business is on the brink of collapse, and factions have formed within the famiglia. Factions that would love nothing more than to see me fall from my position now," I pause, letting my words sink in.

Francesco grunts, studying me through narrowed eyes before exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Valentino couldn't achieve what you're hinting at in ten years. What makes you think you can do it now?"

"My brother had distractions," I state firmly. "Romina's death weighed heavily on his shoulders and he was not fully focused on the famiglia. But I am." I lean forward, locking gazes with Francesco.

"And more importantly, I have something that Tino did not."

His eyebrows furrow in curiosity as he takes another drag from his cheroot.

"What's that?" he asks cautiously.

"Knowledge about the inner circle," I say cryptically. "And enough disdain for their kind that I will not fail. The question is... will you join me?"

"What makes you think I'm not with them?" His eyes study me closely, but my face gives nothing away. Father may have been a monster, but he trained me well.

"You're not." I push forward another document. He picks it up and frowns at the contents.

"This..." His voice is full of disbelief.

"Your son is free to do as he pleases now," I explain. Nicolo and his associates had been trying to get blackmail material on Francesco for a long time. He thought he'd finally succeeded when Francesco's teenage son had been caught by the police in a stabbing gone wrong.

"But how?"

"I'm a lawyer. I also worked with the D.A. Your son's case was fabricated. It was just a matter of untangling the web of evidence."

I can already tell I have him. I stand up to leave, but not before I hear him say,

"Grazie, capo."

I nod and take my leave.

One ally.

It's a start.

The preparations were in full swing for the highly anticipated meeting with the famiglia. I had spared no expense in planning an ostentatious banquet to mark the beginning of my leadership. As much as I despised being in this position, I knew that maintaining control and respect within the famiglia required certain actions.

In this world, respect was earned through fear. And for now, that was enough.

I admire the opulent hall before me, all previous worries wiped from my mind. Amelia's gasp as she enters echoes through the grand ballroom, her hand flying to her mouth in awe.

"Now, Amelia," I raise a finger to silence her. "Please escort our esteemed guests to the drawing room. Once the attendance list is complete, they may be led here."

Her face drains of color, but she nods slowly nonetheless.

Nearly an hour later, the doors to the ballroom swing open. Leaning casually against the wall, champagne flute in hand, I watch as each man comes in wearing their finest tuxedos.

The first group stops dead in their tracks at the sight before them, some swallowing nervously before cautiously moving forward. This pattern repeats until all have arrived and taken their place inside the grand hall.

The dimly lit room fills with the aroma of costly cigars and aged whiskey as I stand tall and proud, my glass raised in a toast.

"Good evening, gentlemen!" I declare, tipping my head to acknowledge their presence.

My uncle Nicolo steps forward, his eyes narrowing as he surveys the scene before him. "What's the meaning of this?" he demands.

With a smirk, I gesture towards the north-facing wall where my gift to the famiglia is on display. The men's gazes all follow my gesture, absorbing the gruesome carnage depicted on the wall. Rows of decapitated human heads are nailed to the wood, forming a T-shaped junction at the center. It's a chilling sight, one that I've meticulously planned and executed. Despite its horror, a sense of satisfaction washes over me.

Six heads adorn the wall, representing six men who have betrayed our famiglia. They thought they were above the code of omerta, but they were wrong. Traitors deserve no mercy in our world. As I look around at faces of my fellow made men, I know they understand what that T symbolizes—betrayal.

It has been difficult obtaining evidence against these six men, but I have succeeded. When they refuse to give up any further names under torture, there's no choice left but to end their lives. Some may view it as a pity that they don't break under pressure, but not me.

Now my job becomes even more challenging as I work to root out any other traitors among us. But now there can be no doubt that I'm not playing games.

"Please, everyone, take a seat."

There are three rows of tables in the room, all of them carefully prepared in advance. They also have name tags. This isn't only a show of strength; it's also a study. By seating them strategically, I can observe the interactions between different members. It should be fun.

There is some shuffling as the men search for their names on the chairs, but shortly everyone is seated.

"In front of you, you will find evidence of the crimes committed by the traitors. This is my gift to you all. As the new capo, I can promise that there will be no rotten apples. In fact, the lucky six are only the first in a long list of people who have been exploiting the resources of the famiglia for their own gain."

"So where are the rest, then? You don't know who they are, do you?" A portly man laughs at the end of the table. I give him a sharp look, followed by a smile.

"Oh, I do... I really do." And as I say this, I let my gaze roam around the room, sparing a glance at every individual. "But I'm just waiting."

"For what?" My uncle barks.

"For them to trip."

People are already uneasy. It helps that the room is filled with hidden cameras. Body language will be telling.

"But enough of the morbid talk," I continue. "Let us enjoy a peaceful dinner before talking business."

At my signal, select staff enter the ballroom with the first course and start serving the tables.

Small talk ensues. From my spot at the top of the table, I observe.

Some men keep glancing at the decapitated heads. Others try very hard not to. But then there are those that are completely unbothered by the bloody mess on the wall, and I know it's those I need to look out for.

Starting with my uncle Nicolo. Because of his position as Consigliere—a position that unfortunately he still holds—he is seated next to me.

"I must confess it was unexpected that you took the leadership," Nicolo starts. I tilt my head and, looking wholly unbothered, I answer.

"I would assume so, given that you expected the role to go to you." I smile. He does the same. Both our mouths are straining to portray the opposite of what we're feeling.

"It was a natural assumption... with you leaving the famiglia. Do you really think they will accept you? You've shown yourself unreliable before. Maybe you didn't precisely betray the famiglia, but you left it."

"And now I'm back."

He laughs.

"You think this little stunt of yours will get you anything? Sure, the cowards are going to recoil in fear, but is that what you want?"

"No... I want to do a clean-up. It's simple. In order for the famiglia to thrive, we need some rules."

"And you're the one to make them?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Not for long."

Nicolo challenges me with his gaze, and I don't back down.

"Hmm... I wonder. Maybe we should keep this conversation for after dinner. I'm sure others will be interested in what I have to say..." I trail off, and I watch my uncle grimace.

He's right in one aspect: I don't really care for cowards. But usually, a coward is also a traitor by extension. The severed heads were just the appetizer; a small reminder that I too am a made man. After dinner, I must remind them that that is not all I am.

Nicolo switches his focus to the other people at his side, and our conversation is dropped. At least one thing's clear now. He is after power, and he thinks he is entitled to it.

The courses come and go, and the men become more relaxed. Maybe it's also because alcohol flows freely.

It's soon time to discuss business, and where better than in the basement? The men are reticent when they hear the destination, but already ruddy from alcohol, they bring their cigars and we move the party to the basement.

They probably expect yet another bloody crime scene, but I already cleaned that up when I had some people dispose of the headless bodies.

The basement is split into a few chambers, the biggest one almost the size of the ballroom. I'd arranged for it to be decorated for a loyalty ceremony. We need to make this thing official.

There are two guards standing at the end of the room, where I promptly take my place. Francesco is already there, and he gives me a nod of approval.

"Gentlemen, shall we begin?" I ask as I take a seat in front of them. I give Francesco a look, and he takes the floor.

"Before we discuss anything of importance, every one of you will be required to swear loyalty to Marcello Lastra as your new capo. I'm sure you were already expecting this." He looks around at the myriad of faces. Some men scoff, others seem rather interested, while others emanate pure malice.

Nicolo is the one who steps forward and, as expected, states his challenge.

"How can we trust a kid," he sneers. "Especially one that left the famiglia behind. He may be the direct heir, but how can we trust that he won't bail again?"

There's a lot of hushed tones discussing; some in agreement, some raising questions.

"Are you saying you are better fit, uncle? " I look him straight in his eyes and he tips his head back in arrogance.

"Why not?"

I smile. It's not as if I was not expecting this.

"Then it seems we are at an impasse. Tell me, uncle , are you officially challenging me?"

His eyes widen as he understands where I am going with this. He cannot back down, however, since he's already made a claim.

"I believe you are."

"I am," he immediately adds. I smirk.

"Francesco, tell me the rules again?"

"The challenged can choose the type of challenge," Francesco adds so that everyone in the room can hear. There are hums of approval, some of them may be too eager. If they want a spectacle... well, they will have one.

I rise to my feet, casually walking towards Nicolo.

"So what? Fists, swords, pistols?" Nicolo looks at me and smirks.

"Chess." I enjoy the look on his face when he hears that. His smile slowly falls, and he frowns. The other men around are baffled as well.

"Chess? You're joking."

"It's my right as the challenged to choose the challenge. Does it have to be a type of combat, or violent?" I turn to Francesco and ask.

"No. It can be anything," he replies.

Everyone is quiet.

I motion to Francesco, and he brings over a chessboard, placing it on a table in the corner of the room.

With my hand, I motion Nicolo to follow. He looks like he wants to argue with my suggestion, but he must realize by now that he's fallen into my trap. And there's no return.

"But what would chess say about the new capo?" He sputters in a last attempt to divert attention.

"Then tell me," I begin, crossing my arms in front of me, "why would a capo need any fighting skills when he has his soldiers? Better yet, wouldn't you say," I turn and address the rest of the men, "that a good capo should be smart enough to strategically weigh his moves... almost like on a chessboard."

Nicolo's face falls, and I can tell I've won the argument in the eyes of the other men as well.

We sit down in front of the chessboard, and after arranging the pieces, the game begins.

It doesn't take long for me to win. After I capture his Queen, it's only a matter of a couple of movements until his King is cornered. It's something I counted on when I thought about this encounter.

Nicolo might be smart and cunning, but he is the type of person who belittles any type of intellectual pursuits—including chess. I'd narrowed down on his weakness, and I'd just made sure he was the one to challenge me. I knew he'd expect some type of corporeal challenge, like sparring or shooting, both of which he excels at.

He's not much older than Valentino had been, his body fit and in shape. But he'd been overconfident. I'd just played on his hubris... and won.

"Checkmate."

Nicolo's nostrils flare at the pronouncement, and he's doing his best to keep his temper in check. I don't let my satisfaction show.

"Good game, uncle," I tell him, taking a step back to put some distance between us.

In an unprecedented gesture, Nicolo inclines his head and half-bows to me.

"Capo," he says through gritted teeth.

He knows he's lost, but at least he still has his dignity. For now, the plan is working. Although I'm not so na?ve as to think this would stop Nicolo from further plotting to take over the famiglia.

One by one, the other members of the famiglia repeat the gesture, swearing fealty to me as the new Capo.

When the entire ceremony is done, I announce my next intentions. Knowing that Nicolo will just lay in wait, I need to quickly consolidate power. Being Capo is not enough.

"There are two things that I'd like to discuss, and which are on my agenda as the official Capo," I start. Francesco had gotten in touch with the staff, and more drinks had been served before my speech.

"Before Romina's death, the Lastra family enjoyed good relations with the Agostis. I intend to rectify that by marrying within the Agosti family. In fact, I will have a meeting with Enzo Agosti, the new Agosti Capo, in the following days."

There's a lot of cheering, and people seem in favor of this decision. I can see from the corner of my eye that some don't look too happy. The same ones that had looked suspicious during the dinner. Interesting...

"Aside from that, you must all be aware by now of some problems in New Jersey. Some of our shipments to New York have been stopped and seized at the NJ entry points."

Everyone nods. It's not news for them either—most of them being directly involved with the chain of supply.

"I'll be partnering up with Russian Bratva and the Agosti family to find whoever is responsible for this and make sure they pay for this offense. I want everyone on standby for future orders."

My speech is interrupted by a phone's beep sound. It's followed by more ringtones, including my own. Everyone in the room is now checking their phones.

"Yes," I answer at the same time as Nicolo picks up his phone.

"Irish attack in Newark," Vlad's grim tone greets me on the other line.

"And?"

"Stolen merchandise and casualties. Both our sides. It's a declaration."

I purse my lips.

"At least we know who's doing it now," I reply.

Vlad chuckles on the other line.

"They don't know what they've unleashed."

I smile at that.

"It's on," I add before hanging up.

The men are all sporting a worried look on their faces. Everyone's heard about the attack by now.

"And we are officially at war with the Irish. I want everyone to send me a report with what you do, how many men you have under you, and your precise schedules and locations."

"Yes!" Everyone agrees in unison.

"Good. Meeting over." Nicolo is watching me with an inscrutable look on his face.

"You'll be the end of this family, boy. Mark my words."

I freeze at his appellation, something that father used to call me. Trying to mask my features, I answer.

"Be careful about your end, uncle. It might come sooner than you think." I leave the threat hanging.

After everyone's left, Vlad texts me a meeting spot, and I join him to assess the casualties.

The attack had been too well coordinated. Both Vlad and I came to that conclusion, given the timing and the location. Aside from the merchandise, we'd also ended up losing a few people.

"A mole," Vlad's grim voice echoes my thoughts, and I can't bring myself to disagree.

The situation is spiraling out of control at a rapid pace, forcing me to make a swift decision. I waste no time in scheduling a meeting with Enzo for the next day.

And now here I am, in his opulent foyer, waiting to be received in his study. The tension hangs thick in the air as I anxiously wait to meet him.

"Signor Agosti can see you now." A burly man glares down at me before leading me down a long hallway to Enzo's study.

Enzo's warm smile greets me as I enter the room. "Marcello," he says with genuine warmth. "It has been too long."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at his superficial charm. The man is dangerous, and I can't afford to show any weakness. But for the sake of our business partnership, I put on a polite smile. "It is always a pleasure to see you, Enzo."

Or not long enough, I want to say.

But instead, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for what needs to be done.

"So many surprises lately, wouldn't you say?" Enzo's movements are sluggish, and it's obvious he is still not completely recovered. Just a week ago, he'd been in the ICU fighting for his life. He's resilient... I'll give him that.

"My condolences for your father."

"Good riddance." Enzo waves his hand dismissively. "Just like your own old man."

"Indeed." I purse my lips but don't comment.

"Do tell, Marcello. What is the purpose for this visit?" His smile is cunning, but he must be aware of the purpose .

"To bury the hatchet, so to speak."

"You know, just because your brother is dead, that doesn't mean our conflict ends."

"I'm sure you've heard how Jimenez died." I go straight to the point. That he received me this civilly tells me he is willing to have a proper discussion, regardless of the past.

"Some." He looks intrigued, so I continue.

"I was there. So was my brother. Valentino was the one who killed Jimenez—retribution for Romina's death." I stop to gauge his reaction.

"Go on," Enzo urges me.

"Jimenez used Romina's death to drive a rift between our families."

"And then he picked on us one at a time." Enzo interrupts. "I must admit, I'd been thinking about this for a while. You just confirmed my suspicions. When my father first got involved with the Irish, I advised him to keep our options open, but he was bent on pursuing that partnership. But, alas, I will not blame my father for this entirely, since I didn't exactly do much to stop it. I was blinded by the possibilities too."

"So you suspected them?"

"Suspect? Hmm... I wouldn't say suspect, in as much as I didn't trust their intentions. But I never thought they would work for Jimenez. And that was my mistake."

"I don't think anyone could have known. The Irish aren't known to work with the cartels."

"And that's why it was such a brilliant move. They played us on our expectations." Enzo taps his pen on the table. "The world is changing, but we aren't. Our families are too steeped in tradition."

"Maybe we can do something about it."

"Hmm... lofty aspirations for someone who left , Marcello."

"It might be doable," I continue.

Enzo shrugs. "Then you might as well get to why you came here."

I clear my throat, the tension in the room palpable as I speak. "I want an alliance. I want our families to get along as they did before."

Enzo's dark eyes flicker with interest as he stands up from his seat and heads towards his decanter. Pouring two drinks, he hands me a glass with a slight nod. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, Marcello?" His voice is smooth and controlled, but there is a hint of amusement in his tone.

I take a long sip from my drink before answering firmly, "Yes."

A small smile tugs at the corner of Enzo's lips as he raises an eyebrow at me. "I must inquire about the marriageable girls of age. I have to warn you, though. You won't have too many choices."

"As long as she's of age," I say, forcing myself to remain composed despite the unease that gnaws at my gut. The thought of marrying someone so young sends a shiver down my spine.

"Not picky," Enzo chuckles, swirling his drink in his glass. "I like that."

"You'd be in favor of a match?" I ask, feeling a glimmer of hope ignite within me at his words.

"It would be the solution for both our problems, wouldn't it?" Enzo takes a slow sip from his drink, his gaze locked on mine.

"Indeed," I agree, emptying my glass with one final gulp before standing up. "Let me know who you've chosen, and we'll set a date."

Enzo studies me for a moment longer before asking with genuine curiosity, "You really don't care?"

I pause for a moment, considering his question carefully before responding with conviction, "No, I do not." But deep down, I can't help but wonder if this arrangement is truly the best solution for both our families, or if it is simply a means to an end.

"What's there to care? It's my duty," I shrug.