Chapter Thirty-Five

New York City

October 21

C hug Ugentti slammed the newspaper onto his desk with a thwack. “I’m going to bust some kneecaps.”

His chief of staff, Garrett, was a pin-thin man with a neatly trimmed beard and a Harvard MBA. He was a late hire, brought on to polish the rough edges of the mobster’s tattered image. “Relax, Chug. Stories like this are forgotten by the next news cycle. There’s no news, only propaganda. Readers assume these hatchet jobs are agenda-driven. I have a social media service planting rumors and conspiracy theories about both the writer and the girls quoted in the article. Make a casual comment to the press. Something to the tune of you won’t be distracted by false accusations intended to undermine your work for the people of New Jersey.”

Ugentti considered Garrett’s words. “That’s not bad.”

Garrett leaned forward with his palms flat on the desk. “I’m not reinventing the wheel.”

It took every ounce of self-control Chug Ugentti had to stop himself from picking up the letter opener and pinning this pencil pusher’s hand to the wood. Instead, he offered up his newly minted politician’s smile and, with a hand on Garrett’s shoulder, steered him toward the door.

“Yes, I know, but you’re earning your paycheck just reminding me to let cooler heads prevail. I can’t walk around the House floor with a baseball bat.”

Garrett chuckled. “Maybe for a publicity stunt.” He held up a hand. “That being said, no one needs to end up in the hospital—or the East River—over a news story. The media is subjective and agenda-driven and, therefore, easily refuted.”

Chug clapped Garrett on the shoulder and nudged him out the door. “As always, your words of wisdom save the day.”

Garrett blushed at the compliment. “Just doing my job, sir.”

“And doing a bang-up one at that. You meet with the PR team—make sure everyone is on the same page. I’m going to get back to this healthcare bill.”

His Chief of Staff delivered an enthusiastic “Will do” as the door closed, and Chug turned to the three men lingering in the seating area.

Mikey, his best enforcer from the good old days, pulled at his collar. “Please tell me we’re going to knock some heads.”

“Like coconuts, Mikey.”

His words were met with grunts of agreement. “But,” Chug continued. “Pencil Neck has a point. We need an added level of discretion .”

“What does that mean?” Mikey asked.

“It means I have a solid alibi. It means no witnesses. And make it look like a mugging or a robbery.”

“You got it, boss.” The other man was also named Michael. For clarity and because of his size, he went by Big Mike.

“And don’t kill him. Caleb Cain has dirt on every player in town.”

“Not yet, anyway.” Big Mike cracked his knuckles.

Chug grinned. “Deliver a message. Let’s make it clear how I feel about the little story, and in a few days, I’ll have another meeting with Pretty Boy—Jersey-style.”

The Mikes approved.

“Caleb Cain is going to be sharing secrets like a preteen girl at a slumber party.”