1. Alessandro

Chapter one

Alessandro

Earlier That Day

"Get the fuck out of my house!" I yell.

In a fit of anger, I smash the vodka glass against the wall. The liquid leaves a wet stain on the white wall. Pieces of the broken glass are scattered on the floor. " Pezzi di merda (Pieces of shit)! All of you!"

The two men standing in front of me turn deaf ears to my words. It pisses me off even more.

Losing a cocaine delivery always costs me lots of money. And these bastards know how much I hate losing my money.

"Boss, we had no idea the cops were following us," one says. He has a bleeding cut on the side of his head.

"We barely escaped," he adds, with his arms crossed down by his waist.

His muscles stick out through the tight black leather jacket he has on. He is only a few inches shorter than I am.

I cough out a laugh, clenching my jaws tighter as I punch his face. "Bullshit."

He grunts and fixes his eyes on the ground. The other does the same.

My phone starts to ring on the bar table.

"You both owe me 50 grand for this shit." I walk over to the bar table and pick up my phone.

Daniel's name pops up on the screen. I slide the icon to answer his call. "Now's not a good time, Daniel," I say, reaching for the pack of my Cuban cigars on the table.

"The delivery?" he asks.

I place the cigar in my mouth and click my fingers. The man in the leather jacket walks to me with a lighter in his hands and flicks it on. I take a quick drag as he lights the cigar.

"Gone. The fucking cops." I take another drag and reach for the bottle of vodka.

"Shit."

Pouring some into a glass, I take a sip. "How's the shipment? Father needs an update about it tonight."

"I have it all sorted out. They are moving it to the warehouse in East Harlem."

I turn to look at the men in my living room. "At least someone knows how to get the fucking job done around here."

I take another shot, downing the whole content in a gulp. "Clean that up and leave," I say to them, pointing a finger at the mess on the floor.

"How about the money?"

"I'll have to cover for it. Father wouldn't want to hear any excuses." I kill the cigar on the ashtray and pour myself another shot.

"I'll meet you at the warehouse."

"Hurry," Daniel responds before ending the call.

Gulping down the shot, I slide my phone into my pocket. The liquid stings the back of my throat.

The wet stain from the mess I made earlier is on the wall right underneath a picture frame of an artwork I bought some years ago. My living room is filled with those. It's what I enjoy—collecting expensive art.

I set the glass down on the table and stroll to the staircase.

The master bedroom is upstairs, with one other room and two downstairs. This house was the gift my father gave me when I turned 20.

The white walls and chandelier dangling from the center of the room create a magnificent view.

I rarely spend a lot of time in this place. But when I do, the bar is my favorite spot.

I walk up the stairs to my room and make my way to the bathroom.

The image of myself as I stare in the large mirror above the sink shows how badly I need a shave. I run my fingers over my beard as I stare at my knuckles. They have already turned white from the punch.

I spot a tiny blood stain on my fingers. It must be from the cut he had on his face.

Cold water gushes out from the faucet as I turn it on.

My locket dangles freely as I wash my hands thoroughly, splashing a bit of water on my face.

My eyes are swollen from lack of sleep. Filling in for my father while he is away in Brazil has taken a toll on me. But I shrug the pain off—I've been groomed all my life for this moment.

Father has been priming me for as long as I can remember to take over his legacy—the Malgeri empire.

As his only child and son, it's my birthright, and he never ceases to remind me what it takes to continue his legacy. It was passed on to him by his father, which makes it all the more important.

Proving myself worthy and ready is the only reason I have endured years of mental and physical torture at his hands. I have scars from them.

I sigh as I run my fingers through my hair for a moment, and the uneven tips fall on my face. A good rest isn't the only thing I need, apparently.

I pull the black T-shirt I have on over my head and toss it to the ground. My chest and arms are covered with tattoos; I started getting them when I turned 18.

The room is in a bit of a mess as I walk out of the bathroom and grab the black shirt on my unmade bed. I hurriedly button the shirt, folding the sleeves to meet my biceps.

I grab a pair of dark shades and my car keys on my bedside table as I exit the room.

The walk down the stairs is hasty; I meet one of my men at the front door. He has a rifle tucked over his shoulder.

He nods a greeting as I walk past him to my black Porsche 911 parked beside my other rides.

I unlock the doors and slide into the driver's seat, and am met by a familiar sweet fragrance, mia madre's (my mother's).

We spent the entire evening yesterday together since father wasn't around to keep her company.

I start the engine as soon as the guard opens the gate.

A few of my men, heavily armed with guns, line up by the edge of the trimmed vegetation.

I press the button to roll down the tinted glass of my car to speak to Rocco, the head of my guards. The evening's sun casts a shadow on his bald head. A deep scar cuts through his face to his cheeks.

"Don," he greets with a nod, facing the ground.

"I'll be back late." I wind up the window and zoom off immediately.

Gripping the steering wheel with my left hand, I adjust in my seat.

The street on 5 th Avenue is a bit busy, with cars slowly moving, causing a hold-up. The evening has businessmen and women returning to their homes.

I stop as the traffic light turns red just before the turn to East Harlem.

The vibration of my phone in my pocket distracts me from watching cars drive off in the other direction.

I take out my phone to see the caller. Beppe's name pops on the screen as it continues to vibrate. He has been working for my father for as long as I can remember.

"Beppe," I say, answering his call.

"Alessandro, the warehouse is on fire."

My eyes widen in shock at his words. I take a forced gulp as I stare into the street filled with moving cars. My breath seizes for a split second.

"Beppe?" I bark, gripping the wheel harder. My knuckles slowly turn white again.

" Fottuto fuoco (Fucking fire), Alessandro," he replies. His voice leaves traces of concern.

"It's all fucking gone. Everything." His words echo in my ear with a raging anger flowing through my veins.

I toss my phone to the other seat as the sound of a car honking forces me out of my head.

"Fuck!" I yell, hitting my fist on the steering wheel. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

I have no idea the green light is on until I am disturbed by another honk.

Just a week of Father's absence, and I get to deal with the worst happening to his business. I've waited for so long to prove myself to him.

"Get the hell out of my way, asshole!" the man in the car from behind me yells as he zooms off.

I take the wheel in a firm grip, focusing on the road as I step on the gas and make a quick turn to get to Brooklyn, where Father left Beppe in charge.

The sound of my phone's ringtone causes a sharp hiss to fall from my lips. I curse under my breath as I ignore my phone ringing on the other seat.

I can't think clearly anymore. My chest heaves in anger as I make my way to the warehouse.

The trails of dark, thick smoke are in the clouds as I get closer. This is really happening.

Fuck. Everything.

I stop in front of the burning building with my eyes staring at the fire in disbelief.

The wooden rooftop is in flames, with parts missing from their place.

Some men are running out of the building frantically.

I angrily open the car door and slam it shut as I stand to witness the building go down in flames.

Beppe is standing beside two dead men. Gunshot wounds are visible in their chest as they lay in their blood.

He kneels to shut their eyes, his head slightly moving from side to side.

"Beppe! Beppe!" I yell angrily.

He turns to look at me as I approach him with heavy steps.

He has a pistol in his hand. His blue shirt is stained with dark ash.

"How the hell did this happen?"

"The fucking bastard!" He points to the ground near the entrance of the building.

"Gustavos," he says with contempt through gritted teeth. I throw a fist into the air furiously.

Beppe stares into my eyes, startled, as I grip the collar of his shirt unexpectedly.

He is shorter than I am. I force his head up as he struggles to keep my gaze.

"Find them. All of them!"

He wobbles on his feet as I release his shirt with force, shaking his balance.

I hear the sound of sirens draw closer to the burning building as I walk to my car. Without hesitating, I hop into my car and drive to meet Daniel at East Harlem.

An infuriating pulse echoes through my veins with every power to stay calm. I've just fucking lost a shit ton of money. And coke.

" Merda (Shit) ! " I hit the wheel, enraged. The car's horn goes off with a sharp sound.

Daniel is waiting by his car with a cigar in his mouth as I settle to park my car beside his.

The breeze has the collar of his gray shirt flying in different directions. His shirt is well tucked in his black trousers, with his feet crossed. He has his back resting on his white Porsche. His brown hair is packed in a low bun.

"It's all gone, Daniel," I say as I walk to him. "All of L'Uomo's coke stash and money."

Daniel releases a cloud of smoke from the side of his mouth as he drops the used cigar to the ground and kills the light with his feet.

"What are you talking about, Ale?"

"The warehouse in Brooklyn is on fucking fire."

Daniel stares at me in disbelief, his face creased in shock. He is the only one I can talk to right now.

We've been together since he lost both his parents. He is practically family now.

"The fucking Gustavos did this! I'm going to have every one of their guts sticking out of their bodies."

Daniel slides his hands into his pockets, slightly turning his head to stare into the open space.

Three men dressed in black suits walk into the warehouse with cartons in their arms.

"I'll kill them all," I threaten with my fists balled, dreading my father's return.

Daniel reaches for my right shoulder. "We will have our revenge on those stronzi (assholes)," he says with a gentle squeeze. "I promise, we will."

I pinch my forehead for a moment before running my fingers through my hair.

"Manny will pay for this," I add.

Daniel nods in response and turns to his car, holding out the handle to the door. "I'm going off to Elixir. Coming?"

"My father's warehouse just got fucking burned, Daniel."

"Standing out here angry won't help," he replies.

He slides into his car and starts the engine. "Take a few shots to help you think straight. We won't be there for long."

I walk back to my car with only the thoughts of skinning Manny Gustavo alive in my head. Unlike my father, I'm going to end him.