1. Alessandro

Aromas of garlic, olive oil, and oregano waft through Donofrio"s as I walk into the empty Little Italy restaurant, threatening to soak into my suit for the rest of the day. My driver, best friend, and sometimes bodyguard, Lorenzo, stands guard at the door, making sure no one comes in while I"m here.

"Ren." My voice is low, barely above a whisper as I tell him, "Have Rita at Arty"s prepare one of my suits for pickup in two hours, the navy bespoke. I don"t need to smell like bruschetta for the rest of the day."

Lorenzo pulls his phone out but pauses, looking at me with an expression on his face I can"t read. He"s the silent, lethal type, despite his surfer blonde hair that he wears slicked back with a clean-shaven chin. His years in the military give him a heavier build than me. While he"s never afraid to use that size to our advantage, his friendlier face lets others feel at ease when dealing with me. However, his normally friendlier face shifts to one of scrutiny.

"What?" I huff the question out, waiting for an explanation. He"s stopping me from heading into the back room of the restaurant where my father and his consigliere are meeting.

The dim lights of the dining area bounce off the phone"s screen as he shows me what"s got him glued to the device instead of watching the street. It"s a viral clip of Evelyn Rossi. I groan, looking at the daughter of a rival Family.

The Rossis, De Lucas, and Montegnas, LaFamilia to everyone else. We all operate in New York with an understanding of tolerance. Recently, the Rossis have suffered a blow to their operations with the indictment of a prosecuting attorney who married into their family.

Evelyn"s beauty is devastatingly distracting. Full lips, sage green eyes, and sun-kissed blonde hair that falls in waves around her face make me focus on the screen. I nod for Lorenzo to turn the volume up.

A reporter shouts at her from behind the phone they"re shoving into her face. "Miss Rossi! Miss Rossi! Can you tell us how your sister is handling the verdict and her pursuant incarceration?"

Evelyn whips around with fire in those brilliant eyes as she slams the reporter with a verbal assault. "The fuck do you mean, how"s my sister? Ask your mother and get outta my face before I get someone to take that mic and shove it up your?—"

She doesn"t get to finish before a tall gentleman rushes to her side, putting himself between her and the camera. His name is Jenkins, if I remember correctly. He knocks the reporter back, and as the reporter mouths off, he shoots them a glare that"s intimidating enough to silence them. The corner of my lip turns up in a quick grin, wondering just how fiery Evelyn is off camera.

Lorenzo shakes his head. "She"s got a mouth on her and it"s going to get her in trouble."

That mouth of hers is trouble, indeed.

"The only trouble the Rossis are worried about is her sister taking the rap for her cowardly husband. What kind of man allows his wife to do a bid for him? Fucking scumbags. They"re getting exactly what they deserve, letting a rat like that marry into the family."

"What are ya doin out here, Alessandro?" My Uncle Oz calls from the back of the room. "Let"s get a move on it. We"re running late."

I nod to Lorenzo, who goes back to standing guard by the door as I make my way through the restaurant. Oscar Baldoni is my dearly departed mother"s baby brother, Zio or Oz to me, and my father"s right-hand man, the consigliere of the De Luca organization. He"s often ruthless and violent, where my father is conniving and methodical.

The horseshoe balding across his white-haired scalp shows everyone just how stressful his job is and how seriously he takes it. I"ve inherited traits from them both, making me the heir apparent to our organization. Hopefully, I"ll get to keep my hair like my father, although he runs thin around the temples.

Speaking of my predecessor, Don Sandro De Luca is an inch short of my six-foot height, but I can never see him as a smaller man than me. There"s a room off to the side of the kitchen, where he"s sitting patiently. The same clear blue eyes I inherited are constantly watching his surroundings. It forces me to do the same even though the threat of something going down in his favorite restaurant is unlikely… for now.

There are a few shelves stocking fresh vegetables and an assortment of other items for the restaurant. A chef brings in a few plates of food and a bottle of red wine along with a basket of bread before disappearing out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Oz sits beside my father, and I take the seat across from them. Neither of them wastes any time digging into the food. Oz"s baseball mitt-sized hands tear into the bread, but I"m in no mood to eat.

"Jimmy makes a great gravy, Alessandro," Oz says, dragging his piece of bread through the pasta sauce on his plate. "Come on, dig in."

"I"m not hungry," I tell him, adjusting my jacket. "What"s the plan?"

I"m in a rush to get out of here. I"ll have just enough time to get to my favorite tailor to pick up my suit, change, and get to my next meeting.

"Peter Martin is in the wind, from what my sources tell me," Pop says, sipping his drink. "Don Rossi is probably calling in favors if he hasn"t already. The cops on his payroll were only working under the guise of being protected from prosecution. But with this cazzone getting pinched out of his position in the district attorney"s office, there"s an opportunity here."

"I have friends with the DA we can use," I tell Pop and Oz.

"Your fancy job as a… what are you called again?" Oz asks.

"Officially? I"m a lawyer with a focus on crisis management."

Oz knows what I do. However, as I get older and more prominent in our organization"s leadership, he likes to diminish my work outside of the Family. It"s never obvious, just subtle jabs here and there, which I take in stride. He"ll never be outright disrespectful unless he wants to find out exactly how much violence I"ve picked up from being his nephew.

"Right." Oz nods with a grin. "A fixer like that woman who used to do that show every Thursday night. Something to do with the Vatican."

"Pope, Zio, and I guess, yeah. Just not as in the open. It"s better for my job and the Family that I keep a low profile." That and for the more violent tasks I handle, it"s better to not draw attention to myself. Yet, he knows all of this and still tries to reduce me to an actor on some weekly soap.

My father grins, never to let anyone make my position seem less than what it truly is. He"s proud of me and my more ruthless tactics. His New York and Italian accents blend like an old Mob movie when he speaks. "Yeah, my boy"s like the Boogeyman. Scary, lethal, and if he shows up in the middle of the night, you"d better say your prayers."

"What"s scary is that beard," Oz says, nudging his chin toward me.

Oz"s been on me to cut it clean. "Even scarier are the looks on people"s faces when they see this scar running down my face without the beard to shield it. It"s great for Family business, but not for the other stuff we need to get done. What are we doing about the Rossis?"

"I"m thinking we should work out a treaty," Oz volunteers, rolling his eyes after I reject his notion of shaving my face. When I glance at my father, I can see the indecisive glaze over his expression. A treaty is rarely an option my uncle would consider, as he"d rather take whatever he wants.

A treaty is a mistake in my eyes. Countering Oz, I tell them, "Let"s go to the mattresses. I think we should strike hard, hot, and fast. They"re still trying to get their house in order and?—"

Pop cuts me off. He rubs his bare chin, always opting to keep his face shaved by a straight razor at his favorite barbershop. I"m sure he"d like for me to schedule an appointment with the straight razor as well, but he doesn"t bug me about it.

"Normally, I would agree with you, Son," my father says. "But you"re forgetting about the Montegnas, Alessandro. They have the Cartel on their side. If they"re thinking like you, they"ll be moving in on the Rossis too. We should try to get the Rossis to see things in a way where we broker a treaty. We combine the territories and split profits fifty-fifty. The Rossis can run their extortion ring and strip joints. We"ll stick to our gambling dens and protection. Let"s stick to party drugs and get our people to be on the lookout for that Fentanyl shit. Can"t have customers if they keep dying off one hit."

"Ah," Oz scoffs with a wave of his hand. "Drugs are chump change. It"s like trying to sell weed when there"s a dispensary every six blocks. We need to start bringing in guns."

"No." My words are finite, but a look from my father encourages me to be diplomatic. I try reasoning with Oz, reminding myself that he"s still Consigliere. "We need to stay focused on our legitimate businesses. Money, legal profits, they bring power we need to wash the money from our Family business. Guns bring the Feds, Homeland, CIA, and every other alphabet, pain in the ass government agency you can think of. But if you can keep them off our phones and out of our other businesses, I"m open to your fool-proof plan."

Oz grimaces and waves me off. I know he doesn"t have a plan that will convince me. He fidgets in his seat as he speaks. "Fine. We can put a pin in that. Let"s focus on the treaty for now. The Rossis on our side will make it difficult for the Montegnas to do anything. They"ll be spread too thin to focus on what we got going on. Remember, they still have the Cartel"s demands to contend with."

I need to get out of here before I forget whom I"m talking to. "Fine. If you want an alliance, let"s at least convince the Rossis to take a sixty-forty split. They need help right now, and we really don"t need the headache. I"ll be at Kings if you need me. I need to see a client."

They agree to that much, but knowing Oz, he"ll probably try to get the split to eighty-twenty in our favor. I don"t disagree, but I don"t want to force the Rossis to work out a deal with the other Family, either. I"m certain the Rossis will do anything to save their organization from a hostile takeover. We just need to get to them first.

Lorenzo opens the door to the restaurant as we step into the afternoon Manhattan sun. A quick glance at my watch tells me I have just enough time to pick up and change into a clean suit. Once that"s done, my next stop is to Kings. It"s a members-only club owned by one of my clients.

"Wait a minute." Lorenzo"s sharp acorn brown eyes dart from the mirrors to the windows of the car before we get out.

"What is it?" I look around, but can"t see what he does. Lorenzo shrugs it off, getting out to open the door for me.

The bustling Manhattan street is the perfect stage for anything to happen, good, bad and anything in between. I can definitely sense something in the air, like there are eyes on me. It doesn"t take long for me to scan the surrounding buildings. A moving curtain in a dark window or a fleeting glance from a perfect stranger can all mean danger, or nothing at all.

"Something"s off," Lorenzo says, moving slightly behind me and his energy nudging me back toward the car. I can sense the uneasiness Lorenzo"s picking up on.

"You"re right. I can feel it too. I have to talk to Dimitri. You think we should have the meeting somewhere else?"

"I think we should go inside where there are fewer people."

He"s right. With the Rossi family falling apart, La Familia is fragmented, and any alliance or tolerance we share is up in the air. The flash of paranoia subsides the moment Lorenzo and I step inside.

A hostess takes us through the maroon-themed bar that models a speakeasy. There are a few dozen tables scattered throughout, booths around the perimeter, and a bar taking up the entire left wall. There are a few private rooms with discreet entrances for the more elite members. Members like me.

Dimitri Vassa comes out donning a smile that stretches from ear to ear as he tries to pull me into a hug, which Lorenzo stops with a stiff hand to Dimitri"s chest. Dimitri is a voyeuristic, thrill-seeking exhibitionist whose wilder side gets set free every night in this place.

The way he dresses reminds me of a jet-setting playboy from the 80s. Flashy suit with no shirt underneath, and the curly hair on his head matches the same dark brown strands cresting on his chest between the lapels of his jacket. He"s a handlebar mustache away from being a vintage porn actor. The members of this place consider it a safe haven to let their hair down without repercussions or tabloids.

"Come on, fellas. This is a celebration. You"ve worked a miracle for me, Less." Dimitri"s a restaurateur juggernaut in the tri-state area, and his most recent debacle could have bankrupted him if I hadn"t stepped in to set things right.

Still, I don"t hug. He"s lucky he gets to call me Less. Others wouldn"t dare nickname me, but as Dimitri likes to say, "Less is more."

I offer him a slight nod for his gratitude. "How about my favorite bottle of Scotch, on the house?"

"That"s a $1200 bottle, Alessandro, but if that"s what you want." Dimitri sighs and shrugs before snapping his fingers at a server behind the bar.

We"re heading toward my private room when my phone rings incessantly. There are too many people trying to call me at once, and then Lorenzo"s phone rings as well.

I hold up a hand to stop Dimitri and the server because I"m certain this is an emergency.

"Yeah?" I pick up when I see Oz"s number flash across my screen.

"You need to get back out here, Alessandro. It"s your father?—"

"What"s wrong? What happened to Pop?" I ask him frantically. Lorenzo"s already heading out the door, and I"m right behind him with no explanation to Dimitri. He"s going to have to wait.

"He collapsed a few minutes ago and we"re taking him to the hospital. Alessandro, he"s unconscious and I don"t know if he"s gonna wake up."