4. Marco

Chapter 4

Marco

T he back room of Osteria del Sole is thick with cigar smoke and the smell of whiskey. The waitress bustles through, not meeting anyone's gaze, as she clears the plates in a hurry. I sit at the head of the table surveying my guests and trying to decide if we're all going to end up murdering each other, or if this insane idea is actually going to work.

"I'll hand it to you, Marco, your chef knows his business." Julien Moreau lights a cigarette and takes a drag. That's high praise, coming from the head of the only French crime organization in the city. His Milieu specializes in heroin and illegal soft cheeses, and I don't think I've ever heard him compliment Italian cooking before.

"Took you long enough to admit you French aren't the only ones that can cook," Ronan says, leaning toward the Frenchman with a smirk. He's the leader of an upstart Irish family that stands in direct opposition to the more powerful Quinns.

"Ah, I can admit it, but only when it's true." Julien waves a hand with a shrug. "This is only the first time the chef is worthy."

Ronan laughs and looks over at where Adam Jankowski, leader of the Polish organization, puffs on his cigar quietly. He's a big man, with dark hair and dark eyes, and doesn't talk much. "What do you think, Jankowski? Got any opinions?"

Adam only makes a noncommittal shrug and finishes his glass of vodka. "None at all."

"The eating is done, and now I think it's time we speak." My final guest, Dusan Petrovic, head of the Serbians, sits back in his chair and swirls his glass. He's watching me with sharp eyes, and if there's anyone in this room who might cut my throat before this alliance is ratified, it'll be him. "You called the group here. I assume you don't only want to talk about food."

I let the others watch me for a few moments. These four men are some of the most dangerous criminals in the world, and I'm very aware of the tightrope I'm walking with them. I calm my heart and sit up straight before speaking.

"We can bicker about the things that don't matter," I say quietly and force the men to lean in closer to hear clearly. "But when it comes to the important things, we're stronger if our organizations and families work together."

"And what are the important things, exactly?" Dusan asks. His dark green eyes stare at me and a knowing smile plays on his lips.

"The Bianco Famiglia." I look from face to face. Julian's sneering; Ronan's frowning; Adam looks like he swallowed a bug. Only Dusan's smirk remains unchanged, but I know he hates them most of all. "They've been ruthlessly dismantling anyone who can possibly oppose their power in this city. We've all had run-ins with them over the last few years. You're all aware that they hunted and murdered my former Don, Luciano Santoro, and left his daughter orphaned and alone in the world. I'm rebuilding his network, and slowly, we're gaining strength. But the moment we're a blip on the Bianco radar, they'll bring their full weight down on us."

More silence. I let the men imagine the parallels to their own situations. I know Dusan's profitable trafficking scheme was ruined by the Biancos not too long ago. Ronan's in constant fights with the Quinns, another Irish family that's deeply connected to the Biancos through marriage. Adam and Julien have both worked around the edges of the Bianco system and have only survived because their gangs remain relatively small, like mine.

But that won't last forever. Every man in this room is far too ambitious to remain quiet for long, and unsanctioned noise is one thing the Biancos can't handle.

"That speech gets better every time you give it," Ronan says at last, which makes all the others chuckle. Some of the tension in the room releases.

"Then I'll keep giving it until you all agree with me. The Biancos want to be the dominant masters of the Chicago underworld. They want to put us in our places. But I don't plan on letting them dictate my life."

"You're right," Adam says in a low rumble. All eyes turn to him for a moment, but he doesn't elaborate. He rarely ever does.

"Say we agree," Julien says instead, waving his cigarette in the air. "We've been discussing and discussing, but in the end, we are all rivals. My dealers fight for space against Ronan's petty thugs every day."

Ronan's smile is sharp and dangerous. "I'd be careful who you're calling petty, my French friend."

"Unfortunately, Julien has a point," I say before they can start bickering again. "We're at each other's throats far too often instead of banding together to stand against the real threat. Nobody here will be destroyed by anyone else in this room. It's going to be the Biancos, and we all know it."

Ronan sits back, frowning at his hands. Julian seems thoughtful. I look down at my watch: it's ten after ten. In a little under two hours, I'm meeting up with the enemy . I push that thought away and meet Dusan's stare.

"How will this work? Do you propose to make the rules? Will you evenly distribute the drug corners like a little Commie dealer?" Dusan shakes his head. "While I am sympathetic to your idea, Marco, I'm skeptical that it can work."

The waitress returns before I can speak. She refills drinks and clears a couple more plates, and when she's gone, I light a cigar. Once it's smoking, I stare through the haze at Dusan, who's watching with some amusement. The arrogant bastard. I don't even like him, and yet here I am, trying to build something that'll benefit us all, and he can barely see it.

"When my Don was murdered, it felt like everything was over." I make sure they're all listening closely before I continue. "Luciano was the only man who could push back against the Biancos. He launched a daring and audacious attack on their precious little oasis, and it nearly finished them off, but he failed in the end, and they killed him for it. Now I'm all that's left of his legacy, trying to hold his few loyal Capos and soldiers together, while the Biancos grow bigger and stronger every day." I nod at them each in turn. "You have your own versions. You have your loss and your heartache, and you all want to be more. This is how we can do it. Together, as a group, we can rule Chicago and the whole of the Midwest. The Biancos are strong, but we can be stronger."

I finish my speech and sit back. Ronan gives me a wink and a nod, and I know he's already mostly on my side. Julien will come around too—and maybe Adam after that—but it's Dusan I really need to convince. If the Serbians join, everyone else will definitely take it seriously, and we'll have some real strength behind us.

Only I'm not sure Dusan really has any interest. He says the speech was good, and there's a lot to think about, and then Ronan and Julien are back to giving each other shit, and the meal ends without any resolution. Adam leaves first, but only after thanking me for my hospitality in his understated and quiet way, and I walk out of the restaurant with Ronan while Julien and Dusan leave with their bodyguards.

"We all know you're right," Ronan says in the parking lot. "It's just that, every time you bring up your old boss, it's a reminder of what the fucking Biancos can do when someone makes trouble."

I look away at the city, at the big buildings and the lights, and imagine they're all beneath the Bianco shadow, and that shadow's growing every day. It won't stop unless we make it stop.

"Luciano was alone and he did serious damage. We won't be alone."

Ronan runs a hand through his dark coppery hair and heads over to his motorcycle. "I'll work on Dusan. But I think it's actually Adam you need to convince."

My eyebrows raise. "Really? I figured he'd come around if we got the Serbians."

"Nah, the Poles have their own way of doing things. Convince Adam."

"What about Julien?"

"Fuck that French dickhead."

"Seriously, Ronan."

"He'll join, don't worry." He grins and kicks his bike to life. The engine roars and sputters. "But I say we're better off without the cowardly cocksucker."

"You're not very helpful," I call after him as he backs out. He gives me a laugh and a middle finger, and his bike barks a loud grunt as he pulls away and disappears into the night.

I wait next to the front door for a while. I should be thinking more about what Ronan said and about how I'm going to make this alliance thing a reality, except my mind is very much elsewhere. It's on the mask in the back seat of my BMW, the lacquered black-and-gold Jackal face, and what I'm going to do tonight.

I spent that meal denouncing the Bianco family, and I meant every word of it. They killed Luciano, my mentor, a man who was like a second father to me, and made my best friend an orphan. They treated him like a dog, all because of mistakes he made long in the past. I hate them, the vindictive bastards.

And yet all I want to do is go spend the night with one of their core members.

Laura's not really part of the organization. I mean, she's the original Don Bianco's youngest daughter, and now the youngest sister of their current leader, but I've never really heard much about her in all the years I've been watching their family. Luciano once said she's the oddest of the bunch, and that she's not much of a threat, and maybe I can see why. She's barely a Bianco at all.

Or maybe I'm just rationalizing a fucked-up decision.

If anyone in that room knew I was going to meet with her, they'd kill me.

Even Ronan, a man I'd consider a friend, and he wouldn't even hesitate.

It's the ultimate betrayal. And yet I can't stop myself.

I'm the Jackal and she's my little demon girl, and I want to play another game, even if it costs me everything.