6. Vinnie

6

VINNIE

S eventeen Years Earlier…

Most guys look forward to their eighteenth birthday.

Being an adult offers new freedoms, new opportunities, a taste of what life is really like beyond the walls of high school and adolescent constraints. But for me, it was more than just a mere transition into adulthood. On my eighteenth birthday, I met with my father and my grandfather to find out what would be expected of me in our "famiglia." We don't use that word anymore. It's simply "family," but I know the origins. I know what it means.

My grandfather, Mario Bianchi, is the head of our family. He fathered only one child—my mother—and married her off to the son of his consigliore, Vincent Gallo Sr.

My father.

I enter the dimly lit study where my grandfather holds court, inhaling the scent of aged leather and cigar smoke. My grandfather is seated behind his grand mahogany desk, a testament to our family's old money. His silver hair is slicked back, and his eyes are hidden behind reading glasses as he examines some papers.

Next to him stands my father, a stark contrast with his brown hair and intense gaze. He is the physical embodiment of power and command. He's been a stern but fair parent to my brother and me. A little softer on our younger sister.

They both look at me. Grandfather sets down his papers and removes his glasses. Father turns toward me and offers a small nod. It's a gesture full of unspoken implications, an acknowledgement that this meeting marks my passage from boyhood to manhood.

"Vinnie," my grandfather begins, "today, you step into a world that demands more than just being an adult. It demands loyalty, honor, and the will to protect our family at all costs."

His words hang heavy in the air. A knot tightens in my stomach, but I keep my gaze steady.

He leans back into his high-backed leather chair. "It's a world that won't tolerate weakness," he says gruffly. "It's a world where men are continuously tested. Failures are costly. Remember, Vinnie, the Bianchis do not fail."

Next to him, Father simply watches, his face unreadable, until he speaks. "Look at me, Vinnie."

I obey, meeting my father's gaze.

"Your grandfather is right, Vinnie," he says. "The world we live in is not for the faint-hearted. You must be strong, steadfast. You must have the stomach for what lies ahead."

He pauses, perhaps giving me time to absorb his words, or perhaps weighing his next ones. Could be either. I don't know.

"There are choices you'll make that will test your mettle, your loyalty, your very soul." Grandfather leans forward, leering at me over his desk. "But remember this. Being a Bianchi is about more than just our name and our wealth. We are leaders, protectors, and, above all, survivors."

His ice-cold stare penetrates my soul as he stands, walks out from behind his desk, and places a firm hand on my shoulder. "Vincent," he says, without looking at my father. "Give us this room."

My father doesn't move.

"Vincent," Grandfather says again, this time his tone more menacing.

My father draws in a breath. "Mario…"

"It must be done, Vincent. Go. I'll not tell you again."

My heart pounds. Why is he making my father leave?

Finally, my father walks toward the door. Without looking back around, he says, his voice grave, "Whatever happens, remember that your mother and I love you very much."

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving my grandfather and me alone in the room. The air between us seems thick, as if a fog has descended from the ceiling.

"Vinnie," Grandfather begins again, his voice gentler now. "There are things you must understand about our family, about our business."

I swallow hard, nodding.

"We are not just businessmen," he continues. "We are guardians of a legacy that spans nearly a century. A legacy built on respect, power, and sometimes violence."

Does he think I'm ignorant?

I'm not.

I know where this is going. I know what's expected of me. I don't like it, but I've accepted my fate.

The knot in my stomach tightens further as Grandfather reaches under his desk and pulls out an ornate box. He places it in front of me on the desk.

"Open it."

I glance at the box, my hand trembling as I reach for the clasp. The polished wood is cold against my fingertips, and a chill runs down my spine as I pop open the lid.

Inside lies a short, stout stick made of polished wood. It's over a foot in length and the diameter of a broom handle. What the hell?

* * *

Present Day…

I erase the memory from my mind.

I let it go back in that Buddhist temple.

At least I thought I did. So much else had to go along with it.

But this morning I sat in that same office, facing my grandfather.

And I agreed to end the life of Giacomo Puzo.

What the hell has Giacomo Puzo done to our family to merit this fate? So he's running drugs and gambling. Who cares? I think back to my grandfather's words.

He's trying to nudge into our territory. He's been talking to our suppliers in Mexico, and I don't take kindly to it.

A two-bit mobster is trying to nudge into our territory? He'd be way out of his league.

Doesn't matter. It's business. At least that's what Grandfather would say.

When my grandfather tried to get me to end the life of Raven Bellamy—that beautiful young woman who has already been through so much—I knew what I've always known to be the truth.

He's a ruthless bastard. Evil incarnate.

Killing Raven Bellamy would not be business.

It would be personal. Revenge against Falcon Bellamy for the death of Miles McAllister and for marrying Savannah, my sister. Savannah is no longer Grandfather's pawn. He can no longer use her to form an alliance.

That's up to me now. I am betrothed to Miles's younger sister, a child of eleven. In seven years, I am bound to take her as my wife.

What my grandfather doesn't know is that by that time, I'll have brought this family down.

If he's still alive by then, he'll be rotting in prison.

But Puzo…

I need to know more.

I can't ask Grandfather. He'll consider that a question of his authority. I have to find out on my own.

Looking into him on my computer will do no good. Everything about him will be above board, of course. Just as everything about the Bianchi family is above board. We're coffee importers. Really rich coffee importers.

Nothing on paper exists about our drug business.

Or about the grisly business of human trafficking that Grandfather is getting into now.

My stomach turns at the thought.

I need to work quickly to take that bastard down before any innocent women and children get hurt.

But while the urgency fuels my determination, it also breeds a necessary patience. Grandfather's empire wasn't built overnight, and I won't be able to destroy it overnight either. If I rush, if I get careless, I could end up in prison with my father.

Despite knowing I'll find nothing of importance, I must start with the web. But not my own computer. I go to the city's public library and find a public computer terminal tucked away in a corner on the third floor. The library is anonymous. No one cares why you're there or what you're looking into.

Giacomo Puzo…

Of Italian descent.

Shocking.

Mid-fifties. Known in the community for his charitable contributions towards building orphanages around the world. Just like us, he appears to be an upstanding citizen.

Married to Marinella Mancetti Puzo, thirty-five, and they have two children, Anna and Paulina, both in private elementary school. Charges of the nanny, Clarice, who I met today.

That has forced marriage written all over it.

But that's not my concern.

Does this man deserve to die?

Because I'll see to his demise if I have to.

Or find a way to fake it.

The computer whirrs softly as I dig deeper into this Giacomo Puzo. Charitable contributions and a seemingly ideal family life aside, there must be something more, something darker lurking beneath the polished surface. Grandfather wouldn't give a damn about some two-bit drug and gambling ring, and I'm seeing no evidence of him trying to nudge into anything of ours.

Dinner parties, benefits, charity auctions—Puzo is a man about the town in the newspaper archives. There's a picture of him at some gala, his arm around Marinella, their faces lit with all the genuine joy of two actors playing a part.

I knew a few Google searches would not be enough. I take a deep breath and look around, making sure I'm not attracting the hawklike gaze of one of the librarians. I reach into my pocket and pull out a small USB stick that contains a portable version of the Tails operating system, which is designed for privacy and security. I insert it into the computer and reboot the system. The familiar library login screen vanishes and is replaced by the Tails interface.

Once Tails is loaded, I open the Tor Browser, the gateway to the dark web. This network is designed to bounce my signal through multiple nodes around the globe to mask my location. I am now a ghost, a digital phantom floating through the encrypted corridors of the dark web.

I'm no stranger to the dark web. I used it almost exclusively while I was overseas, taking care to retain strict anonymity anytime I was online, lest my grandfather figure out where I was and send his goons across the Atlantic to bring me back home—or worse, kill me.

I use the Ahmia search engine to find hidden forums and marketplaces, my fingers dancing across the keyboard as I enter specific terms related to Giacomo Puzo. I'm looking for any hint of personal information—addresses, phone numbers, financial records—anything that could be useful.

After some searching, I find a forum that looks promising, a haven for hackers and data brokers—in other words, a place where stolen information is bought and sold. I register an account using a fake identity and begin to explore the listings. Sure enough, buried within the labyrinth of posts and threads, I find a user claiming to have information on Giacomo Puzo. Probably one of his ex-employees, someone looking to get even after being cut off from the Puzo family.

The seller requires payment in Bitcoin. Again, I expected this. When I was in Europe, I paid for everything in either cash or cryptocurrency. I access my crypto wallet and transfer the required amount. Within minutes, a download link is sent to me. I open it and a file containing the promised information is downloaded to my temporary desktop.

I pore through the information. A lot of things are interesting, but not helpful. I find some medical records—Puzo recently had a colonoscopy, had testicular cancer in his late twenties, and has a pretty serious peanut allergy. I dig a little deeper and find that he's frequented escort services quite a bit in the last few years. Another check for my theory that his marriage is in name only. Compromising information perhaps, but that can't have anything to do with why my grandfather wants him dead.

But then I find something odd, something out of place in this picture-perfect narrative. A strange connection between Giacomo Puzo and an infamous cartel in South America. A too-frequent visitor of a certain coffee plantation, reportedly known as the hub for one of the largest narcotic operations in Colombia.

He's been there often, far too often for it to be casual visits or business trips. Pictures of him with known cartel members—laughing, drinking, living it large.

A sudden wave of nausea hits me as I gaze at a picture dated just two weeks back—Giacomo Puzo and my grandfather sharing a toast, their eyes meeting in a silent understanding.

Why would my grandfather want me to kill his own ally?

That's easy enough to answer. He's not actually an ally.

What I need to know is if this man truly deserves the fate my grandfather has sentenced him to.

I need answers before I can make a decision, so I continue to pore over the archives, hitting every major database, scouring the dark web for even a hint of clarity.

I find a connection between Puzo and a string of mysterious disappearances among the workers at the narcotics operation. But it's not enough concrete evidence to pin him as directly responsible. The missing women and children—was it Puzo's handiwork or a coincidence? Could he be involved with human trafficking? Is that why my grandfather wants him gone? Because he's getting our family into that operation?

With every new piece of information I uncover, it's clear that this rabbit hole goes much deeper than I first thought.

Before leaving, I make sure to cover my tracks. The design of the Tails OS ensures that once the system is shut down, no trace of my activities will remain on the library computer. I close the Tor Browser, remove my USB stick, and shut down the machine, watching as it powers off and reverts to its normal state.

I stand up, glancing around again to ensure no one has been watching me too closely. Nothing to worry about. It's a public library. As long as I'm not jacking off to porn in the corner, the librarians won't care.

It's not until I finally stand up from the computer that I realize how tense the muscles in my body are. I never thought I'd be revisiting the dark web. I thought that once I was back in the States, my time in the shadows of the information superhighway were behind me. I'm so ill at ease that I jerk when my phone buzzes against my pocket with a text.

I take it out, sure that it's some federal employee coming for me for accessing information that was not rightly mine.

But it isn't.

It's Falcon Bellamy, my brother-in-law.

I need your help.