Page 77 of Mafia Star

I’ve left Beth in my mother's and aunts’ capable hands. I’ve walked down the hall with the other men to Uncle Salvatore’s office. It’s a converted den since there aren’t many other rooms spacious enough to contain all of us. There’s nine of us. That’s three more than on an offensive or defensive line in American football. There are sofas and armchairs spread around to make a semicircle in front of Uncle Salvatore’s desk, which faces the windows. Of course. His back isn’t to the door either. Could the windows make him an easier target? Sure. Can anyone sneak up? No. I mean, they could try. But really?

Uncle Salvatore’s drumming his arpeggio on his chair arm. This is one of those times where it’s not reassuring me. Could everyone hurry the fuck up and sit already? My hope for a night alone with Beth, even though it’s still only late afternoon, went to shit. I don’t like leaving her with people she doesn’t know, even if her sister is here. If I have to be in here, then I don’t want to wait to find out who the fuck did this, either.

Uncle Salvatore sits forward and looks at me. Wonder-fucking-ful. What now?

“Auntie Paola made some more calls this afternoon.”

Usually, the women stay far away from Mafia business. We try to shelter them for many reasons, but most of all, we don’t want any blood on their hands— which would be inevitable if they saw the risks we take. There’d be no tenuous balance of power among the families. Our mothers, wives, and sisters would annihilate anyone for moving even a single hair on our heads. The world might be more peaceful run by women, but only because they’d resolve things much faster with their scorched earth tactics.

Uncle Salvatore has plenty of his own connections, but it’s obvious Auntie Paola has resources at her disposal that are just as effective, if not more in this situation. I want to know who and what.

“What’d she learn?”

“You can thank Tres J’s for this.”

Motherfucking sons of a cum dumpster bitch. Fuck that balance of power. I will kill Javier, Jorge, and Joaquin. Those motherfuckers.

Carmine shakes his head before he speaks.

“Calm your ass down. I talked to Mama already. They’re the ones who set up Luigi and bribed the ATF to make a move. The FBI didn’t want to be left out. But they didn’t tell either agency when to make their move. According to Javier, they told their CI with the FBI to back off Liz. The dumbasses found out the three guys were following Liz and found out two of them touched her. I guess the assholes didn’t listen to the advice Tres J’s CI gave them.”

Papa chimes in.

“They’ll leave the three to you, as is your right. But apparently, their CI wasn’t long for this world. He’s been taken care of. Not because Tres J’s feel badly that Liz got involved. They’re pissed the bust was a bust. The shit timing and execution means we know now. There’s no element of surprise for the Diazes anymore.”

As is my right. My right to defend my woman. My right to have a vendetta, which will be short-lived. Six months. That’s how long those men have left to kiss their families goodbye. Too soon, and it’s too obvious. Too late, and they don’t live in fear. I’ll drop some hints in the meantime. Let them think I might come after their women.

“Explain to me how this worked out. Luigi and Enzo were only gone a month ago. How’d the Diazes find out what happened with the Rizzos and Grassos? How’d they get the FBI and ATF to move so fast?”

Carmine speaks up again.

“Enrique set some guy up in the Rizzos a while back when he thought— feared —Luca would marry Cecelia. He wanted to know what was going on with an alliance between New York and Chicago. I guess he didn’t pull the guy.”

“How did he get someone in with them?”

No one welcomes new people to their organization unless they come from the old country and are fully vetted. It’s not like we hand out invites to join the club. Our Made Men, the highest-ranking men who aren’t capos, are all Italians. Mostly Sicilians. Associates are the men we allow in who aren’t Italian of any kind. They’re few and far between in the Mancinelli branch or any other. Below that are our soldati— soldiers —the guys who do the street hustles and odd jobs. They’re still mostly Italians. We might pay an outsider to knock off a corner store or garage that isn’t paying us on time. But anything more than that stays in our community.

It’s no different in any other city with Cosa Nostra. So that brings me back to how’d they get someone in? I want Carmine’s intel.

“The guy can fake an Italian Chicago accent well enough to date one of Edoardo’s capo’s daughters. The guy has big ears and a silver tongue. Probably a big dick, too. I guess the woman’s big on pillow talk, so Enrique’s guy told the Diazes everything the woman knew about her family’s business. Way more than she should have known. She’s a nosy fucker.”

Our fathers “let” us swear when we’re in here. But swear in front of the women in our family? Hard limit. Especially Auntie Carlotta.

Enzo runs his hand through his hair.

“It means at least the Rizzos know what I did. The Grassos probably do too. I was hoping for at least another month or two before they put together all the pieces. I’m the most newly married. One of you is taking the next trip.”

“Papa always made me clean up after you, little brother.”

Luca smirks, and Enzo makes an obscene gesture with his fist. I ignore them since I have more questions.

“Anyway. Enrique’s guy found out shit from Edoardo’s people. He told Enrique, and Enrique told Tres J’s? Or did this guy report to Tres J’s? Did Enrique assign this to his nephews, or did they take it upon themselves?”

I want to know just how big a bomb I need when I retaliate. And when I say bomb, I mean bomb. I didn’t study electrical engineering for nothing. Uncle Salvatore leans back in his chair as he frowns at me.

“We don’t know yet. Auntie Paola is waiting for a couple calls back. She’s got a client in Chicago who’s making inquiries to find out who Enrique’s man told. This contact wants to be sure the Rizzos’ secrets aren’t going further than the Diazes.”

“Call Enrique.”

---