Page 78 of Mafia Star

I don’t usually issue orders to my uncle. But I don’t want to wait around for a game of telephone. I also don’t love having my aunt in the middle of this. Even if politics is her profession, and she mingles with her own set of dirty people, I don’t want her caught in the middle for my sake.

Uncle Salvatore stares at me. It would scare the shit out of me when I was a teenager and just moving from Uncle Sal being my fun uncle who let me drive his golf cart way too fast to being my don. It made me anxious when I became a capo. Now I’m too fucking pissed to be anything but angry. I stare back.

“Attento, ragazzino.” Watch it, little boy.

The worst day of Uncle Salvatore’s life— at least until men took Aunt Sylvia —was the day he found out what Carmine, Luca, and Gabriele did that risked a bratva then-girlfriend-now-wife’s life. It was the day he had to be a don first and an uncle second.

I didn’t know the man could be so angry. Angry at what my brother, cousin, and friend did. Angry that it put him in a position to punish them. He doled it out to his little brother’s son and his little sister’s son. To his long-time best friend’s son. He wound up breaking Luca’s arm and almost shattering Carmine’s nose. They deserved it, and Uncle Salvatore had to keep up appearances. He had to show our men and the rest of the world that he hadn’t lost control over our family. But he will not talk about that day.

I don’t need to put him in that position, and I sure as shit don’t want to be on the receiving end. I also don’t want to do that to Papa. He had no choice but to accept what his older brother did to his oldest child. As consigliere, he had to advise Uncle Salvatore that there was no choice but to punish the three of them. As a father, he had to watch.

If Luca hadn’t been involved, it would have fallen to his shoulders as underboss to carry out the beating. If my older brother never has a son, then I’ll be his underboss. Then my son, if I have one, would become the underboss when he’s old enough and eventually don after me. I don’t want to be in Papa’s or Uncle Salvatore’s position. That makes me wonder if Beth realizes any sons we might have are likely to enter this life.

We don’t know what the future holds. None of us want another generation in the Mafia, but is there really another choice? It’s not like Luca could abdicate to another family on his death bed. That would leave the rest of us and our children and grandchildren in another family’s crosshairs. I’m going to have to explain my position as capo dei capi to Beth. There’s no way out of that. I’m going to explain what that means for our future.

“Sì, Zio.” Yes, Uncle.

Uncle Salvatore gives me one last long look. A reminder. Then he looks at Carmine.

“Find out where each of them is.”

Carmine sighs.

“I already know. They’re at the hospital. Margherita had surgery today. There were complications. Their priest is there, and even Laura and her parents went.”

Fuck. Margherita is Enrique’s sister-in-law. She married Luis, Enrique’s younger brother, and they had two sons— Pablo and Juan. Juan fucked around and found out that Maks doesn’t issue empty threats to anyone who gets too close to his wife and twins. Pablo is Luca’s equivalent. If Laura and her family set aside their hostility toward the Diazes, it must be dire. Juan was Laura’s oldest friend. They grew up next door. The Doyles and Diazes alternated hosting Sunday dinner for nearly thirty years. Now they won’t even look in each other’s direction. Margherita’s on her deathbed.

Fuck my life.

Everyone looks at me.

“I know. We can’t strike them if their aunt is dying today.”

I meant it a little more sincerely than it sounded. She’s a nice woman who used to bring tres leches cake to our games if it was someone’s birthday. That’s right. Our games. We not only played little league and peewee sports with our enemies when we were kids, we were often on the same fucking teams. Given how history repeats itself, one day my niece, Petra, might play on the same team as Konstantin or Mila or Lev Kutsenko.

Uncle Salvatore’s frown is even grimmer than usual.

“We can’t do anything that might kill them, but we can fuck some shit up. They knew their aunt was going into surgery, and they treated today as business as usual. They can’t have it both ways. We don’t involve Enrique right now. Let him be an older brother to Luis. Let Pablo be a son. But fuck Tres J’s and Alejandro.”

As though our fucking family tree isn’t an actual orchard. Enrique also has two younger sisters. One sister is the mother of Tres J’s, and the other is Alejandro’s. Tres J’s grew up in Colombia until they were teenagers. They saw some fucked-up shit there. They’re fucking psychopaths. Some might call me a sociopath, but they’re bona fide disturbed. Alejandro travels to Colombia a lot with his Tío Luis. The shit people hear about the streets of Bogota? They can thank Alejandro for probably half of it.

Leaving Enrique and Pablo out of it. That’s as close to sympathy as my uncle gets for anyone outside our family. Even among our community’s families, he’s not that generous.

I have the tickle of an idea.

“Luca, when’s their next shipment of carfentanil coming across the border?”

“Good memory. It’s supposed to be tonight.”

“Have they paid?”

I look over at Enzo. He keeps tabs on the other syndicate’s cash flows and investments.

“Half.”

I shift my gaze back to Luca.

“Let’s take all of it.”

---