Page 1 of Bianchi

Chapter 1

Romeo

My body aches. It’s a deep, all-consuming ache that I could put down to a lack of sleep or the thirteen-hour flight, but my nonna would say it’s because of the stress. And she’d be right. It’s been there for years, slowly getting worse, hovering on the periphery of my existence.

To some extent, it’s expected, especially given the world that I live in. But today, it’s overwhelming; consuming me and making its presence known in the most ostentatious way. Every muscle in my body is tense. A headache pounds at the base of my skull, and I roll my shoulders to ease the pressure that’s been building since I got the call.

Mia famiglia è sotto attacco.

Yesterday, I was back home in Palermo. I was putting plans in place to expand our operation abroad when Massimo called. I was in the middle of a meeting but something had my hand snatching up the phone as it vibrated across the table. When the call connected, a chill ran down my spine. As Massimo uttered those fateful words, for a second, I wished I hadn’t answered and yet there was no hesitation in my response.

Massimo is the head of La Cosa Nostra—or the American Mafia, as most people know it. He has a larger-than-life persona about him so doesn’t ask for help with trivial matters. And especially when he’s been running the operation without a hitch ever since he took over ten years ago. I know that Massimo can take care of business, dealing with issues in the way our fathers taught us—with little or no compassion. But he’s my cousin, and in his thirty years of existence, I’ve never heard him sound like he did on that call.

We’ve been attacked, Rome. It’s the third in two weeks. We need you here. Massimo’s words bounce around in my mind, replaying like a broken record. This is war. But there will only be one family that comes out on top. For decades, ours has asserted its dominance in this world. Enemies have come and gone, but there are always players in the game, looking for what they think is an easy way to the top.

There are no limits to the lengths people will go to in order to get more.

To have more power.

Whoever is behind this has too much knowledge of Massimo’s operation. Yes, it could be that they’ve made some well-calculated guesses, but to make three and have them all hit the mark, seems too coincidental.

Daniele, my underboss, is sitting opposite me, reviewing a contract for a building I’m purchasing. Yellow tabs dot the edge of the paper indicating points for me to review. It’s just the two of us for now. I’ll send for more men once we’ve assessed the situation, if it’s needed. The operation doesn’t stop just because I’ve left the country.

I scrub a hand over my jaw as I look out of the rain-spotted cabin window and over the slick black tarmac. I’d rather be anywhere but here. Resting my head against the leather headrest, I tap a finger on my knee under the table as I go over what we know so far.

A bomb went off as a shipment was arriving at the docks and Massimo lost five men. It could have been more. It could have been him. After losing my parents to a car bomb when I was twenty, I refuse to lose my only other living relative that way. And that’s another reason for my visit; Massimo has been present at all the attacks. There was a shooting as he was leaving a restaurant. A car that tried to ram him off the road. And now this. My body tightens and I clench my fists to control the waves of fury that have been coursing through me since the call.

Whoever is trying to take out my family will die.

“Mr. Bianchi, we are ready for you to disembark. Thank you for flying with us today.” The pilot’s voice fills the cabin, and I drag myself out of my seat.

My muscles feel heavy, and I crack my neck from side to side in an effort to force my mind to focus. As the blonde-haired flight attendant opens the door, her red-coated lips spread into a grin that’s bordering on flirtatious rather than professional. The glint in her eyes as they rake over my body tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Thank you for flying with us, Mr. Bianchi. I hope you enjoyed your flight.”

When I approach her, she holds out her hand, a piece of paper in her palm. I look down at it dismissively before brushing past her and out of the plane. This is why I should buy my own damn plane. If she really knew who I was and what I do, I can guarantee that she wouldn’t be so willing to give me her number.

Crossing the threshold, I come to a stop at the top of the stairs, a cold breeze hitting me. I tip my head back, drops of rain dotting my face as I look up at the sky of gray clouds. The weather matches my mood perfectly. Perhaps it’s a foreshadowing of what’s to come.

I pull in a lungful of air. It smells of earth and gasoline. Blowing my breath out, my eyes roam around the tarmac of the private airport. Silty puddles form on the ground, and hurried figures race through the light rain.

A hand lands on my shoulder, pulling my attention to Daniele as he comes to a stop behind me. He inclines his head toward the three black SUVs strategically parked at the bottom of the steps. “We should be at Massimo’s within the hour, boss.”

I amble down the stairs, my gaze roaming the landing strip. Getting lost in my thoughts will only get me killed. If somebody is trying to take out my family, then I’m a prime target. It’s a natural hazard of the job and one I’d be a fool to ignore.

When I reach the bottom of the steps, I stuff my hand into my pocket, palming the pocket watch my nonno gifted me. I was sixteen when he died, but he taught me so much—along with my father—about this life.

I can hear his voice so clearly, as if he’s standing in front of me. “Always have your guard up, Romeo. Never let anyone get too close, because they will use that against you in the most brutal of ways.”

He was on his deathbed when he shared that nugget of wisdom. My mother pulled me away as quickly as she could, but the words have always hovered on the periphery of my mind, guiding me in everything I do. His guidance has got me this far, which, given my lifestyle, is a miracle.

One of Massimo’s men steps out from the driver's seat of the middle SUV. He holds the door open as I approach, inclining his head as I climb into the heated car. “Good evening, Don.” He closes the door, before climbing behind the wheel.

The rain intensifies, drumming on the roof of the car as I pull on my seat belt. I’m not in the mood for making small talk, and based on the heaviness hanging in the atmosphere, neither are Massimo’s men. With our bags stowed into the cars and our passports checked, Daniele climbs in beside me. The only sounds as the car travels across the airfield are the low hum of the engine and the occasional splash of puddles we hit. The gravity of the reason for my visit is felt by us all.

I watch the landscape pass by in a blur as we pull out onto the highway. Massimo’s estate is in Stony Brook, about an hour and twenty from JFK’s private terminal. He has a penthouse in New York, and although he used to spend most of his time in the city, recently, he’s spending more and more time in the house our nonno built.

A familiar burning desire claws at me, urging me to turn around and go home. It’s why it’s been years since I last visited the States. In fact, the last time I was here was for Massimo’s mother’s funeral, twelve years ago. I couldn’t make it out for Dario’s—Massimo’s father—funeral five years later. Too much was happening back home. He would have understood. I swallow down the thickness in my throat and focus on the reason I’m here now.

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