Page 28 of The Gangster King

“Dante! Are you going to do something about that?” My mother demands from the doorway of the living room.

I lift my head.

I’m home. Thank god for my men. They were able to get me back into the estate after arranging the meeting at the warehouse. I’m starting to think the feds aren’t after me.

Nick has been tasked with sniffing around for some information, but with nothing on the news about my father’s death or the raid, it’s making me itchy and uncomfortable.

Which is probably why I’m choosing to stay away from Adelina. She tests my patience on a good day. Right now, I don’t know whether I want to strangle her or fuck her into submission.

I do know which one I’d rather do.

“No. She’ll work it out,” I say, wishing my mother would get out of my face.

I know she’s grieving my father and worried about where Gianna is, but I’ve got a lot on my plate.

Not wanting to leave the house, I’ve been meeting with all the general managers of our legit companies advising them of Papa’s death and that I am now in charge.

There have been tears and shock.

Honestly, I don’t have time to be everyone’s fucking shrink, but I have to nod and console them, waiting for the appropriate moment to tell them that it's business as usual. That my expectations are the same as my father’s, and I will visit them soon.

The more illegal (read: very illegal) arm of our organization has been slightly different. It’s just juggling lava. They’ve been trying to negotiate higher prices, threaten to work with other families and a bunch of other shit.

Some of them I shut down.

Most of them I got heavy-handed.

“Try this bullshit with me and you’ll find out I’m much crueler than my father. Feel like testing the theory, or do you want your sister to live?” I told one guy.

Last I heard, our shipment arrived.

It’s been keeping Jono and Nick busy.

“It’s been six days! I’m sick of her screaming.” Mama throws her arms in the hair.

I drop the tablet I’m reading from.

Jesus, between Adelina’s shouting and banging and my mother’s complaining, I can barely fucking think.

“Fine!” I stand, glaring at her. Then stride past her, shooting her an even darker one.

“Don’t push me. I’m not in the mood,” I say as I keep walking. Then I add over my shoulder. “Try ringing your daughter again.”

“I’m not your slave, Dante. Do not speak to me like that.”

Is she fucking kidding me right now?

I spin around.

“You will do as I fucking say! I am not your son anymore; I am the head of this family,” I yell.

Short.

Fuse.

Blown.

“Ring Gianna. She needs to come home!” I fling my hands out like any good Italian does.

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