Page 6 of Third Degree

The pressure to return to the nightclub grew more suffocating with each passing day. I’d been allowed the proper time to step away and grieve, leaving the club in the hands of a few of my associates. But these men weren’t huge fans of the Mafia and had tried to push them out of the club in the last year or so.

They would block their access to the basement, and they banned them from using Gambini family contractors, which meant there wasn’t a way to launder any money from the family back to the family via a legitimate source.

Ricardo, the current capo of the Gambini family, was already breathing down my neck, but the situation was about to worsen. Word on the street was that the Ricci family, another gaudy Italian clan with friendly ties to the Gambinis, had arrived in town. It was clear they were there to help their allies bring me back into line.

At first, I didn’t care what happened to me. When Ricardo approached me, I hoped he would put a bullet in my head so I could be reunited with my beloved wife. But then he reminded me of our two boys, and I couldn’t bear to abandon them.

“Cookies are on the porch, boys.” I watched the scene unfold before me as I pulled up from dropping something off at the club earlier. Two little boys with black hair down to their necks ran down the field where their mother was.

It was the family I’d always imagined I had, but something was missing. The secret I carried that I was still very much involved in the family and not out like my wife thought.

They were already strong and tough at nineteen and eighteen years old, just like their old man. Sadly, I suspected they were now Ricardo’s ultimate recruits.

Now I had to go deal with this Ricci family. I was sure the invitation to their mansion was coming.

I now stood in front of my house. As I opened the door, the warmth and welcoming atmosphere that my wife, Bea, had created enveloped me. Her passion for design was evident in every detail, from the shades of blue and cream that adorned the velvet furniture to how the sunlight filtered through the windows.

The entrance hall was small but cozy, with a vintage chandelier hanging from the ceiling and a patterned rug covering the hardwood floor.

To the left was the living room with plush couches and armchairs arranged around a fireplace. The walls were decorated with family photos and paintings, some of which were done by Bea herself. To the right of the hall was the dining room, with a large wooden table and matching chairs. The room was bathed in soft light that filtered in through the sheer curtains draped over the windows.

As I walked through the house, memories of Bea flooded my mind, and I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of loss again.

Soon enough, the dog started barking to signal that someone was at the door. I turned quickly to see the man of the hour, Ricardo, standing in the frame.

“You need to work on closing doors when you enter them,” Ricardo told me, his piercing gaze fixed on mine. “Your tactics are growing weak, Elio.”

Ricardo was a towering figure with a commanding presence that made even the bravest men quiver. His piercing brown eyes seemed to penetrate through my very soul, making it impossible to hide anything from him. His dark brown hair was slicked back, giving him an air of sophistication and power.

Despite his age, he still had the physical presence of a younger man, with broad shoulders and a muscular build that spoke of his years of training and discipline.

“Ciao, Ricardo.” I rounded the corner of the bar which was just off the kitchen and pulled out two glasses and a bottle of gin. Another thing I’d learned these last couple of years was it didn’t matter if it was morning or night; a glass of gin was always needed for these kinds of conversations.

Ricardo grabbed the glass I poured him and sat on one of the barstools at the counter.

“I expected the dog to be more vicious, Elio.” He looked down at the animal with a slight scowl. “What is his name?”

“Hernameis Nutella.”

He chuckled.

“I know you know the Ricci family came to convince you.” He didn’t glance up at me, instead focused on his drink.

I took a long pull and looked into the quiet family room before I glanced back at him. My face dropping in resignation.

“It’s game over, Elio. We have to get you back to the club.” His voice lowered. “I can’t get you outta this shit.”

I pulled my hands through my dark locks, which were wavy and hung like a heavy crown around my forehead. “Fine. Set up a meeting for a couple of days from now. I want to hear what they came all the way to Chicago to say to me,” I mused, earning a small chuckle from Ricardo.

He quickly drained his gin and then placed it on the granite counter. “Welcome back, Elio.” He nodded at me.

“Not back yet,” I grumbled under my breath.

“You are.” He winked at me and then walked out the door, pausing. “Lock the fucking door. Don’t be a stronzo.” Then the door slammed behind him.

I grumbled and shook my head.

I missed being around people. My kids had gone off to college. I had secluded myself in a place of loneliness and missed people’s companionship. As much as I hated that he was right, he was.

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