Page 3 of Creed

“It comes with the territory.”

“Speaking of territory,” he says darkly. “Raf is closing in on the gangbangers who hit Dominion. Thought you’d want to know, baby brother.”

Even though I’m not involved in that part of our world, I want to know. Not to involve myself in criminal world politics about a new gang trying to make a name for themselves, but because they killed our club’s manager, Effie.

Raf, or Raffaello Romani, is Vito’s best friend and righthand man, and I know he’ll have Vito’s back when they grab the guilty Mambo Posse members, but I still warn, “Don’t be stupid.”

“Bitch, please,” he gripes. “Stupid isnotmy middle name.”

Vito is one of the most level-headed people I know, but I still worry. “The Chamber could back this,” I say about the additional power structure in San Francisco.

Formed years ago, and a brainchild of my father and a Triad leader, the Chamber is a collective of the five strongest factions in San Francisco. The Santoros, Triads, Havoc Guardians motorcycle club, the Saints, and the Fire Clan created an alliance to minimize warring and focus on enforcing their version of peace on the streets to avoid collateral damage to innocents. They also recognized the business perks of the collective.

“This one’s personal,” Vito growls.

To lighten the mood, I smirk. “I just don’t want your pretty face and body more scarred than it already is. One of us has to getmarried soon, orMammawill start convincingPapàarranged marriages are the way to go.”

“Fuck that.” Vito laughs. “You and Massimo are gonna have to pull through there. My strategy always has been, and always will be, that I fuck one-and-done. There are no repeats, and I keep things uncomplicated. Can’t really find a wife that way, can I?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Mass is gonna have to carry the torch, I guess.” I sober, knowing Vito needs to go. “We’ll meet up when I get home.”

“Fuck, yes. We’ll hit Vixen’s or maybe Hedon to get you laid with dirty things that will make your eyes cross and roll into the back of your head.”

“Not a visual I need from my brother,” I deadpan.

“It’s not like I suggested you tag team with Raf and me for sharing.”

“Shut the fuck up, Vito,” I groan, trying desperately to prevent any imagery from appearing in my mind.

He howls like a loon. “Later, baby brother.”

Thankfully, he hangs up, and I firmly shove away thoughts of my brother and his best friend’s dirty antics.

Deciding against a nap, I turn to the row of suits in my closet to pick out my attire for tonight’s industry mixer.

I’m going out of respect for my father, but I dread this. Especially since it’s Halloween-themed, but thankfully, costumes are optional.

An idea takes root for how I might find someone I’d want to invest more than the perfunctory, polite, brief small talk.

Normally, I'd wear something like a royal blue three-piece suit with a black shirt and patterned silver and royal blue tie. Instead, I select a light gray suit and white button-down and grab a pair of non-prescription glasses that Andro had left here.

I walk out of the closet, texting Andro—Alessandro, my cousin and right-hand man—for him to find me a pair of specific cufflinks before he comes over later. His response is as expected.

Dude, you know how early it is? The fuck you messaging me for?

And Mickey Mouse cufflinks? You’re shitting me, right?

I’m going in costume tonight

As Bob Iger

Who the fuck is that?

FML… I’m on it. You owe me a drink… or nine.

A mysterious thrill of excitement runs down my spine and takes me by surprise.

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