Page 5 of His to Claim

Maybe that includes you, a little voice taunts.

Shaking my head, I lock all the guilt and doubts away and cross my arms. As a former spec ops guy, I’m good at compartmentalizing. The military also taught me to be tenacious, focused and I learned how to get shit done. It also made me hate showing any kind of weakness. Projecting strength and confidence is key. It’s who I am now and there’s no going back.

As I gaze out over the city I love, my mind wanders back to Carmine Gallo. He moved here not quite two months ago and instantly started causing problems. From what I can deduce, he’s interested in taking over as much here as he can. Word on the street is he was asking a lot of questions about the other mafia families. From what I’m hearing, it sounds like he wants to take over the Five Families alliance. Or, possibly crush it entirely.

Gallo doesn’t want to share; he wants all the power and control.

He’s a greedy sonofabitch, a threat to the setup here that’s working quite nicely lately. I don’t want him riling up alliances and creating new enemies. For the first time in a very, very long time—hell, ever—the five powerhouses of this city have found a peace that always seemed to elude them. Gallo needs to be handled and I’m hoping Rossi will get it done. Otherwise, I’ll take care of it myself.

In the meantime, I need to figure out a costume for the masquerade party. Not my area of expertise, that’s for damn sure. I’m a simple guy and prefer my T-shirt and cargo pants. Comfort is a priority, but I suppose I can suck it up and put on a suit and uncomfortable mask for an hour or two.

There’s a black suit in the back of my closet somewhere. The last time I wore it was to Caitlin’s funeral almost five years ago. An image of her cream casket decorated with tiny pink roses makes my stomach roil. Some days it seems like just yesterday that she died and other times it feels like forever and a day. But the one constant, the one thing that never changes, is the heavy guilt.

Because if I had been here, if I’d been home to protect her, Caitlin would still be alive.

Okay, enough,I chastise myself.You have to let it go.

I wish I could. I really fucking wish I could stop blaming myself, but I can’t.

Turning away from the bright lights of the city night, I wander back over to my desk and drop down. The seat squeaks as I maneuver it closer to the desk and my laptop, and I quickly pull up a website and search for a mask. Hundreds and hundreds of options pop up and I honestly don’t give two shits. I just need something to cover my face and not draw attention. My plan is to stick to the shadows, like I’m good at doing, and keep an eye on the Rossi family from afar. Of course, I’ll make contact with Miceli, let him know I’m there, and he’ll deposit a ridiculous sum of money into my bank account. He’s grateful like that and it’s one of the reasons I keep him up to date on what’s happening.

I stop scrolling when a skeleton mask snags my attention. First, I like that it just covers the lower half of my face, not obscuring my eyes. And, second, it’s badass as fuck. Creepy, too. I hit buy and choose the overnight delivery option. The masquerade benefit is this weekend so I need to throw this costume together asap. I guess I have it already, though.

That wasn’t too hard,I think, sitting back and lacing my fingers.

Now what?

The question flits through my head and I suppose I could kill some time with a beer, a pizza and the newest Netflix drama. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten dinner yet. The urge to get out of my apartment fills me, though, so I decide to grab that beer and some food down at the corner pub I like to frequent. After holstering my Glock 19 at my back, I slip a jacket on, lock up and leave. I never leave home without my piece concealed somewhere on my body. The military taught me well and without a weapon, I feel naked.

I live in a warehouse apartment on the edge of the Hudson River, not too far away from Greenwich Village. My neighborhood is quieter than the Village, though, and I dig the industrial vibe of my place and being so near the docks.

When you do what I do and have done, it’s important to maintain a low profile. I don’t like drawing any attention to myself or standing out. I much prefer being a ghost, a shadow who is hard to track down, not easily found or identified. Because even though I have a lot of good connections, I also have endless enemies. People who want to usurp my power and control from me and others. Assholes like Carmine Gallo who need to be kept in their place and dealt with. They need to understand the hierarchy of this city and accept that they’re at the bottom of the totem pole.

The walk down to Flannigan’s is quick and easy, barely a block from my place. I like it because, although it can get busy, it’s never too crowded or too loud. The service is friendly, but not overly so, and the food is good.

As usual, I sidle up to the bar and perch on the end stool in the corner. It allows me to keep my eyes on the other patrons and on all of the exit points. What can I say? Old habits die hard. Jimmy, the usual weeknight bartender, heads over and greets me.

“Hey, there, what can I get you? The usual?” he asks, and I nod.

Although I don’t like to get too chummy with anyone, I’m a regular customer here, so it makes it hard to avoid. But Jimmy never asks too many questions and doesn’t pry, so I don’t mind. The other bartender, Missy, usually works the earlier shift, and even though I’ve kept my distance and answered her questions with cool, vague answers, she’s made it known on more than one occasion that she’d like to get to know me better. A whole lot better. Of course, I had to shoot her down and put an end to that real quick, but the woman is persistent. So, lately, I’ve avoided coming here when she’s working. It’s just easier.

A basketball game plays on the large TV, but I ignore it. I’ve never been overly interested in sports, unless it involved some type of shooting or martial arts. That grabs my attention because I enjoy both. But men running around and throwing balls? Not so much.

Jimmy cracks open a bottle of Heineken and slides it over to me. I order the bangers and mash which I love. It’s an Irish dish that consists of jumbo Irish sausages with homemade mashed potatoes and served with baked beans and gravy. Sounds a little disgusting, but it tastes like heaven on a plate.

After scoping out the crowd and not sensing a threat, I take a sip of beer and allow myself to relax. Well, as much as I can relax. I’m always ready to launch into action at a moment’s notice and can thank my years on my ghost ops teams for that. Dangerous missions full of enemies instilled that innate readiness and constant vigilance. Sometimes, I think it’s a good thing. Other times, I think it’s a curse.

But it’s who I am: a former operator who chose his career over his woman.

And because of that decision, which will haunt me until the day I die, she is dead and never coming back.

3

CARLOTTA

I’m surrounded by my brother’s wives and we’re all getting ready together at Miceli and Alessia’s place. They live on Billionaire’s Row on the 129th floor of the swankiest penthouse I’ve ever seen. It’s extravagant and far too much for me, but the security is top notch, so it reminds me of a fortress. No one is getting in this place that isn’t invited.

My sisters-in-law have convinced all of my brothers to dress up—not that it took much cajoling because they’re all pussy-whipped—and the girls have spent the last two hours doing each other’s makeup, hair and choosing accessories.

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