Page 1 of Still Forever
Prologue
The Black Table- Private Elite Estate, Undisclosed Location
The air was thick with the smell of scotch and cigar smoke. The kind of smoke that clung to your clothes and stayed there. Italian Cigars, hand-rolled somewhere in the hills of Tuscany, burned slowly between the fingers of everyone in attendance. Family crests lined the walls like badges of honor. Each one of them was showcasing a family that had lasted through bullets, betrayal, and indictments.
It was the first day of the annual summit. This wasn’t a vacation; it was a three-week meeting for the leaders of each country to discuss power moves. Each chair was filled by a man who had earned his place through blood, sweat, and more blood- the Mafia held no place for tears. The room would be full of tailored suits with secrets of death stitched into them, seasoned faces, set jaws, and short fuses.
The long wooden table was almost filled to capacity. There were a couple of seats left empty, and for the first time in twenty-five years, there would be new names on the docket.
Jennings-Rockwell.
Nobody in the room could deny what they had done. Their organizations were powerhouses. Three years ago, they were at war with each other. Now, they’re running the most profitable region in the country. The others didn’t even come close in comparison. The alliance turned a war into an empire, and the elites had been watching their every move.
Normally, the summit seats were reserved for representatives of the country. But an invitation was extended to both leaders. The elites were about to take the Jennings-Rockwell alliance to a level of power they had never known. Typically, this level of power wasn’t reached until you were well into the game. But in just a short time, they earned it.
Before the summit was set to start, the families held a private sit-down. In order to hold a seat at the table, you had to be voted in by the majority.
Mateo, the Don of all Dons, sat silently at the head of the table, rolling a cigar slowly between his fingers. His eyelids hung low—a sign of age—while his eyes carefully scanned each member. Remaining the quietest in the room, he never spoke unless his word was needed to decide the final call.
His Capo started the meeting, “Thank you, gentleman, for coming to the annual meeting. As you can see, we have a few empty seats. Hopefully by the end of the summit, we might not.”
He blew the smoke from the cigar, then took a sip from his glass and threw the scotch back like it was juice.
“The Jennings-Rockwell alliance has made their region the most profitable that it has been in years. Now, their organization is the best performing in the United States. Sixty-three families are on record, and theirs is number one. Globally, their family is ranked number two in the nation, only one behind Italy. What they were able to accomplish in such a short amount of time needs to be studied. And it has been.”
The faces of the men held nothing but respect; most of them were familiar with the Jennings-Rockwell families, and those who weren’t waited to see where his speech was going.
“We’ve studied them. We watched every move, deal, and hit. They earned it. And now we’re ready to make a call.”
He paused. “We offer them seats at the table as national elites. Twenty-two families instead of twenty.” The Capo finished his thought and then held the cigar between his teeth just as one of the other leaders interrupted.
Errol, the leader of Jamaica, spoke first, his accent thick with patois. “Trouble ah madman,” he muttered as he whistled, half in respect, half in warning.
The leader of Moscow spoke up, “Let’s not forget that the alliance made them strong. But Trouble’s the leader. He should be the only one to get the seat.”
The Capo didn’t blink, “His brothers aren’t just riding his coattails. Jaxon has negotiated some of the best deals we’ve ever seen. Including a port deal that saved us from billions in losses. And Judah? The kid is a damn Wizard. He can break into systems that we thought were made of steel.” He scoffed at the disdain from Moscow.
Then he added, “Don’t play them short just because they’re young. A fresh new set of eyes may be just what we need.”
Tokyo chimed in, “I agree with Moscow. The Rockwell tie is what gives them rank. Without that, they’re just high performing independents.”
The Capo shrugged. “Fine. Then we will find the brothers an alliance, if you insist they must have one to sit at the table. This time, I suggest we merge the lowest-performing Mafia. Just like Trouble and Rockwell. Through marriage. That’ll put their power to the test.”
Silence filled the room before another gentleman chimed in, the leader of Haiti, “I’ve worked with Jaxon, he’s sharp. But I believe he is engaged or already married.”
The Capo looked around the table, waiting for anyone to confirm that statement. Two of them nodded.
“By a show of hands, who votes to have the Jennings and Rockwell families at the table if they form an alliance?” The Capo asked and waited. Eighteen of the twenty men raised their hands. The only two who didn’t agree were Tokyo and Moscow.
The Capo nodded.
“Majority rules.” Then he turned toward Moscow.
“Find out everything you need to know about this girlfriend or wife. Her name, background, family, and even what she orders for breakfast. If she is tied to this life, we will work around it. If she’s not, then she’s in the way.”
“What if he doesn’t want to end it?” Haiti asked.
Mateo cut in, raising his hand to silence his Capo. English wasn’t his first language. He understood more than he spoke but knew just enough to make basic calls.
