Page 33 of Bound to Him

“Mr. Abella! It’s always a pleasure.”

“Yes, always! Even when you were three years old, running in here and begging for biscotti!”

They laughed about that fond memory; I found myself smiling and nodding at the old man we used to hang out with while our father was busy at the back. Which was where we headed, leaving Vinnie in a corner booth to keep an eye over the restaurant.

“Don Rossi, how wonderful to see you again.” Antonio held Alfonso Rossi’s hand with both of his, smiling dutifully. The last time I saw him was at Antonio’s wedding.

This back room had been fixed up many years ago, possibly before I was even born, to accommodate a poker table, a small bar, and a lounge area. It was kept for all made men but was always where the three family dons would meet in secret. In the past, Antonio accompanied our father, and I’d be outside with the boys. Today, I joined him, being the Moretti underboss.

In the room was Antonio and I, Alfonso Rossi and his son, Al Jr., and lastly, Enzo Romano with Tony at his side. At meetings like this, I didn’t bother with small rivals over girls, and neither did Tony, apparently. He greeted us all with a handshake, a cheek kiss, and a courtesy nod of the head. We stood behind our dons, who all took a seat at the table and lit up cigars.

These meetings that took place between the three dons of the city were always tense. While they strived to be friendly with each other, there was always bad blood of some kind. Alfonso Rossi had a deep hatred for Enzo Romano and vice versa. The Morettis had always been the family in the middle, physically separating the Rossis and Romanos territories, as well as keeping the peace and discouraging any talk of war between the families. In a way, that made the Moretti's the head family. It was unspoken, but the two dons still treated Antonio with the kind of respect a leader would have.

Antonio sat through the niceties and “how’s your mother” conversations, before clasping his hands together and getting the business started. “Men, I’ve called you here today to discuss something that’s been nibbling away at my patience for quite some time.”

The older dons looked slightly indignant, having had a friendly, equal relationship with our father, Lorenzo Moretti. They still weren’t used to a younger don having theunspokenauthority.

I knew Antonio had been all but kissing their asses over the past two years since our father died, but today he was making it clear that he was in fact the Moretti don, and no one would walk over him, no matter who you were.

“What is that, Don Antonio?” Enzo asked casually.

“There have been a lot of new, illicit drug dens popping up all over my territory. Now, I know that you both know the Moretti turf is a pusher-free zone, without exception. It has been that way since my father passed the law twenty years ago.”

They both nodded, slightly concerned but completely calm.

“Don Enzo, I don’t believe you would have played with that kind of fire, given the current treaty deal we are working on?”

“Correct, Don Antonio.” Enzo nodded; Tony was watching on with calculating eyes.

Antonio looked toward Alfonso. “Don Alfonso, do you know anything about this?”

Alfonso’s eyes narrowed, and he put his cigar down. “Don Antonio, are you implying that we could be behind such a reckless and foolish scheme?”

Behind him, his son Al Jr. seemed to be clenching his fists, watching Antonio with anger in his eyes. I readied myself, hoping the idiot would try something.

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you,” Antonio replied coolly.

Alfonso scoffed, shaking his head. “No, to my knowledge, my men have not been interfering with any narc-related business, not on your turf.”

Antonio sat back, watching him carefully. “I know you haven’t been entirely happy with the deal between the Morettis and Romanos. Forgive me, but I need to rule out all possible suspects.”

Al Jr. chuckled sarcastically, shaking his head. I stepped forward. Tony stepped forward.

Antonio asked, “Al Jr., do you have something to say?”

“Nothing,” he ground out, and his father clenched his jaw, looking annoyed, and picked up his cigar again.

“Are you sure?” Antonio asked.

“It sure seems like there's something you wanna say,goomba,” I said darkly. I couldn’t help myself in these situations when I could see a man was about to talk shit, to our faces or not.

Al Jr. flipped.

“Who’s your fuckinggoomba, huh?” He stepped up to me, his face turning red as he shouted with his spit hitting my face. I kept my footing, baring my teeth as I told myself not to punch the fucker out. “You fucking Morettis think you run this whole goddamn city! Ever since Lorenzo kicked the bucket—”

“Whoa there, man. You wanna be careful about what you say next,” I growled out, allowing him the opportunity to see how fucking pissed he was making me before I took him outside and gave him no more chances to speak.

“Al,” his father started his warning from his seat, “stand down.”

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