Page 49 of My Mafia King

“We teach them a lesson. I don’t know if they’re stupid or they’re stupid. Considering they’re trying to defraud the house, they sure don’t know––or didn’t do their homework––who they’re trying to steal from. Or maybe they know and do it regardless, thinking they'll get away with it. It’s not gonna happen now.”

I shift in my seat and set my arms on my desk.

Tipping my gaze down, I slowly run my fingers through my hair before lifting my eyes to them.

“You collect them and show them some good time,” I say, somber, not smiling. “No recycling.”

Which means no bodies to get rid of.

I go on.

“For now. I don’t want to see these fuckers again or other losers like them who think they can dip their greedy hands into my business. You round them up discretely when I give you the signal. Special croupiers have been assigned to those tables. You’ll get my message through them. Don’t make a show of it, but pick them up at once so they know we’re onto them. Toss them around a little and make them soil themselves so they get a taste of what they’re stepping into. You know, for shits and giggles,” I say, smiling this time, and Vito knows what this kind of smile means, and so do the others, so they all chuckle.

“All right, Boss,” he says before they all leave the room.

* * *

DAMASO

Earlier

“Dinner, sir?”the woman says, looking at me from the doorway, her hand latched onto the stainless steel food cart she’s about to wheel in.

A smell of freshly cooked food permeates the air.

“Sure. Go ahead,” I say, tipping my chin toward the table in the corner.

Silently, I watch her set the table.

She places a white linen tablecloth, napkins, plates, sparkling silverware, and fresh flowers on it before handling the food and setting the appetizers, pasta, and steak on the plates.

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

I nod before she spins around and exits my office, and then I pour myself a drink and put on some music.

It’s not any kind of music.

Within minutes, I’m sitting at the table, enjoying my meal and listening to the opera.

I’ve been doing this since I was a kid.

That’s how I grew up.

My parents used to put music on––it was never loud, always in the background––whenever we gathered around the table and had dinner.

It reminds me of them and helps me step away from the present.

Tosca plays in the background––Vissi d’arte––and I drink red wine when someone knocks on the door.

“Come in,” I bark.

The door opens, and Vito and Louie swagger in.

I move my eyes from one to the other, running a napkin over my lips.

“It’s done,” Vito says while Louie slides the door closed. “There were eight. The soy boys spilled it out within seconds.”

Smiling, I look at my plate and continue eating.

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