Page 93 of Vicious Intentions
The old man is on borrowed time, and he knows it, but these three fuckers apparently haven’t gotten the memo yet.
“What’s this about, Matteo?” Pietra’s father, Don Rinaldi, asks, waving the meeting along, looking genuinely eager to start. “I don’t mean to rush you, but I never did like having meetings with all of us in one place. I feel like we’re sitting targets.”
This time, all the men are in agreement, nodding and murmuring their discomfort with the chosen venue.
“The Irish don’t know we’re here,” Moretti says in a way of soothing his fellow colleagues’ concern. “We have eyes and ears on every last one of them as we speak, courtesy of Matteo’s newlyacquired friend, Don Vitale. You can breathe easy, gentlemen. Matteo knows what he’s doing.”
“If only the Irish were our only enemies,” Marino says in distaste. “If the Outfit hears about us congregating like this, they’ll imagine the worst. And I, for one, don’t want to give them any more ammo to take more from us than they already have. In fact,” he says, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet, “good day, gentlemen. I refuse to stay here another second. Email me the bullet points of today’s meeting, boy. I’m sure it will make for riveting reading.”
“Sit down,” Niccolò growls, standing right in his face.
“Matteo, tell your dog to step out of my way.” Marino huffs.
“Dog?” Niccolò repeats, his black eyes gleaming as he feints a lunge forward, stopping just short of the old-timer and making him flinch back two steps. “Woof,” Niccolò goads.
My brother isn’t usually funny, but I’ve got to hand it to him. Watching Marino almost piss his pants does give me a great sense of pleasure.
“Sit down, Marino,” Moretti says, annoyed, having had enough with Marino’s antics.
“You heard my father. Sit your ass down. God, when did you all become such pussies all of a sudden?” Rocco adds, rolling his eyes.
Moretti throws an irritated glance at Rocco, apparently not pleased with his son’s outburst, especially since all the men here are worthy of respect in his eyes, but he doesn’t chastise Rocco either.
Still, Marino refuses to take his seat. Be it from wounded pride or blatant stubbornness.
“I believe my brother asked you to take your seat, Don Marino. I suggest you do just that.”
Marino throws me a disgruntled glare, but this time he does as ordered and sits down.
I keep my expression blank as I take my own seat at the head of the table.
“Now, shall we proceed?”
All the men nod, eager to learn why I called them here.
“I must admit that Don Marino is right on one account. If the Outfit learns that we had this meeting today, then more than one red flag will fly. Of that, I have no doubt. Hence why I decided that this warehouse would be the perfect place for us to conduct business. Being Irish territory, the Outfit will never suspect such a meeting took place here.” I pause and let them sit with that. “Such precautions had to be made since what I’m about to divulge must be kept under lock and key for the time being.” I stare into the eyes of each man and say the words most of them have longed to hear for over two decades. “Gentlemen… we’re going to take New York back.”
Murmurs go all around the warehouse, paired with some excited faces, some less so.
“How?” Ferraro asks, his gray eyebrows lifted all the way to his bald head.
Ferraro hasn’t said a word since he got here, which is to be expected since he’s well known for not wasting words on those he dislikes. Point in fact, this is the only time he’s ever directed a word at me.
“I have a plan in place that I’m more than happy to share with you all today. But first things first. I think it’s time we did a bit of housekeeping in our organization before we proceed.”
“Housekeeping?” This time, it’s Lombardi who interrupts suspiciously.
I grin, knowing that my sinister smile is enough to run a chill down his spine.
“Say what you will about Vincent Romano, but he does have a certain flair when it comes to conducting business, does he not?” My grin widens. “I’m sure you all heard the storiesabout what happened when his cousin Cyro, with our help, unfortunately, tried to make his coup and take the throne for himself. We all are painfully aware of that failure, since it was our backing of the wrong cousin that stripped theCosa Nostraof our power in the first place. I must admit I wasn’t familiar with the whole story that transpired back then until very recently.” I throw a grateful glance at Moretti. “But now that I have, I feel it’s important that we don’t forget what was done to us, but also how our biggest enemy thinks.”
I pause, eyeing every man in the warehouse before proceeding.
“Vincent Romano likes to see himself as a just and fairCapo dei Capi. Even after the attempt on his life by his own flesh and blood, he conducted his own housekeeping within the Outfit like a true diplomat. He sat all his men around a table, much like this one, and told the old guard he no longer trusted them, nor cared for their outdated rules. He gave these heads of families two choices. He placed a gun and a pen on the table and asked the men he trusted to grab the guns and stand behind each member of the obviously fallen guard. Then Vincent told those same men that they had two choices. They could either leave the meeting on their own two feet as rich men if they signed over all their businesses to the men standing behind them, who would then take their place within the Outfit as their replacements. Or if that wasn’t a suitable offer, then the old guard could leave by going straight to the almighty via a bullet to the head. It’s safe to say that every man there took the pen and signed on the dotted line. No bloodshed was made that day, and Vincent got what he wanted. Men that were loyal only to him.”
“Why this walk through memory lane all of a sudden?” Marino scowls.
“Because it dawned on me that while my enemy values the lives of would-be traitors, I do not.”
