9 Chapter 3 - Giovanni (1)

The acrid smell of the nearby dumpster in the alley at the back of our building makes me scrunch my nose, and the cool wind blowing through doesn't help at all.

I wince as I unbutton my white shirt. If this were a hot rendezvous, I wouldn't have minded. But there's nothing sexy about the scene.

My brows draw tight when I glare down at the pool of blood by my shoes where a lifeless body lays face down with a gaping cut along his throat which I sliced a minute ago.

Salvatore takes my bloodied shirt and hands me a brand-new one, my suit jacket still draped over his arm from when I handed it to him earlier while I took care of business. The business being this dead idiot who tried to kill my father tonight.

I look to my left where Alessandro's son, Gael, scrolls through his phone nonchalantly with one hand, his other hung with a gun at his side. He's only a year younger than me and he reminds me so much of his father. His right-hand man offers him a new shirt, which he refuses because unlike me, he remains clean.

Noticing me staring, he looks up from his screen. Then his eyes shift to somewhere behind me where I hear a shuffle. I already know it before he moves. Gael raises his gun with the silencer still attached to it and shoots the attacker—one of the dead idiot's friends. The man drops to the wet ground.

Another one stands up, this time behind Gael. The man sways, trying to get his bearings. All four of us look at him, waiting for what he'll do. He doesn't appear American like the other two; probably middle-eastern. He trembles, putting his hands together, and starts to plead. Salvatore hands me my gun and I don't hesitate when I put a bullet between the man's eyes. Blood splatters on the wall…and some staining Gael's shirt.

"Ay…" My nephew tuts, then curses, wiping the blood off his neck with his hand. Sighing, he takes the clean shirt from the big guy named Rick, who tries not to snicker at his boss.

Salvatore drapes my suit jacket over my shoulders and hands me my cigarette case and lighter. He's a few years younger than me, and he's been my right-hand for as long as I can remember—even before he served the army and then retired two years ago to serve me. We've been friends since I was thirteen years old. When I moved from Italy to America, I brought him with me.

He's kind of a mind reader. I don't need to tell him and he already understands me. He likes to stay quiet. Annoying him is one of the highlights of my day. Sometimes, he acts like he's done with my bullshit, but I know he secretly likes the attention. Sal is like a little kid—at least to me. To others, he's silent and deadly.

I push a cigarette stick in my mouth, light it up, and then tell him, "Call for clean up." He whips out his phone and calls our crew.

Gael takes a long drag of his cigarette and blows out a cloud of smoke, staring at me inquisitively. "You've been busy the past few weeks."

I wait, and when he doesn't add anything, I cock my brow. "Is there a question in there somewhere?"

"What have you been doing?"

I mull over it, inhaling the smoke and then blowing it out in a straight line. "I'm studying Dad's failed attempts at making business with the Asians."

"Why?"

"Seems like a good opportunity."

He observes me for a second, and I let him.

I like my nephew. He's a smart one. And because we're about the same age, he's more like a brother to me. Although I have brothers, I'm much closer to Gael ever since he came to the family. I realized early on that the reason for that was because we're sort of similar in a way that we both aren't from the main family. He joined us in his mid-teens. Prior to that, he lived with his mother, who was my brother's girlfriend. He didn't know this life before his mother died and his father brought him to us.

"You want to prove to him you're capable of salvaging it," he says after scrutinizing me.

I'm about to flick the butt of my stick into a puddle when Salvatore takes it from my hand, kills the cinder, and then pockets it. It saves them for clean-up later. He's so efficient at what he does. I turn back to Gael, suppressing the smirk on my face because he figured it out. "You need a medal?"

My nephew ignores the jab, pointing two fingers at me with the cigarette stick between them."You know he doesn't think less of you right?"

"Doesn't think less and thinks highly of me is completely different."

"Do you need my help?"

"No. I have to do this on my own. Thanks, though." I nod toward the side door where our clean-up crew just arrived. "Let's go back. Cindy must be looking for me. We've been gone for a while."

"Who?"

"My date."

"I thought her name was Tina?"

I cock my brow, thinking back to when she introduced herself to me, but it's all just white noise in my head. I open the door for him and we both get inside, leaving Salvatore and Rick behind with the crew. "Is it? Fuck. Is that why she's been scowling the whole time? I've been calling her the wrong name. Why the fuck didn't she correct me? What a dummy."

"Says the dummy who forgot his date's name." Gael laughs, and I roll my eyes.

"I only met her an hour ago."

Cindy—or Tina, whatever her name is, is an escort. Having arm candy at a gathering is part of the charm. It's just for appearance's sake. Even my father has one at every event. The company we hire escorts from has been with us for years. It's become customary.