“Yes, sir.” I nod and keep still while he fixes my black tie to perfection without taking his eyes off of mine.
He’s wearing his favorite Tom Ford suit, looking like the epitome of class in his Sunday’s finest. An easy Sunday is not on the agenda today. Aside from the usual required mass this morning, every family member and esteemed capo will be at the house today to celebrate my sixteenth birthday, which means that my uncle will be wearing two crowns on his head the whole day—one as the Romano elder, the other, and the most notable of all, the head of the Outfit.
“Anything on your mind, boss?” I ask, thinking that my uncle’s visit this morning before church has more to do with business somehow and less to do with family obligations.
“Hmm. Intuitive as always.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes as I’m accustomed to.
That small difference alone tells me I nailed it on the head—my uncle has something unpleasant on his mind. Not sure if it’s because it’s my birthday and the memories—which would be best kept in the past—that resurface on such an occasion, or if it’s my impending future that is causing my uncle such distress.
“Did I ever tell you that I was the first one to hold you the day you were born?” he says, breaking the silence that I didn’t even register had ensued. “Sixteen years ago to the day, you lay in my arms and didn’t make a peep. Your mother, God rest her soul, was yelling at me, the doctors, and anyone who had ears in the hospital, demanding to know what was wrong with you. My sister had a set of lungs, I tell you. She howled and cussed so loud, the doctors and nurses didn’t know what to do with her.” He chuckles fondly at the recollection of his younger sister, a mother I have no memory of, aside from his small slips of the tongue throughout the years.
“But I took one look at your wrinkled face, chubby cheeks, and wide eyes, and I knew in my gut you were just fine. I knew right there and then you wouldn’t be the type of wanting to grab the limelight for yourself—even if the occasion called for it—nor would you talk for the sake of it. I was positive back then, that you would be so much smarter than using your voice just to say meaningless words,” he adds proudly. “And as I’ve watched you grow up, and raised you as best I could, I see now how right I was.” He pats the finished, flawlessly knotted tie to my chest and grips my shoulder tightly.
“Thank you, Uncle,” I reply, enunciating each word perfectly.
There really isn’t more to say than that. All I can give him is my gratitude, for taking me in when my parents died—when he himself was suffering from his own wife’s untimely death—and for having the faith he has in me and the man he envisions I will become. He may be my uncle on paper, but he’s been the only parental figure I’ve had most of my life, so everything I am or will ever be, I owe to him.
“Today you turn sixteen, Vincent—a man in some cultures. You have come a long way, and have shown me and every capo in the syndicate that your destiny is yours not only by birthright but also by your own merit,” he states, looking me dead in the eye.
I keep my mouth shut because I know my uncle well enough and flattery has never been his strong suit. All these words are heartfelt, and I absorb it. I let the pores of my skin feel the importance of each word until their weight sinks in and it reaches bone.
“Since your initiation ceremony, you have worked hard and have done me proud, boy. Now I need you to continue to do so, on this next stage of your education.”
“Which is?”
“I want you to shadow Bianchi from now on instead of DeLuca. I want you to learn the duties of a true consigliere so you’ll be ready when it is your time to take on the role,” he informs me nonchalantly.
My face must twist in disapproval for just a millisecond, but it’s enough for my uncle to take notice.
“You don’t approve?” he questions curiously.
“It’s not up to me to approve such a thing, boss. Your will is my command, and I will uphold my duty to the best of my ability,” I reply stoically, schooling my features so they don’t rat me out again.
“Hmm. Tell me something, Vincent, did you ever consider why I chose Silvio Bianchi to be my consigliere in the first place? Have you ever wondered why a man like me would give such a high position to a blood-thirsty and power-hungry man like Silvio?”
My face stays frozen still, not giving anything away as I shake my head from side to side. But inside I feel myself boil, knowing my uncle is well versed with how ruthless and diabolical Silvio is. Imagining that the spawn of the devil himself could father such an angel like my Selene is mind-boggling. I hate that she lives under the same roof as that monster and that I’m powerless to do anything about it. Shadowing DeLuca for the past two years has given me a glimpse of what Bianchi is capable of, and it makes me sick the bastard goes home every night to wreak more hell.
Unfortunately, even my uncle—the boss of the Outfit itself—couldn’t interfere between a man and his own household. But I wonder what type of man Silvio would be if he didn’t have the platform of being the consigliere of a crime family to feed his hungry appetites. Maybe then my Selene and poor Anna Maria would be in more peril than they live now.
“I’ll share a few secrets with you then. Secrets I also shared with Pietro a few years back. The first one is simple and rather recognizable—keep your friends close and your enemies closer. And believe me, Silvio unchecked would have been an enemy I’d have to put down sooner or later. While everyone would have cut him off at the root, I took another path to end the threat. I used his strongest abilities for my own personal use. Abilities he excelled at and I had no stomach for. That’s the other secret, boy—learn your weaknesses before your enemies do. Once you know what they are, take measures to make them obsolete. Where I have no taste in torture, Silvio lives for it. Therefore, when I need to be extra ruthless, I always have the devil in my ear whispering to me, utilizing his best ability as my own personal strength. Do you understand, Vincent? Always use your head and not your heart. You don’t have to love every capo brother, but you do have to know what their use is to you.”
“Yes, boss.” I nod, pleased I’ve kept myself perfectly expressionless with the knowledge my uncle might hate Silvio as much as I do.
“Good thing I never liked playing cards, because I’m sure I’d lose all my money playing against you, son.” He cracks his first genuine smile, patting my shoulder affectionately. “Well, I still have to do some phone calls, but I’ll meet you boys downstairs in fifteen minutes. Wouldn’t want to keep Father Kirkpatrick waiting, now would we?” He laughs, giving me a little wink before leaving the room entirely.
Since I know I still have a few minutes left, I fall on my bed and look at the ceiling contemplating my uncle’s newest order.
Fuck! Shadowing Bianchi is going to be hell.
So far I’ve had it pretty good. I can honestly say that syndicate business hasn’t been so bad. Well, at least for me. I’m fine with blowing a guy’s brains out before breakfast for not paying his dues and then going to school for first period like an everyday high-school student. Maybe that makes me just as fucked up as Bianchi underneath it all, but I came to the realization a long time ago that I’m immune to many things—sensitivity being one of them. I don’t have the empathy gene when a person begs for their life. I don’t feel the sense of showing mercy to associates who water down our product to sell more and pocket the return. Anyone who robs or cheats the Outfit needs to be made accountable. I have no qualms in giving such retribution. Gio says I’m a heartless bastard for it, while Dominic praises my unaffected apathy. I shudder at the thought of what Selene would think of me if she knew half of what my uncle has already left me in charge with.