“I want every man on this,” I tell Valentino. “I want to know all there is to know about the Cavallone family. I don’t care how long it takes.”
Realization takes hold of me as Mario’s hand lands on my shoulder. My best friend. My confidante.
I will now have to step into my father’s shoes and run the business. I already know the basics, how to read the books and deal with money. He said I would be ready for the upcoming challenges I may face. But this is too soon. It should’ve been years from now.
I graduated from Columbia with honors. But being top of my class was irrelevant right now.
Nothing could have prepared me for this.
Not any of the classes I attended. Not any of the parties I frequented.
My father stood watching the day I collected my degree. I don’t know if he smiled in that moment, or if he even applauded my achievement. The black suits that surrounded him ensured he was hidden away.
Everyone in New York knew who Salvatore de Rossi was.
And everyone stood at least a few meters from where he stood.
They gave him wide berth, for good reason.
And now, I stand before him, and I must find it in my heart to say goodbye.
Valentino motions to the soldiers, who enter the room and stop on either side of the desk. Guards stand vigilant, but they don’t speak. The air is heavy with sadness. I can feel their eyes on me, and even if they want to sympathize, they don’t. I am the Underboss, and that position commands respect.
I take a step closer, needing to see, needing to burn the image into my mind because when I get my revenge, this is what I will remember. Valentino joins me, and Mario flanks my left.
“What is that?” I ask, gesturing with my chin toward the desk where my father’s hand has been positioned perfectly, holding a piece of paper.
“We moved nothing, so I’m not sure,” Valentino answers and I reach for it, tugging it from Father’s fingers. The rest of him doesn’t move, and my stomach rolls at the sight.
I allow my eyes to scan the piece of paper, a letter of sorts. My father’s scrawl is jagged, as if he truly was afraid. Or in so much pain, he couldn’t focus on holding a pen.
I did something bad a long time ago. Something I shouldn’t have done. When you seek revenge, remember to do it with a clear head. Don’t rush. Never run into a burning building without a plan on how to get out. I’m sorry, figlio, I’ve failed you in life, but I hope I can make it right in death.
In my safe is everything you need.
Frustration ebbs through me as my muscles tighten with anxiety and I race to the safe hidden behind a painting. I don’t know how my father came to have the note in his hand when he was killed, but I believe whoever murdered him didn’t realize it was there.
The lock combination is one I remember as if it were my blood type. And soon, the heavy metal door swings open. Inside is cash, a lot of it, but that’s not what I’m looking for. The dark blue folder with our family crest sits front and center. The silver emblem shimmering as I pick it up and bring it out.
On the first page in the folder is a contract. An arranged marriage in the event of my father’s death. It makes no sense. He’s always told me I’m able to do my own thing. That I didn’t need to marry anyone I didn’t want to.
Contratto in Morte
The three words hit me right in the chest, slamming into me like a fist from my worst enemy.
I don’t turn to face anyone else because I can’t come to terms with what I’ve just found. I’m poised to race out of this room and find the bastard and annihilate him. I still have no clear indication of what happened, but my blood burns hot as it runs through my veins.
That’s what mother used to tell me; I was a bomb waiting to explode. I take after my father. We can most certainly keep our cool, but if someone comes after our Familia, our blood, that’s when you see our true colors.
“Bring the men into the dining room. I want a meeting while you clean up and sort this out.” My voice is ice, cooling each syllable as I voice it. My tongue tingling with the need to throw out curses, but Father taught me a long time ago, swear words don’t have people cowering in fear. Don’t tell them about your anger. Show them. And I’ve always lived by that rule. His advice has never steered me wrong.
Valentino sighs because he knows what’s coming. “Yes, sir.” The respect in his response is clear. Even though I’m not yet his boss, he must obey my order. The chair behind me creaks, which means both the soldiers who walked into the office earlier have started their work.
Silently, I turn my watchful gaze on Mario, and he offers me a nod. The office is gloomy as the sun sets and the heavy velvet curtains the color of a stormy sky at dusk hang over the windows, cutting out any remaining light from outside.
I take in the space, knowing that it may be the last time I ever stand in here. I won’t work in a room where my parents were murdered. Not yet, not for a long time. The dark wood paneling lines the walls, and in between are enormous works of art depicting wars and violence.
It’s our lives. It’s our legacy.
Death and destruction.
I move quietly on the plush carpet underfoot, which hinders the sounds of footfalls, and as I make my way through the rest of the house. I feel them before I see them. Three of the capos who work for us follow behind me and stop when I settle in at the head of a twelve-seater table in the family dining room.
I wave my hand the same way my father always used to, and they each take their seats. They watch me as if I were a rabid dog. I want to smile. As if they could keep me down. Every one of them fears me, respects me, and will obey me. If my father was here, he would have the final say. But it’s time for me to give the orders.
“Tell me,” I say, once every chair is filled. “Who at this table will fight with me to avenge my father’s death?” My question is direct. There is no time for bullshit because from what I read in the contract; I don’t have a choice but to fulfill my father’s dying wish for me.
Even if it is not something I want for myself.
“What happened today needs to be fixed.” They all know what I mean. I know that each man at this table will want retribution for what we just witnessed. Leaning back against the backrest of my chair, I track my gaze over the faces of the men I now rule.
There will be no fan fair, no celebration, because the circumstances call for something more drastic. The weight of what happened is clear in each expression I meet. And then, without words, they each set their weapons on the table.
The first one to say something is Mario, who sits on my right. “I will stand beside you, take a bullet for you. There is no question. My weapon is your weapon.” He meets my gaze, the look in his eye flickers with confidence as he recites our oath, “Death before dishonor.”
And in chorus, the rest of the room mimics Mario’s words.
With a nod, I push back my chair and rise. After buttoning my suit jacket, I say, “I will call a formal meeting in a couple of days, and we will take action.” One by one, they offer me a nod before leaving, and soon, it’s only me, Mario, and Valentino. I meet the older man’s stare. “Did my father tell you of this contract?”
“Yes, sir,” he responds quickly. “The Cavallone clan were our enemies long before the war started here in New York. The fight was between your father and hers.” His voice may be clear, but there’s a hint of sadness in his words. I wonder how many of my father’s secrets will die with this man.