The other two finally seem to catch on, their eyes sweeping over the space, slowly piecing together the theme I’ve laid out for them.
“Wait… is this what I think it is?” Maximo asks, lips parting slightly as he yanks up his sleeve to stare at the dark ink on his arm.
“It is.” I motion for them to follow and head towards the farend of the rooftop, where the first flowers were planted—and where the overzealous gardener I hired stuck an obnoxious signboard.
I would’ve had it removed, but I liked it. And because of that, I let him keep his head attached to his neck.
I stop in front of the wooden sign and move aside so they can read the inscription.
A mini garden of four of the most deadly nightshade species: Azaleas, Lily of the Valley, Tulips, and Blue Iris. Flowers that are as dangerous as they are beautiful. Proceed with caution.
“When did you start writing poetry, Rafael?” Maximo teases, and I roll my eyes in response.
Stepping back, I allow them space to explore, to admire in living color the flowers we have inked into our skin.
The gardener did a masterful job of blending flowers of different species, merging them into a deadly harmony. It reminds me of the four of us.
Maximo, with his dark hair, dark eyes, and even darker temper. Romero, with those sharp green eyes that miss nothing and that smooth tongue that makes him one hell of a lawyer. Then Michael, the stereotypical blonde-haired, blue-eyed American whose ‘pretty’ face belies his deep ambitions and ruthless streak—a bit unhinged, that one.
We’re like oil and water, but somehow, through the alchemy of shared darkness, we mix together and make it work. Or we did, once upon a time.
We will again,I promise silently.Under my command.
I trail behind them as they wander the length of the rooftop, each gravitating to the flower they chose years ago assymbols of our brotherhood. My eyes drift to the Azaleas, and for a fleeting moment, an image ofhertries to emerge from the depths of my memory, but I ruthlessly push it back down before it can take root.
Not now.
Even though she’s the genesis of us getting those tattoos, this isn’t the time to worry about how my private investigators still haven’t found a damn thing on her. I could have them killed for wasting my time, but without them, I wouldn’t have my brothers here with me right now. So I guess I can be patient for a little while longer.
I check my watch and clear my throat to draw their attention. “Why don’t we get right into it?” I call out. “You can gawk at the flowers when we’re done with our meeting.”
They abandon their inspection and move to the long table with its row of chairs centered on the rooftop. I inhale deeply as I take my seat. “You probably suspect why I've called you all here.”
“You haven’t exactly kept a low profile, Rafael,” Michael points out as he sinks into the chair opposite me. “The whole of New York is holding its breath in fear—and it’s all because of you.”
“Yeah, what’s that all about?” Maximo chimes in. “The media’s been having a field day with their headlines.‘Son of an Ex-Mobster Takes Little Italy by Storm’. ‘Mobster Heir on Wild Killing Spree’.It’s nuts.”
So they’ve all heard about my exploits.Good. “I paid to have those articles written. Doesn’t mean they’re any less true.”
“Are you insane?” The quiet question comes from Romero. “You’re going to have law enforcement crawling up your ass very soon, and it will be six years ago all over again.”
A deafening, heavy silence falls over us as we seem to be transported back to the media frenzy that followed the eventssix years ago—the unnecessary deaths, the pain we had to suffer. I can see it reflected in their eyes; the memories still raw despite the years.
“It’s all calculated,” I assure him. I need this notoriety to earn the fear and respect, if not loyalty, of the old takers of the syndicate. Otherwise, they could make things difficult for me and my plans. “I’m putting a stop to all the attention this week—it has more than achieved what I wanted it to.”
“And what’s that? Fear?” Michael asks with a raised brow, and I snap my fingers at him. Bingo.
Fear is currency in our world. Fear is power. And I’ve amassed enough to make my next move.
“Why did you call us here? Why are you telling us all this?” Romero presses, his green eyes turbulent with silent worry. He knows why. They all know.
But I don’t mind saying it out loud. Romero is probably worried about the backlash this might have on his shiny new career as a lawyer.
“I’ve managed to take control of Little Italy,fratellos. It’s ours now. But it’s not enough.” Not nearly enough. I want more. I want everything. I want the Big Apple to bow down to its king.Me. “I want to take over the entire city of New York.”
Maximo lets out a low whistle. “That’s a pretty hefty ambition. The people already in charge won’t let it go that easily. You’ve got a hell of a task ahead of you.”
“And that’s where you all come in.” I look at each of them in turn—so different in personality, yet so damn alike where it counts. Their ruthlessness is unparalleled in their respective fields.
