Eros
Two men sit across from me in my office. Ciro Nasato and Lucca Verga both wear crisp, decent black suits, their hair slicked back, rings on their fingers, watches gleaming as if recently cleaned. Ciro’s the older of the two, heavier than Lucca, with dark bags under his eyes. Lucca’s in his early twenties, athletic and muscular, a good-looking young man, but an ugly red wound that’ll turn into a nasty scar through his cheek and ear tells me a lot about what these men have gone through in the last few weeks.
“How can I trust that you two speak for the Pavone Famiglia?” I ask, head tilted to the side. I spin a glass of whiskey on a coaster on my desk. I don’t want to admit that I’m enjoying this, but watching two powerful Italian mobsters bow and scrape and beg does bring me some pleasure.
“There’s nobody left to disagree, Lord Khazan,” Ciro says, bowing his head respectfully. “It’s only me and Lucca now.”
“Which of you do I call Don?” I ask, trying not to smile.
“Ciro is my underboss,” Lucca says, sitting forward on his chair.
I give him an appraising look. The kid’s strong and must be clever if he made it this far, but I catch an ugly frown from his supposed second-in-command. If Lucca’s the Don, it’s not because everyone likes him.
That means he’s someone to watch.
“All right then, Don Pavone.” I gesture for Lycus to bring him a glass of whiskey. Lucca accepts it with a nod and takes a small sip. Smart man, keeping his wits about him. “I want to hear your opening offer.”
“The Pavone Famiglia would like to redraw the boundary lines of our respective organizations,” he says formally. “We will give up territory, businesses, and money, and swear that we’ll stay within our boundaries for as long as I’m in control.”
Which won’t be long, I’d guess. But I only nod. “What else?”
He hesitates. “We can, ah, offer you more. The dockworkers’ union, of course.”
“I already have them back.” I made a very large payment to their greedy fuck boss that very same morning. Lucca pales slightly, and I smile, shaking my head. “Keep trying.”
“We can, uh-” He clears his throat. “More generous payments. And some sportsbooks. Good gambling rackets. A few clubs-”
I take a long sip of whiskey and hold my hand up. Lucca falls silent, working his jaw. The fucker doesnotlike acting subservient to me, not at all. He’s the kind of mafia boss that took power through violence, and the sort of man that would rise to the top of an ugly fight like the one their family went through is not the sort of man to willingly take orders from anyone but himself.
And yet, here he is, doing just that.
“Lord Khazan,” Ciro says, holding out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “We have other tributes we can make. Guns, shipments of drugs. What my Don is trying to say is we want to make things right between our organizations.”
“I can see that,” I say, looking between them. “You two came here to talk terms, and I believe you’re being genuine. I think you’re giving me as much as you think you can afford. But here’s the problem with that.” I lean toward them, my voice dropping as they stare at me. “I don’t care what either of youthink. So long as there’s an Italian mafia family in my city, I will never be safe, even if you’re greatly diminished.”
“What are you proposing then, Lord Khazan?” Ciro asks, sounding nervous. He glances at Lucca. The young Don’s staring at me with a calm glare, and he must already know what I’m about to say.
“I want you out of Chicago. Take your families, your rackets, everything. Go back to Philadelphia.”
Ciro clears his throat. “Lord Khazan, you have to understand, we came here because back in the old city, things weren’t so good.”
“Then go somewhere else.” I glare at Ciro. “I couldn’t care less where you worthless fucks end up. Leave Chicago. Leave tonight.”
“Lord Khazan-” Ciro starts.
But Lucca interrupts him. The young man throws his drink back and shoves his chair back, standing. Lycus has a hand on his gun, but I steady him with a glance and a slight shake of my head.
Lucca stares down at me. The rage in his eyes is like a cool, calming breeze on my skin. It brings me joy, watching this boy squirm.
“We need one week,” he says. “We’ll gather everyone and go.”
“Lucca,” Ciro says harshly.
But Lucca gestures at him. “Shut your mouth, you old, worthless fuck. Khazan’s right. If we stay in Chicago, the war will start again. There’s no other way.”
Ciro speaks aggressively in Italian, but Lucca only turns and slaps him hard across the face.
I sit back, enjoying the show. This is why the Italians are crumbling. They can’t fall into line behind a strong leader, even one like Lucca.
But Ciro shuts his mouth. He looks affronted, enraged, but he does nothing.
Lucca turns back to me.
“One week,” he says. “And I have a request.”
My eyebrows raise. “You do? That’s strange. I thought you were in the process of leaving.”
“Chris Conti. I want his body.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Who said anything about a body?”
Lucca’s expression darkens. “I know you have him. I know he’s dead. I don’t care if you give him back in pieces. His mother wants a body in the fucking casket and I promised her I’d try.”
I scrub a hand down my face. Conti had a mother? An interesting idea, but I guess everyone’s got a mom.
“If my wife okays it, I’ll send him to you. What’s left of him, anyway.”
“Thank you, Lord Khazan.” He gestures at Ciro. “Get up, you dumb fuck. We’re going.”
“Yes, Don,” Ciro says, staring hate.
That’ll be a problem, but I couldn’t care less. Lucca will deal with it, or he’ll be dead.
“One week,” I say as Lycus shows them to the door. “If you are not out of my city in one week, I will hunt you all down and end you.”
The Italians leave without another word.
I smile to myself and take a long, deep breath, savoring the scent of victory.