Sebastian
Rage.
That’s the only emotion I felt. I was well aware that I needed to maintain full control in order to ensure the decisions I made were calculated.
Right now, I didn’t give a shit.
I pressed my hand against my weapon, scanning the entire exterior of the exclusive club before walking in. At this point, I couldn’t be careful enough.
New York City.
It was a location I frankly loathed. Bright lights, Broadway shows, and exceptional food. That’s what the city was known for. Sadly, the often garish neon signs hid the underbelly of vicious crimes occurring on the streets.
Only some of the incidents related to mafia activities.
I came to New York as infrequently as possible, only once in the last year. This time, my trip was mandatory. That is if I wanted to find the fucker Kostya. He had indeed disappeared, all traces of him erased. It had become obvious he’d planned the coup months before, certain he would be successful. If I had to make another assumption, the ploy included stripping the boat of drugs long before it came into the harbor. The seed money from the drug run would be able to allow him a better life.
Or perhaps a takeover event.
Either way, I couldn’t allow him to live.
At least he’d failed in one regard. I’d been put on notice of his betrayal.
Every rock I’d turned over, every favor called in had proven futile. If anyone could find him without issue, it would be a member of the Sons of Darkness. I rolled my eyes at the name, uncertain any longer which of the five of us had coined the phrase. We were the five princes of the most powerful mafia families within the United States, men capable of exacting revenge as necessary.
However, our families were considered enemies, the old ways forbidding any form of shared communication, muscle, or information. We’d all agreed that the old ways weren’t working any longer, the need to maintain a sense of camaraderie vital in order to keep the peace.
No one wanted bloodshed unless absolutely necessary.
Things were different, new tactics needed in order to maintain our positions, increase our prosperity.
I strolled into the club, heading to the private room. My plane had arrived late, traffic a bitch as usual, but I was within ten minutes of the called meeting.
My call.
My meeting.
“There he is.” Dominick grinned as he glanced at his watch.
I nodded to Dominick, the Lugiano family holding all of New York in the palm of their hand. He was powerful in his own right, his father having turned over the majority of operations only months before. “Sorry I’m late.” The other three were seated at the round table, only Dominick remained standing. Antsy as usual.
Then again, so was I.
“He comes armed,” Lorenzo commented in a jesting manner.
I was in no mood for basic bullshit. I was here for a single night only.
“Necessary,” I hissed between clenched teeth.
Aleksei tapped his fingers on the table, his usual glass of vodka half empty. I suspected the drink wouldn’t be his last. “You seemed concerned, my friend. Your call unusual,” Aleksei said casually, his Russian accent thick as always.
Concerned? I was consumed with need, revenge the only thing on my mind. I came here specifically hoping Aleksei and his connections would be helpful in order to find Kostya. The Petrovs were true Bratva, their methods of keeping the peace resourceful.
And violent.
That’s exactly what I wanted.
“A lot of shit is going down, heat my family doesn’t need,” I said with disdain in my voice. I heard the sound of the door opening, the waitress on cue, her timing impeccable. She knew exactly what drink every man preferred. While every other man admired her beauty, I could only see blood in my eyes. Once the Bombay and tonic was in my hand, the room secure once again, I shifted my glance to the others.
Michael Cappalini had recently taken over the Western portion of the United States. While I honestly didn’t believe he could be useful as far as information, he had scouts all over the country.
Lorenzo Francesco held Chicago with an iron fist, his father refusing to give up any concept of total control. They’d had several difficult situations over the years and the man’s muscle was impressive.
“You have a situation in Miami, one of your former colleagues attempting to not only hijack one of your shipments but potentially muscling in on your operation. Word on the street isn’t good.” Dominick kept his tone even as he spoke.
I wanted to laugh at the man’s resourcefulness but there was little occurring in the boughs of the underworld that either one of us weren’t aware of.
“Word travels fast.” I took a sip of the drink, my anger crouching just below the surface. “I admit that I need help at this point.” I noticed the looks shared between the men. I was one of the few men who’d never bothered to ask for anything, something I’d taken pride in. This situation was far too damning to ignore.