***
Carlo lived in a modest, Southwestern stucco split-level house in a gated community. He could afford better, and my father had asked him to build closer to our home, but Carlo made it clear he preferred the humble home. As a Mustache Pete—an old school wiseguy—my uncle played his role like he played poker, cards close to his chest. Nothing about his home or his car even hinted at the kind of money he had to be worth. In fact, his home blended in with the upper middle-class community so well no outsider would believe the Mariani family underboss resided within.
I got out of my car and the smell of cigarette smoke drew my attention to the garage where Michael and a few guys from Carlo’s crew were hidden from the view of the street. They greeted me, snuffed out their cigarettes, and we all headed in together. Carlo had a new live-in housekeeper, Constanza, who Michael knew from high school. She’d been a year ahead of him, but her small frame and sweet face made her look like she should be studying for a final rather than taking care of a capo.
“Hello Michael. Dominico. Gentlemen,” she said, welcoming us in. Since Michael and I were family, she always made sure to address us individually as a show of respect.
“Hello, Constanza. Is he ready for us?” Michael replied.
“Yes. Right this way, please.”
She led us to Carlo’s office as if we hadn’t been there a million times before. It wasn’t as big as his office at the casino, but the eight of us fit comfortably. He waited until everyone sat before starting in on business.
“Earlier today I got a call about three possible associates of Chains.” Carlo gestured at two of his men. “David and Gian here tracked the men down, only to find their bodies stinking up the Dumpster behind an apartment building. Like Chains, they’d been stripped down and left with the garbage.”
“Do they have any Durante ties?” Michael asked.
“That’s where you guys come in. We have addresses and names now, so I need to see what you can find out about them. I want family, friends, work, everything. We need evidence that these assholes are connected to the Durantes before the Commission sends amessaggeroin to make us keep the peace.”
“A messaggero?” David asked.
David had blond hair and blue eyes. I’d met him in passing, but didn’t care enough about him to learn his story: whether he’d married into the family or had been recruited. He clearly hadn’t learned the language yet.
“A liaison who goes between the families to prevent war,” Carlo replied. “A peacekeeper of sorts. They’re supposed to open communication to help prevent… misunderstandings. Too many scrapes with the Durantes has gotten national attention, so the Commission recommended a messaggero to help us get it under control.”
Recommended. Yeah, right. The Commission was like the national association of wiseguys, made up of the country’s most powerful mobsters. They didn’t make recommendations, they told us all what to do. Their number one goal was to protect their bottom lines, which meant there must have been enough media coverage about the Vegas happenings to make the meat eaters (corrupt cops) nervous about getting greased.
“We need to solve this problem and convince the Commission we don’t need a messaggero,” Carlo said. “We need to take out the Durantes.”
“’Bout time,” Gian replied, sounding way too enthusiastic. “The crew’s been itchin’ for some action.”
“Those dumbasses are what’s gotten us into this mess. No one touches the Durantes,” Carlo growled. “At least not in a way that draws attention. Best relay that to the crew, because the next person who lands us on the news is gonna answer to me. We need to be more calculated about our attacks, so we’re going to shift our focus to gathering information and funds. Keep hustling like you’ve been, but in addition to collecting information on Chains’s crew, I want your ears to the ground about anything the Durantes are scheming. Any hits they’re planning, any jobs they’re working… Hell, if they start selling peanuts on the side of the road I want to hear about it before it happens.Capisce?”
“Yessir,” we all replied.
“Good. We cripple them financially while this whole messaggero threat cools, then we strike. Now go get to work.”
Carlo dismissed the others, directing me and Michael to stay. He splashed Cognac into three glasses, handing me and Michael each one before sitting behind his desk.
“Last thing we need right now is for this Commission rat to come ’round pokin’ his nose in our business,” he said. “We need to have this thing with the Durantes tied up with a mother-fuckin’ bow before they come a snoopin’.”
Problem was, we didn’t have a damn thing under control. In addition to the recent hit, six of our warehouses and drop points had been attacked over the past four months. We’d also had soldiers jumped in broad daylight and one delivery interrupted midroute. Sure, we’d retaliated and gotten in a few of our own punches, but the odds were stacked against us. Still, this was Vegas, where anything could happen. Especially if you knew how to manipulate the odds.
“Which is why Father is recruiting help from California,” I said.
“From anywhere he can get it,” Carlo amended.
My old man was kind of an asshole, and not exactly known for his ability to make friends. He didn’t play well with others, especially not other family bosses. “Do you think he’ll be able to get what we need in time?”
“I learned long ago not to underestimate my brother,” Carlo replied. “He always manages to surprise me. Sometimes that’s even good.”
Michael and I both nodded. The old man could be one volatile son-of-a-bitch, and the more power he gained the crazier and more violent it made him. Since he was unafraid to step on anyone to get to the top, weaker families aligned themselves with us so they wouldn’t get trampled. Despite all his faults, Father was better than the alternative, though. Carlo said Maurizio had a screw loose, but everyone else referred to the Durante don as batshit crazy. Never to his face, though. Father was the first with the balls to go after Maurizio. Now he just needed the support to make it happen.
Someone knocked on Carlo’s door.
Everyone in the room shifted, hands going to their pockets. We weren’t exactly the most trusting lot.
“You expectin’ someone?” Michael asked.
