CHAPTER ONE
Bones
MY POPS ONCE told me that a real man provides for his family, no matter what the circumstances. Ironic since he disappeared when I was ten, leaving my mom to raise me and my two brothers alone. For months, I watched Ma sit by the phone, waiting for the call that he’d been found. Every time the doorbell rang, dread would fill her eyes as she dropped her head and shuffled to the door.
But the bastard never showed. Pops went to work one day, and we never saw his face again.
Ma did her best, but raising three growing boys was no picnic. Especially since Pops had married her right out of high school and hadn’t allowed her to work. With no skills and no work history, she did what she could and went to work cleaning houses. She exhausted herself, pulling double minimum-wage shifts for fucking peanuts.
So, when I saw an opportunity to help her out, I jumped on it.
It all started outside my grade school…
Principal Jones leaned against the bike rack beside me, waiting for Ma to show as he blabbed on about the importance of keeping my hands to myself. I wanted to point out that if my classmates weren’t such loud-mouthed assholes I wouldn’t have to use my fists to shut them up, but knew that’d just dig me further into the hole.
While we waited, a decked-out black-and-chrome Jaguar slid into one of the handicap spaces. The front doors opened, and two men dressed in suits and shiny black shoes emerged. The driver hung back, taking his time, while the passenger, a broad-shouldered, no-necked, mean-looking bastard, approached me and Principal Jones with his head on a swivel and one hand in his pocket. Still watching us, he stepped aside and waited as the driver approached.
The driver was tall with dark hair and features. His suit jacket was stretched across a generous potbelly, and a lit cigarette hung from his lips. After he straightened his jacket, he took a drag as his gaze drifted from Principal Jones to me. He gave me a calculated smile, like he was sizing me up.
Refusing to be intimidated by some rich old asshole, I stood straighter and met his gaze. He chuckled, flicking the butt of his cigarette away. Expecting my principal to go ballistic about the man smoking on school property, I turned to watch the fireworks, but Principal Jones was walking back toward the school, leaving me alone with the two suits.
“You Gino Leone’s boy?” the older man asked, still watching me. He had a scar on his cheek and the bridge of his nose zigzagged like it had been broken a time or two.
The mention of my pops gave me pause. When Ma had reported his disappearance, she told me and my brothers the cops would be by to ask us questions. It had been months and the pigs hadn’t bothered. The men in front of me didn’t look like any cops I’d ever seen, but I wasn’t going to risk it. If they knew something about Pops, I wanted to hear what they had to say. I nodded. Then, because my inner voice of self-preservation told me to be a little more respectful, I added a hasty, “Yes sir. How do you know my father?”
Instead of answering, the old man stepped closer and patted me on the shoulder. I was big for a ten-year-old, but his hand was enormous. It slid down to my bicep and wrapped around my arm. Shocked, I watched his giant mitt probe my muscles. A few of his knuckles were bent funny, like they’d been broken or popped out of place too many times. He was a fighter, which seemed odd paired with his nice suit and round gut.
“We can work with this,” the old man said to his companion. “It’ll take some training, but you got balls, kid, and that’s what matters. You did a good thing today,” he said, pulling my attention back to his face. Something lingered behind his eyes. Pride? Amusement? I couldn’t get a read on him.
A good thing? I searched for sarcasm in his tone, but he seemed genuinely pleased with me, which didn’t make sense since I’d been suspended for breaking a kid’s arm. Hell, I wasn’t pleased with myself. Principal Jones said Mom would most likely get stuck with the kid’s hospital bill. She’d probably ground me for life. Then she’d have to pick up a third job. Just thinking about her having to work more because of my temper made me sick to my stomach. She was already so damn tired all the time.
I hadn’t done a good thing; I’d royally fucked up.
The old man grinned, splitting his face in two and making him look like a frog. “Not just a good thing. A great thing. A smart thing.” He leaned closer to me and added, “You opened doors for your future today, kid. Doors that pay well.” He eyed my too-small T-shirt, my faded jeans, and my worn sneakers. “You look like you could use a little extra cash.”
I knew exactly what I looked like, but his words still stung. I scowled at him, and he held up his hands and shook his head.
“Just an observation. No offense meant. Look, you did me a favor today, so I’m trying to return the gesture. That’s how it works with the Family. You scratch our backs, we scratch yours. Now, you interested in some work or not?”
I glanced back at the school and then scanned the street. Principal Jones hadn’t returned, there was no sign of my mom, and the entire conversation was confusing me. “I did you a favor?” I asked.
“You helped my nephew.”
I blinked. Nephew?
“The boy being harassed by that little shithead you attacked.”
My mind raced, trying to think of who he could be talking about. My fight today had been to fulfill my own personal vendetta. Some new kid, a jackass richie-rich, had been pissing all over the school, trying to mark his territory. Yesterday he’d been in the lunch line behind me, close enough to see the free-lunch status on the check-in computer and had been talking shit about it ever since. I’d been waiting for an opportunity to teach him a lesson, which came today when he was stuffing a kid into a locker after recess. I hadn’t even seen who was being bullied, just saw the richie-rich with his back turned and pounced. I thought back to the layout of the lockers, trying to figure out who the poor sap shoved into his locker could have been. “D’Angelo Mariani?” I asked.
“His friends and family call him Angel,” the old man said. “Mariani.”
Even if I had never heard the name before, the reverent way he uttered it spoke of power and authority. But all Vegas natives knew who the Marianis were. They were one of the big Families who ran several of the casinos and businesses. The name was everywhere. I don’t know why I’d never made the connection with D’Angelo. Probably because he was a scrawny, nice kid. Not at all what I’d expect a Mariani to be like.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
He cracked a smile and turned toward his associate. “Gets right down to business. Just like his old man.”
“How do you know my father?” I asked again.
