"He was tiny when I got him," Violet explains. "I had to bottle-feed him. Ever since, he’s been more like a dog than a cat."
I scratch under Felix’s chin, and he licks my fingers. "Oh, how do I get one like this?"
"Don't worry, I'll find you one," Marcello promises with a wicked glint in his eye.
I know that look. God help Raffael.
Cleaningup Roberto’s and Giovanni’s mess isn’t easy. The empire I’ve inherited is bloody, fractured, and teetering on collapse. Taking it over isn’t just about sitting on a throne; it’s about making sure that throne doesn’t crumble beneath me.
First, there are the bodies. Figuratively and literally. Some of Roberto’s men have already fled, some try to play both sides, and a few—too loyal, too stupid—have to be put down.
I don’t like killing people for sport. But this isn’t sport. This is structure. Every empire needs a spine. Mine needs to be rebuilt from shattered bones. I spent the first week gauging the loyalties of the remaining crew. I call in names, watch reactions, study eye twitches, and measure sweat. Who flinches when I say Roberto’s name? Who hesitates when I give an order? Who shows up late—or not at all? Those are the first to go.
Then come the replacements.
I don’t bring in my tech guys. This world doesn’t run on coders and crypto analysts. It runs on power, presence, and a willingness to bleed. So, I pull from a different pool, namely, the men I’ve tested during my years of building security and black market tech logistics. Quiet monsters. Loyal to me, and me alone.
The Giordano’s business structure is vast but badly compartmentalized. Drugs. Prostitution. Human trafficking. Each segment runs like its own kingdom, which is fine until its king gets sloppy. The Venezuelans took over the human trafficking under Edoardo's watch, and he has made it clear that it’s to stand as it is, which suits me just fine, to a degree. On paper, it’s fine. I don’t want that stain on any ledger with my name near it. Not now. Not ever. But letting Valverde carve out a slice of my map just because they slipped in while it was lying dormant? That reads as weakness. And weakness invites teeth. So no, I won’t run their product, and I won’t take a percentage, but I’m not leaving their footprint on my floors either. I’ll salt the ground and pave over it before I let that stand.
Timing matters, though. The Venezuelans will have to wait until I've dealt with Edoardo. There is still the riddle of why Roberto and Donna Margarita were in Venezuela. What is Donna Margarita's connection to the Valverde?
Sophia told me to get to the table first—the other capos, open support—before I start cutting arteries. She’s right. You steady the inside before you push on the outside. Ithought Marcello would be my first conversation—blood and debt, and all that—but the city likes its ironies. It sends me Toni DeLuna instead. He comes to me one evening while I'm going through Roberto's old office, laptop, phone, and files. I expect tension. Instead, he pours us both a drink like we’re old friends.
"So, how does the new king of the castle like his lair?" he says, lounging in the chair opposite mine. "You look more comfortable than I expected."
"You offering congratulations or condolences?"
He smirks. "Neither. I'm offering intel."
I listen.
Toni knows the Giordano empire better than anyone. As their money launderer, he has his fingerprints on every dirty dollar, every bank transfer, every hidden asset. He isn’t loyal to Roberto; he’s loyal to the system. And when that system cracks, he looks for the one most capable of holding it together.
"The drugs still move. That pipeline's strong. The prostitution ring… it needs cleanup, but it's salvageable."
I lean back. "And the third pillar?"
He gives a humorless laugh. "Gone."
We're talking about the human trafficking. I probably already know more about it than Toni does, but I wouldn't be where I am if I hadn't listened to men willing to talk.
"Yeah. After Enrico killed Giovanni, the Venezuelans took advantage of the vacuum. They own it now."
I don't need to pretend to tighten my jaw. The mention of the Venezuelans does that to me. Every. Single. Time. Aurelio and I still have unfinished business. Nobody makes me bleed and gets away with it. Besides, I made him a promise. "Nobody did anything about it? Edoardo let it slide?"
Toni’s expression flattens. "Edoardo did nothing. Worse, he told us not to interfere. Called it astrategic retreat."
"Cowardice, you mean." Interesting. Let's see how deep Toni's dislike for Edoardo runs.
When he doesn’t disagree, I press, "Why are you telling me this?"
Toni shrugs. "Because you might be the first man in this family who actually understands power. You’re not blind with ego like Roberto was. Or neutered like Edoardo."
That confirms what I already suspect. Toni isn’t happy with the Don. I know part of it is personal; Carlos Orsi killed Toni’s father, and Edoardo never allowed him to retaliate. As a soldier, all the intel I got was that Edoardo condoned it. Through my own research, I discovered that Carlos initially accused Edoardo of ordering the hit, but later recanted. I also found out that Carlos had to cede his LA territory to Toni.
Toni hasn’t forgotten.
Neither have I.
