CHAPTER ONE
Venezio
Snow drifted down in fat, lazy flakes, softening the hard edges of the city. Nearly every window glowed with strings of lights; each lamppost was draped in pine garland and bows.
People were everywhere, ducking in and out of storefronts, arms heavy with shopping bags, or families rushing to see Santa or the tree in Times Square.
The world around me was drunk on Christmas cheer, but for me, it always kind of felt like sticking my face against the glass of a party I’d never been invited to. Decorations, cookies, the carols spilling out of doorways—they belonged to other people. That had never been the life I’d known.
I ducked my head down against the snow and kept walking, my boots crunching on the powder that had already started to accumulate.
Up ahead, Lorenzo Costa’s brownstone was decked out for the season—wreaths adorned every window, garland framed the front door, and a life-sized colorful nutcracker stood guard on the step beside the actual human guard in his thick puffer coat, his breath puffing out smoke in the cool night air.
I’d never got my ass personally summoned to the capo dei capi’s house before.
Figured I was about to be promoted or murdered. Either way, there didn’t seem to be a reason to put it off, so I rushed up the stairs, nodded to the guard, then moved inside.
The warm air slapped me in the face as I tried to knock some of the snow off my boots before making my way into the dining room where the boss always held his private meetings.
Christmas threw up all over the inside of his place, too. Thick garland strung with twinkle lights and red and gold ornaments framed each doorway, matching décor draped the fireplaces, a Christmas village filled the seating area of the bow window, and a giant tree sat in the living room, a train lazily chugging around the skirt.
Somewhere in the house, Bing Crosby was crooning about toys being in all the stores. Something sweet was in the air, but I had no idea if it was cookies baking or a candle burning.
“What are you looking for?” Lorenzo asked when I stepped into the doorway and looked down at the floor instead of at the collection of nutcrackers down the center of the table or the dozens of Christmas cards displayed on the sideboard.
“Tarp,” I admitted, rocking back on my heels.
“You thought I’d off you in my house? With my kids upstairs?” Lorenzo asked, shaking his head. “Besides, don’t do much of the dirty work myself anymore,” he admitted. “You gonna take off your coat and sit down, or…”
I turned around to go back into the foyer, shrugged off my jacket, and hung it in the closet before heading back in.
Lorenzo Costa was what the ’80s movies said gangsters were: tall, fit, good-looking, and perpetually wearing a fucking suit. Even in his own house on a random Monday night.
Then again, pretty much every member of the Costa Family dressed that way. I was the odd man out in my black jeans, tees, and Timbs.
“Coffee?” he asked when I dropped down into a chair.
“Rather figure out what the fuck I did wrong and be on my way.”
Lorenzo’s brow raised, but he said nothing as he sat down. “What makes you think you did something wrong?”
“This feels like being summoned to the fucking principal’s office in school.”
“Spent a lot of time there, huh?”
“Not as much as I spent in detention.”
“You’re not in trouble,” Lorenzo said. “Unless you’ve done something I don’t know about yet, you’ve been keeping your head down, earning, and kicking up like you should.”
“Pretty sure I’m not here to get a pat on the back.”
“No,” Lorenzo said, exhaling. “I have a job for you.”
“Me?”
While we all technically worked for Lorenzo, I usually only got orders from one of his capos—Cosimo.
“Yeah.”
