My eyes focused on the pepper-haired man standing next to a large painting hung between the walls of two doorways, one leading to a guest lounge of sorts and the other farther into the mansion. Raffaello Price was just as I’d seen him the year before at an intimate business gathering in Sicily. It was rare for a man such as myself—a born American, non-Italian—to be invited to such gatherings, and I had the feeling that it was thanks to him.
Raffaello Price was sturdily built with a dark-colored suit clothing his fit frame. I took him in, noting the calculating gaze that trailed over the art, the shrouded almond-shaped eyes hinting at his Italian and Welsh descent. Despite the wrinkles that now creased the corners of his eyes and the white sprinkledthrough his hair, he seemed to exude the cold confidence he always had.
“Gaven,” he greeted warmly. I smiled as he turned toward me, offering me a firm handshake. “It’s been a while, my boy.” Amusing as it was for the man to call me “boy,” despite my many years of service, I didn’t comment. Hell, I’d been working for the man for nearly a decade or more at this point, having started as a cleaner for one of the families he allied himself with at barely twenty. It was because of him, however, that I’d managed to move up and become something more. More dangerous. More deadly. And far more prosperous than any cleaner. His voice was rough, like a smoker after thirty years of enjoying his favorite Marlboro several times a day.
“It has,” I agreed. "It's good to see you, old man."
While my statement was true, and our banter was genuine, Raff was still the head of the Price Family. Deadly and well-connected with friends in lots of high and low places and whatever it was that brought me here today, I knew what was to come if I ended up on the wrong end of Raff’s scope. While I gave him my attention, most of my focus was on the several armed guards that remained within Raff’s line of sight.
He chuckled as he dropped my hand and gestured for me to step through the door that led to the main part of the house. “Thank you for coming, my friend. We have much to discuss."
“Do we?” I inquired. “Is there a job you have lined up for me? I must say, if you wanted me to kill someone, you could’ve just gotten to me through the usual means."
“No.” He strode forward, forcing me to follow. “This isn’t about a contract, though I hear your business is doing quite well these days. Heard about the Perelli girl. Didn't know you and Jason didn't get along."
I shrugged. "He was an offensive man," I replied blandly. Business was business, and regardless of my personal viewsof Jason Perelli and how he ran his business, his daughter’s contract had been too good to pass up. Plus, unlike Raffaello or the majority of other mob families, I didn’t find a woman in power to be as shocking. Times were changing, after all. The very fact that America Perelli had managed to get ahold of me and offer a contract to take out her father had proven that she had what it took to be a Queen in a criminal world ruled by men.
"Yes," Raff agreed. "He was quite brash and rude, even to his betters." Only a man like him would be so arrogant to see himself as above an equally dangerous family. "Regardless, very intriguing, that girl. Never would have thought she had it in her.”
“You met her then?” I asked.
Raff nodded. “Only once. She was a mousy, quiet thing though. I thought she would have befriended my daughters if Jason hadn’t kept her away from his world. Perelli should have had a son, we could've joined houses. Or if I had one…”
"Unfortunately, America’s already married," I replied. "But you're right, she is an interesting woman."
"Indeed."
When he didn’t elaborate, I pressed forward. “Are you going to tell me exactly why you’ve called me here for this meeting? Seeing as how it’s not for a contract.” I withdrew the notice I’d received two days prior. He paused and smiled as I handed it to him. “Because last I checked, saying ‘an offer you can’t refuse’ tends to get a man killed.”
He laughed, the sound loud and barking. It was odd and rough to hear, especially coming from a man who so seldomly found such amusement. “Only if you’re stupid,” he said with a shake of his head, “and you, Gaven, are the furthest thing from it.” His age-spotted hand waved in my general direction before he started walking again. Raffaello Price was an odd combination of genuine man and conniving fucker. He was one of the few mafia men I’d ever seen actually form a family unitand truly love his wife and children. It was something for those lower in ranks to achieve, but not a Kingpin. To be King was to be lonely. And as the loneliest bastard around, I couldn’t help but admit—even if just to myself—that I’d fucking love to be King. “Besides, tradition and the classics have a certain … elegance to them, wouldn’t you agree?” Raffaello continued.
“Like having an entire hall of gaudy paintings of Price Heirs?” I countered with a smirk, glancing around at the art spanning back generation after generation. Raff’s laugh was once again choppy, but he didn’t disagree when we reached the door to our destination.
“Ah, yes, our ancestry,” Raff said as he looked up at the walls and slowed his pace. “Sometimes, I look at these walls and think to myself, who else but the Prezzos would immigrate to America and change their name only to form an empire of blood and money.”
I considered his expression for a moment before looking at the paintings myself. A tall, bulbous man with a thick mustache that was popular back in the 1920s stared back at me from one. “And?” I asked my old friend. “What do you derive from that?” I returned my attention to the man standing next to me.
“I think they wanted to remind our family and those who came after them that Prezzo or not … the Price is what we should always be looking for. After all, we did sell our souls to the devil for a damn good one, didn’t we?” Raff winked as he said that last part, but before I could respond, he turned and kept walking.
“The Price Syndicate is actually something I'd like to discuss with you.” The office we entered was as ornate and gaudy as the rest of the mansion. It smelled of paper, wood polish, and the slightest scent of tobacco. Raff strode around the massive desk before sitting in his office chair. When I made no move further into the space, he gestured to the leather chairs facing him.“Please have a seat.” My fingers brushed over the front of my suit jacket, undoing the single button as I moved to oblige him.
“I’m going to cut right to the chase, Gaven,” Raff started bluntly once we were alone and out of the guards’ sight. “I’m getting older, and Dahlia is gone.” He paused for a moment, a dark look crossing his face. One I remembered well as I'd seen that very same look when he'd called me seven years ago and ordered me to find and bring him his wife's murderer. It took only a moment for it to clear, and once it did, he was back to the smiling, albeit sharp-eyed, Raff that I knew well enough.
Had he ever gone legit in his business, he might have made a fine politician. Very few knewjusthow dark parts of him that lurked beneath the surface were, having chosen to keep it hidden beneath layer after layer of mask and façade. The only reason I’d ever been privy to such details of the man’s life had been because of my assistance in finding his wife’s killer and the enemy that had taken her from him. If I were honest with myself, though, it wasn’t just the request from my old friend, but also from that of the young girl I’d met at the funeral. Her big eyes had looked up at me, and through her own innocence, she’d asked me to do something no child should ever even think of … and she’d done so without any hint of regret.
“I have no sons to pass the Price business to when I inevitably pass,” he continued. “You and I have worked together on many occasions over the years. I respect the code you follow when carrying out your contracts and how you conduct yourself. You should know that I’ve always cared for you as if you were my own.”
I nodded. “Yes, if I recall, you were one of my very first clients as a hitman.”
He grinned. “And you performed it beautifully,” Raff replied. “I’m quite proud of the man you’ve become.”
“Even though you stole me away from your competitors?” I chuckled as I asked the question. The truth was that even allies in our world were competitors. I might have gotten my start cleaning up kills and progressed into the direct act of killing, but Raffaello Price had given me the first shot it took to showcase my darker talents. Even afterward, it wasn’t until the death of his wife that I’d truly begun to shine as a man who could make the impossible … possible. I’d found the enemy responsible for his late wife’s murder and I’d sent his heart back to the family before slaughtering the lot of them—from the head to the heirs.
“It has been a lucrative relationship for the both of us,” Raffaello said, pulling me back to the present.
“It has,” I agreed. “I’ve always respected you and the way you do business.” The circles and banter, while piquing my curiosity, were also wearing on me. None of it explained what I was doing here now. “Did you call me here to placate my ego, old man, or is there a point to this meeting?”
“Did you know that I was not always a Price?” he asked by way of answer. I frowned, confused by the strangeness of the question. I shook my head and he continued, “Dahlia wasn’t an heir to another family, and though we’d hoped for one for the Price Syndicate, it didn’t happen. I contemplated remarrying after she was gone, but…” He trailed off as if recalling some long-ago memory. He doesn’t need to say it. The love he had felt for his wife had been obvious to everyone in the underworld. It was why she’d made the perfect target, the perfect weakness. Even though I felt for him, he’d been stupid to get so attached. A sigh accompanied the rhythmic tensing of his jaw, the brief wistfulness in his gaze hardening at whatever he was seeing in his mind.
