“Whoop!” She yanks me into a hug, squealing with glee. The others pile around, and we engage in a group hug. “We’re going to have so much fun,” Tammy says. “You won’t regret it!”
“I hope not,” I murmur, nodding at the manager as I blatantly ignore the little voice in my ear screaming at me not to do it.
3
BEN
Isip my bourbon slowly, wanting to keep my wits about me tonight. This is the first time my father is trusting me to represent him at an important meeting, and I can’t fuck it up. It’s taken long enough to get to this point, and I have no intention of regressing.
Salerno kept us waiting forty minutes, which pissed me off. Relations have been tentative between New York and Las Vegas for some time, but I intend to address that tonight. So, I force my aggravation aside, focusing on what I came here to do.
We are in the private basement in his club. It’s an odd place for a business meeting, yet business and women seem to go hand in hand in Sin City. Leaning back against the plush velvet couch, I survey the room as Salerno and his men get comfortable.
A rotating mirrored bar is situated near the back wall on my left. On my right is a square dance floor, equipped with a small stage and a couple of poles. The rest of the space is made up of seated areas. Stylish low couches and comfortable high-backed armchairs surround small black glossy tables. The décor down here is similar to the main club upstairs—a mix of black, gold, red, and orange. Lighting is dim, and music is a steady hum in the background.
My eyes lift to the stairs on the far right of the bar, which lead to an upper level, housing a few bedrooms. Tales of Salerno’s drug-fueled orgies are widespread. At least this time, I know what to expect, having attended one a few years ago when I was last here with my father.
“I’m surprised Angelo or the other New York bosses aren’t here,” Salerno says when he finally opens the conversation. He leans back in his chair as he stares at me. He likes to intimidate everyone he comes into contact with, and his dark glare is legendary. But it will take a lot more than that to put the fear of God in me.
He brought his underboss, Greg Gambini—a brute of a man with a reputation to match—his consigliere Fabrizio Russo, a few of his senior capos, and a handful of loyalsoldati. There are eleven of them to our five, but I expected a show of strength on his home ground. With the exception of his soldiers, I’ve met the others before.
Salerno runs a small but tight ship in Vegas. He has his own set of rules, his own way of doing things, which is not always aligned to our thinking. On a personal level, I hate how they treat women, but in every other regard, they are moving forward with the times. Unlike a lot of the families in the US.
“They are attending similar meetings in Philly, Florida, L.A., and Boston,” I confirm.
A muscle ticks in his jaw, and he straightens up in his chair. His men stiffen, their guarded expressions zeroing in on me. Behind me, I sense Leo reaching for the gun clipped to his hip.
“So, we’re deemed not worthy enough of a meeting with one of the five?” Salerno says, his voice lethally calm, his face devoid of any emotion.
The atmosphere in the room takes a distinct nosedive.
“Bennett is the Mazzone heir and he will one day be the most powerful boss in New York,” Leo coolly replies.
I’m glad he doesn’t mention my plans to become the most powerful boss in all the US, because there’s a fine line between confidence and arrogance. And a smart man never divulges his plan until the timing is opportune and the success inevitable.
“The fact Benchoseto come here should tell you all you need to know about your presumed value.”
I hold up one hand, silencing my hotheaded underboss. Leo has many talents I’m grateful for. Diplomacy isn’t normally one of them. “I am here because we share a lot of the same values and ambitions for the future.” I sip my drink as I cross my ankle over one knee, betraying no hint of emotion on my face.
“I thought you were here on Commission business,” Russo says, eyeing me like I’m a bug he’d love to squash.
“I am, but the purposes align.”
“I’m listening,” Salerno says, his eyes drilling into my face.
“As you know, The Commission has been defunct for many years.”
“Disbanded when Chicago broke away,” Salerno supplies, as if I need a history lesson.
When I was dragged into this world, one of the first things I did was study the past, consuming everything I could about the families and our enemies.
“It’s interesting you didn’t mention them before,” he adds.
“Relations between New York and Chicago are still fractured.”
He barks out a laugh. “You speak like a politician, boy. The rumors I’ve heard are true.”
Ignoring his outburst, I continue, swirling the bourbon in my glass as I eyeball the Vegas boss. “For now, Chicago is outside this process.”
