Valentine
It was an easy decision to leave a note on the pillow for Layne to see when she woke up, explaining where we were. We didn’t get home until early this morning, and since it would be better if we did a few things without our wife being present, we left her sleeping.
The main room at Lucia’s is once again a cesspool of bullshit. There’s always been lingering intimidation in each look or word spoken between us all, but it feels worse than usual today. Perhaps because my pack has a more tangible reason to worry than ever.
Before Layne, our future was based upon lethal hate, born of Vitale’s scheming. Now, revenge remains an incentive, but we have a reason to make it something more worthwhile.
It’s in situations like this when the memory of how Vitale murdered my parents and their pack appears like a photo book in my mind. I see it replaying, second by second, from the moment we arrived at our nonna’s estate, all of us excited to see her after being away.
Nonna was a De Luca, and back in Italy, the De Lucas were pedigree, while the Gambrillo were a family of “made men.” Her downfall was falling in love with Antonio Gambrillo.
Perhaps the Gambrillo DNA really was laden with the desperation of wanting more, of never being satisfied, because my grandfather Antonio lusted after power, the same way he lusted after women. Clearly my father, and to a lesser extent, Aunt Maria, took after Nonna’s side of the family, while Vitale was a mirror image of Antonio in looks and actions.
Despite Nonna being the wife of the Boss of the Gambrillo Family and the mother of his three children, she left him when his repeated affairs ripped her and their pack apart. She moved out of the De Luca ancestral home, which, by then, had already shamefully been renamed the Gambrillo Estate.
I still don’t know why the De Lucas back in Italy never got involved, but Nonna would always say everyone had complete faith in Dante, me, and Matteo. Since we were orphaned at such a young age, Nonna and the other women of our family stepped in to parent us. They made sure Matteo was always with us, and they pushed us hard in everything we did, but it came from a place of love.
The way a “Family” is set up is similar to a business. To run a successful business, you need people who are skilled, which is what Nonna ensured. Vitale had no option but to include Pack De Luca as soon as we were ready, and he never second-guessed where our allegiance would lie, perhaps because, regardless of the fact Vitale murdered our family, we were born to be involved in the business.
Nonna schooled us privately. When we weren’t being watched, she would coach our vengeance as a long-term strategy that involved a drawn-out and convoluted game of smoke and mirrors, where we would feign respect and loyalty, learning as much as we could, while forming a path to our own power.
The group setting may be the trigger, or it might be that so many of the people sitting in this room had some form of involvement in the death of my parents, but either way, it’s when I’m amongst them I feel most at ease. Because I think, in situations like this, I see the fullest extent of our success; we are included in everything about the Gambrillo empire. The people are so hell-bent on their own successes, their own quest for power and respect, they’ve forgotten what they did to get where they are, but we haven’t.
Without doubt, our parents, including Matteo’s mother, would want us to be happy and focused on making a beautiful future with our wife. Which was going to happen. But it would be disrespectful to their sacrifice if we let anyone associated with Antonio’s, and/or Vitale’s reign, get away with familicide.
Our pound of flesh, and the phoenix-like rising of Pack De Luca, will happen.
“His voice gives me a fucking headache,” Dante leans over and whispers in my ear. “Can I watch him swallow a bullet now?”
“So close, brother,” I answer, my eyes not leaving another of Vitale’s supporters. And this one is related. He’s currently in the middle of a long-winded rundown on how the Irish have apparently been ripping us off.
Pretty funny, considering it’s not the Irish ripping off Vitale; it’s him.
In this world, you fast become immune to treachery and deceit, unless it directly impacts you. I’ve seen desperate people doing crazy shit, but if you jumped every time you discovered something not quite right, you’d be dead a hundred times over before you hit adulthood.
Dante’s phone rings, and he gets up to leave the meeting and take the call. I sit back, watching the continual posturing happening around the table.
Today’s meeting includes the founding families—Gambrillo, De Luca, and Valhesse—and, like always, Vitale’s most trusted capos and lieutenants not related by blood. It's a good way of keeping track of who is not being entirely honest, and who is, as we cycle through the usual topics. Of course, like all meetings, the women are not invited, which is in line with how sexist and aged most of these pricks are.
Their unwillingness to adapt to the modern world is their downfall. When you’re meant to be at the top of the pyramid, it’s a dangerous place to be if you can’t relate to half of the people under you.
“Enough,” Vincent, Vitale’s current mouthpiece, calls the meeting to order, cutting off a coordinated spiel headed by two of my actual blood relatives about sourcing other avenues and cutting the Irish out of the shipping of our guns altogether. Which sounds plausible, except for the fact the Irish own most of the key ports, and if it’s not under their control, it’s run by the Bratva.
The Russians and our families have a bloody past. The hate between them is on a similar level to the hate my pack has for Vitale. Simply put, the Russians have killed too many of our people and stolen too much of our money for any sort of resolution to ever happen.
“You waste so much fucking time looking for the answers that are already here,” Vincent says, sitting back in his chair and looking as pompous as ever. “Vitale expects the increase of profit you promised. End of story. If you don’t get it from the business, sell some of your assets, but by the end of this week, the money needs to be paid.” And then Vincent turns to the table, including everyone in the discussion. “Diego is to have access to all the books. Anything he wants.”
Of course, he explodes. “You’re double-checking my work? You’re doubting my loyalty to Vitale?” His face gets nearlypurple in his anger, his scent getting impossible to ignore. “My own son sits with me until nearly midnight every night to make sure every dime Vitale is entitled to is checked and paid. And this is the thanks we get?” He surges to his feet, his son standing behind him, already digging his hand under his suit jacket to draw a weapon.
I push my seat back and grab my laptop and Dante’s, in case people start to get trigger happy. It’s happened before. Next to me, Diego gets to his feet.
I take it as a sign shit is about to go south, now that he’s involved.
“You have no right, Vincent,” Diego explodes, leaning over his table and scent bombing the room in his anger. “Apologize to Aldo right this second, before you lose the right to ever speak in a meeting again.” He starts jabbing his finger toward Vincent. “Only our family has the power you’re throwing around.”
Vincent, who is a made man, surges to his feet. “You talk about disrespect. I have been involved in this ‘family’ since before you were fucking born!”
His comment is so absurd, I bark out a laugh.
