“They forget…” He took his dark deep-set eyes away from the window to look at Roy. “He was murdered.”
Roy’s expression darkened.
“I didn’t forget. And I know you will never forget or forgive,” Roy said gravely.
It was from somebody he trusted…Luca thought as his mind flickered to every soul that surrounded his father on a day-to-day basis. Dontrell carried the same mafia culture and tradition as his Sr. The Bonetti Mafia had a traditional hierarchy. It was framed for a Black mafia that honored old world structure, loyalty, and cultural codes.
Before Luca stepped into position, he planned on replacing everybody by force. He couldn’t trust anyone but the men he personally knew would step for him and shed blood without second thought. First person that would replace Dontrell’s underboss would be Roy. He would become Luca’s second in command.
He already started to replace titles with faces he was familiar with and was ready to bring to the table. Men that were hungry and proved their loyalty over the years of his life span. Some new men that did time behind bars with him, and men that made names for themselves out in the streets. Luca was getting ready to reconstruct the entire Bonetti Mafia and knew who the first person to challenge him would be.
Luca didn’t forget. Didn’t forgive. And wouldn’t rest. His father’s spilled blood was on his mind, still fresh, still staining every memory. The man who raised him to be silent, observant, strategic, stabbed in his own home, betrayed from the inside.
Who the fuck did it?He asked himself this over and over…it wasn’t coincidental…it was intentional, meant to happen.
People called themselves mourning his father when he was in turmoil and grief; he didn’t realize or recognize the depressive state of mind he was in either.
How the fuck can things be normal, or fine to me without my pops here with me?
The car turned onto a private road leading to the Bonetti estate. The wrought iron gates rose and twisted in patterns. Guards stood rigid as the Maybach approached, their hands hovered near their weapons until they saw who sat inside.
Slowly, the gates opened, and Luca’s fingers curled into fists. He wasn’t stepping into his home. He was stepping back into his father’s shadow. Back into an empire that he had no plans of running anytime soon.
“A man doesn’t need a strong voice to be feared, Luca. Only a strong reason to kill.”
His father’s words echoed in his mind.
“First order of business?” Roy asked lowly.
Luca didn’t look away from the mansion ahead.
“Find…who did it,” his whisper slid out, dangerously as poison.
“Next, I will rebuild the Bonetti Mafia. New blooded and thorough men, all business will be frozen until the slate is wiped clean.” His raspy whisper came out lowly and slow.
The gates slammed shut behind them, Luca wasn’t ready to enter his father’s castle.
“Where’s my mom?”He signed the words instead of speaking.
“She had the chef’s make you dinner, your grandfather remained in the states. He wanted to lay eyes on you and have a meeting before leaving,” Roy spoke cautiously.
“LuLu has been in her element lately. Haven’t been here much, I think she’s coping in her own way. She has her own line of business?—”
“I know, take me to her.”Luca’s hands moved fast as he signed to Roy.
He needed to see the woman that birthed him. Needed to look Lucille in the eyes. He felt deep in his soul that some shit wasn’t right with her. The shift between the two started the second year of his incarceration. Luca also needed his mom to tell him the specific details of what happened to his father besides the fact of him being murdered. He already knew without having to be told that Lucille held lots of secrets.
There was only so much that could be said over a phone. The cluelessness left Luca uneasy for several reasons. In prison he came up with his own conclusions by going over the people that was the closest to his father. Knowing his mother’s real get down, Luca understood how dirty she could play to get the answers she wanted. Several bodies had been found gutted and shot up after Dontrell’s passing.
A lot of those bodies had Lucille’s name written all over them. Her grieving came with consequences. Lucille being in her own element never meant good things. Her delicate hands were always tied in a lot of things, some for the good and majority for the bad.
There was only one place where Lucille could dwell comfortably.
House of Angels,her main building, was located in the heart of Downtown L.A.
To the public, she was the poised owner of a ‘Luxury Relationship Consultancy’. To the men who paid her, she was the gatekeeper to a quiet, consequence-free heaven. To the women she employed, Lucille was salvation rocking designer from head to toes.
House of Angels looked like nothing more than a polished, city-owned building. A place where professionals could sip overpriced tea, enroll in etiquette classes, and claim they were ‘working on their interpersonal skills’. She had several of them all over So Cal California.
