“Apprentice?” He makes a sour face. “Do you typically fuck your apprentices?”
“Only the very attractive ones.” This earns me a scowl. I should know better than to tease him in this way. “No, I do not. This is a new position I’ve created just for you. To avoid rumors.”
“What about the men who know me already as your boy?”
“They’ve signed non-disclosure agreements. It’s a requirement for all members of my security detail.”
“What does it matter if your employees know me as your submissive?”
“You want to build respect early on.”
“For what?”
“In case you become their boss one day.”
“I don’t want to be their boss.”
“We’re keeping your options open, Giovanni. Consider today merely a tour, like when you toured my dungeon.”
“Iwantedto tour your dungeon. Iwantedto know more about that aspect of your life.”
The implication is that he doesn’t want this, that he cares nothing for the family business. I try not to take offense on behalf of his grandfather. It’s true that Giovanni has always been a dreamer, the type to live in his own imaginary worlds, but he has the aptitude and more importantly, he has the command. This is his grandfather’s legacy, after all.
“I want to share this part of my life with you too.”
This seems to mollify him… for now. I know there will be many more questions and a lot more resistance before the day is through.
“Do you employ any women in your organization?” he asks. So far, he’s only met members of my security team, who are all men.
“Yes, several of my accountants and property managers are women. I trust them more with the money and running of day-to-day operations outside of security and enforcement.”
Security is inherently risky, and enforcement is generally wet work, which I leave to the men. Women, for whatever reason, are less likely to embezzle money or sell information to our competitors, mob-related or otherwise. I try to limit disloyalty by having several accountability measures in place and keeping our circles of trust extremely tight. The Aponte family pays all of its taxes, even for our illegal enterprises. Fuck the FBI, the last thing any mobster wants is to get the IRS involved.
“Isn’t that sexist?” Giovanni asks.
“I don’t like killing women, especially mothers, so I try to employ them in positions where that outcome isn’t a possibility. We even offer free childcare.” Our benefits package rivals that of any Fortune 500 company, one of the many reasons why people stay.
“Did you ever want children?” he asks.
Did I ever want children? What a weighty question.
“Yes… and no. The part of me that likes to nurture and care for another person might have liked to be a father, but the world is a pretty crummy place overall, and it always felt too selfish to bring another soul into it. Not to mention that anyone associated with me bears a higher risk of being hurt. That’s why I take our security so seriously.”
“I wouldn’t want to share you,” he says.
I pat his arm. “Yes, you’ve made that quite clear already.”
My driver Andreas parks in the building’s underground garage, a private spot in the basement with a door and a lock so the car won’t be tampered with in my absence. Andreas has been with me for thirty years and is one of the highest paid people on my staff. Trust is priceless. The building itself is on Broadway and has been in the Aponte family for half a century. Matthew Sr.’s father purchased it as a young man when the property was somewhat affordable. Property management and development is a large part of what we do. Small business loans and franchising are another. The ground floor of the Aponte building houses a high-end jeweler and an antique store, and the middle floors are professional offices. Our operations span the top floor with enough room to house myself, my admin team, and several of my NYC underbosses when they’re not in the field. We have a satellite office in Jersey that I try to visit twice a month, our warehouses in Hoboken, and several other residential and commercial properties we lease out. And I have an office at the Red Room, my nightclub in Chelsea where I conduct “wise guy affairs.” I share all of this with Giovanni as we ascend in the private elevator.
“I haven’t been to the Red Room since… before,” he muses. He used to visit me there sometimes and tempt me on the dance floor. Once I caught him snorting cocaine in the upstairs bathroom, the only time I’ve ever laid my hands on him in anger. I wanted to slap some sense into him, but I only grabbed his jaw and yelled at him fiercely. I should have taken him home with me then and there—helped him to avoid what came after—but I foolishly let him go.
“I miss you when you’re not at home at night,” he says. “Rico snores.”
“Rico is supposed to be awake during hisentireshift.”
Giovanni purses his lips. The two of them cover for each other, that much I know. We enter the lobby, and I introduce Giovanni to my staff. I don’t elaborate on what the title of apprentice means, and no one asks. They don’t seem to recognize him as their former Don’s grandson, which doesn’t surprise me as several of them are new, and those who may have known Giovanni as a child haven’t seen him in years. I’m encouraged. It means I won’t have to worry so much about him keeping him hidden.
Inside my office, Giovanni takes in the view. It’s a corner suite facing an old theater directly across the street and the Flatiron Building a few blocks away. In the distance, the steeple of the Empire State Building points like a needle to the sky. He runs his hands over the polished bar that spans one of the interior walls, then makes his way over to the large mahogany desk, which he gives a similar treatment. “Hello, old friend,” he says fondly.
