“You’ll never be one of us, you mongrel piece of Irish trash!” he shrieks as crimson sprays the air.
I turn my back on him and address the room. “Gentlemen, loyalty isn’t about tradition. It isn’t about respect. It’s about power.” I let the words settle as I lean forward, wrenching Collin’s knife free from the severed limb still pinned to the table.
“Oi, let me make this clear. This isn’t a negotiation. This is a fucking funeral. You’ll either walk out with me… or leave in a body bag.”
Tommaso steps beside me. I place the machete in his hand. He doesn’t hesitate.
Giuseppe has fallen from his chair, crawling, leaving a slick red trail across the floor. Tommaso hacks into him. The screams rip through the boardroom. I pick up the severed arm and walk to the head of the table, Lorenzo’s seat, and lay it on the table. Blood drips onto the polished surface as I take my seat.
The screaming stops, Tommaso swings again and again. When he’s done, he returns to the wall, soaked in blood, and lights a cigarette. I scan the room. Eyes flick from the arm to me, and no one speaks. Fear is how respect is earned. To sit at the head of this table, you have to be the most ruthless motherfucker in the room.
“Now,” I say, calm as a saint, “let’s talk about our future. Who isn’t ready to follow?” No one speaks. They know the truth. This is the beginning of something new… or the end of them. I turn to my left. Gustavo “Iron” Mansueto, Capo of New Jersey, grips the edge of the table so hard his knuckles bleach white. “How’s the family, Gustavo?” I tilt my head. “I hear your daughter Maddie’s headed to Stanford this fall. Bright future, wouldn’t you say?”
His eyes flicker with fear, calculation, and understanding. Everyone knows he worships that girl. Gustavo is the last relic of Lorenzo’s dying era. But relics can still adapt.
“Yes,” he says, swallowing hard. “Maddie’s future is bright. Thanks for asking.” He hesitates, then nods. “My wife, Maddalena, is throwing her a graduation party. It’d be an honor if you attended.” Translation: My loyalty is yours.
I nod once. “Thank you, Gustavo. My business with Lorenzo will conclude long before then. Send me the details.”
I shift my gaze to the right. Tristen “The Nose” Mullen, Capo of Southern California, shifts in his seat. His nickname comes from the beak on his face… and his execution style—bullet straight through the nose. My intel says he’s juggling two wives and a polyamorous mess of secrets. I’m about to apply pressure when another voice cuts in.
“Cyan, with all due respect, we’re not stupid.” Toribio The Professional, Santelli, Capo of Nevada, nods toward the mutilated corpse on the floor. “If anyone doesn’t understand what’s happening here, he deserves to join him.” If anyone could rival me, it’s Toribio. But I know he’s not interested; it’s the only reason he’s still alive. He glances at his watch. The man is always in a hurry to leave these meetings. He hates being away from his precious Vegas. Unlike the others, he has no weakness to exploit. For him, it’s simple: Vegas and money.
“Very well, Toribio, let’s get down to business.” I lean forward. “This is a hostile takeover. Anyone opposed, speak now.” Nothing but silence. I rise slowly, scanning each face. “This isn’t business. This is survival. Welcome, lads, to the new world order… where I am now the Don of the entire American syndicate.” I let that land.
“If anyone makes a move against me or mine, I will erase your entire bloodline, down to your fucking dog.” I pause, then gesture. “Let’s put it to a vote. All in favor?”
One by one, hands rise. Their silence is a pact, their stares, signatures. “My goal is simple. Our revenue’s been bleeding out for years because Lorenzo refused to evolve. I won’t make that mistake. We’re pivoting in a new direction. One that makes us all richer.”
“How do you plan to do that?” Romeo “Pretty Boy” Paparella, Capo of Northern California, asks. Doubt cracks his voice. “The government’s legalizing most of our income streams.”
“I know; that’s why we build legitimate businesses of our own.”
“We already have legit fronts,” Romeo argues.
“I’m not talking about restaurants, pizzerias, or garbage-hauling operations you’re using to launder cash.”
“Are you saying we go fully legit?” Tristen asks, eyes narrowing. “Drop the illegal side?”
“Fuck no,” I smirk. “That would invite new players onto our turf.”
“What exactly are you proposing?” Derulo Four-Toes Recine, the Capo of Pennsylvania, grunts.
“I’m not reinventing the wheel, just upgrading it.” I nod to Tommaso. “Bring Troy in.” Moments later, Troy enters with a sleek black briefcase. He opens it and distributes folders around the table.
“I’ve drafted a custom expansion plan for each of your territories.” I lock eyes with Romeo and Tristen. “In California, green’s legalized. We grow the best product, dominate the dispensary market, and print money.”
I let the pause stretch. “That’s just the start. I’ve partnered with the president of The Devil’s Jokers MC. Texas is begging for a supplier. We flood it before the law catches up.” Romeo flips through the file fast now. “What do you say?”
“Sounds good to me,” Tristen says, nodding.
Derulo scowls. “That works for them. I don’t have the climate.”Read the packet, you thick bastard. Lorenzo didn’t like his Capos to think, just to be brutal. Derulo fits the mold.
“Sports betting’s next,” I say evenly. “We launch a fully online casino, develop mobile apps, and partner with Toribio to dominate the betting market coast to coast.”
“This sounds great in theory,” Toribio says, leaning back. “But licensing isn’t guaranteed. Neither is scale.”
“You’re right. That’s why I already handled it. It was slipped into the last pork-filled spending bill in the Senate; the state legislature just cleared the way. I greased the right politicians. Paid the ones who’d take it and gathered enough dirt on the ones who wouldn’t.” I steeple my fingers. “Every detail is mapped. Read the files.” They do. When they look up, I know I have them.
