Big Bad Wolf by Diana A. Hicks
And Yet They Have To
Santino
Manhattan, New York
My father’s office fit me. The high ceilings, the expensive, one-of-a-kind art, the bookcases filled with first-edition books, and a bunch of other crap that screamed power and old money.
When I was a kid, I could sit on Dad’s gray leather sofa, facing the tall windows, and get lost in the city view. The shape of the buildings, the tiny people beneath me, and the AC offered an odd sense of comfort. The entire setup was nice when it wasn’t my own gilded cage. Yeah, my father’s office fit me—that didn’t mean I liked it.
I paced the length of the room, keeping my gaze on the passing clouds, feeling like a caged animal. For the past couple of years, my father’s health had been—diminishing—to say the least. Don Buratti needed a successor. As the eldest of five, the honor—or the curse—fell upon me.
“Sir.” Lia’s small voice stopped me in my tracks. Actually, it wasn’t her voice that caught my attention, it was the scent of whiskey that now lingered in the air. “Your drink, sir.”
“Took you long enough.” I took the glass tumbler from her and sipped. “What the hell is this?”
“Pappy Van Winkle, sir. Your favorite…” She framed her answer as a question.
A five-thousand-dollar bottle of bourbon should please me. I supposed I understood her confusion. “It tastes like water.”
“I could remove the ice.” She offered me the small silver tray in her hand, so I could return the drink.
“No, leave it. It’s fine.” I knocked the rest of it back.
In truth, my lack of taste buds, or overall numbness, had nothing to do with the Pappy and everything to do with my father’s visit. He liked to keep himself relevant by showing up at my office once a month. Today was that day.
I glanced toward the hallway, past my office doors. My employees were buzzing with excitement, mixed with terror, as they rushed to their positions. That could only mean one thing. Don Buratti had entered the building.
“Show him in as soon he gets here. And Lia?”
She made to leave, but promptly turned around when I called her name. “Yes, sir.”
“No phone calls and no interruptions of any kind.”
“Of course, sir.”
I crossed my arms and faced the city again. Two seconds later, I reconsidered my stance and decided to try and be less hostile toward the old man. I sauntered toward the chair behind my desk and sat, bracing my hands on the armrests. This meeting would be over soon. And then I could go back to doing things my way.
“Ten million dollars in tax deeds?” The double doors busted open, and Don Buratti strode in with Lia on his heels.
“Leave us.” I motioned toward the hallway. When she didn’t move, I sat back in my chair. “What is it?”
“Don Valentino is here to see you as well.” She meant Rex. Outside of our tight group, no one was allowed to use his name.
I chuckled at her predicament. Who had higher standing, my father or the king of the Society, a one-hundred-year-old enclave that managed all criminal activity in the country? Rex Valentino was the sitting king, whether we liked it or not.
“Show him in,” I said to Lia, then turned to Dad. “We’ll double that money by the end of the year, Dad.”
“It’s not about the money, and you know it.” He tossed the manila folder on my desk.
I chuckled. Dad was an old school mobster who thought if his money wasn’t covered in blood, it hadn’t been earned. Times had changed, and he refused to see it. If the Society wasn’t careful and didn’t keep up with the times, they too might become obsolete.
“Well, would it make you feel better if I told you I bullied my way into the real estate auction and bought all the deeds and the properties that came with it? Also, many people will lose their homes in the process. Better?”
“Watch your tone with me, boy.” He lowered himself into the leather club chair across from me. “This is still my company. We run the firm my way.”
Buratti Investment Research Advisors, Inc. was founded shortly after the market crash of nineteen-twenty as a front for the Society. The era was our golden years. Booze, money laundering, and racketeering activities was how Dad built this company from the ground up.
I was here merely to make sure the engines were well-oiled, and the money kept flowing. Being CEO was an easy gig. What the Society required of us took a bit more effort on my part. As Don Buratti’s second-in-command, I oversaw investments and real estate, but also, whenever Rex needed to take care of someone, he would call upon my crew—which was all a bunch of nice words to say, I was the Society’s assassin. My crew and I, we took out the trash. We were the best at it.
From the beginning, since I was barely a teenager, I had a knack for tracking down those who’d done us wrong. I could smell our enemies’ fears and guess their next move, their next hiding place. My guys nicknamed me the Punisher. I didn’t mind it. The name suited me.
“Yes, Dad. This is still your company. Shall we get started with our monthly review?”
The meeting tended to go a lot smoother when we were focused on business matters and not my personal life.
“We could’ve been done with these meetings a long time ago.” He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a Cuban cigar, cut off the tip, and lit it. After a few long draws from it, the tobacco ignited, and Dad settled in. “You’re ready to take it on, son.”
“I’d like to point out that I’ve been doing this job for two years now.”
“I mean all of it. The firm, the Society, our family.”
“Don’t let him talk circles around you.” Rex entered the room with his usual pompous air.
Behind him, Lia rushed in with a tray, carrying three more glasses of whiskey. She set them on the coffee table facing the windows and then left. Dad stood and hugged Rex. A year ago, he would’ve left my office. Or punched Rex in the face. How Rex became king didn’t sit well with him. But a lot had changed in the past year since Rex officially took over the Society.
Dad eventually saw the benefit and the need for the five original families to band together. Correction: four original families. After the FBI came after the Society last year, the entire Gallo family was executed. They came after us, too. But Rex managed to find a way out and handled the pigs. Dad appreciated that. So now Rex had our full support.
“Good to see you, old man. The last time I spoke with Santino, he acted as though you were on your deathbed.” Rex sat on the club chair in the living area and sipped his whiskey.
“My death has been highly exaggerated.” He chortled at his own joke—a stolen one from Steve Jobs.
“Not that I don’t appreciate your visits, Rex, but what the fuck are you doing here?”
“Don Buratti invited me.”
“Oh, fuck me.” I grabbed my drink and perched myself on the sofa armrest. “Is this some sort of intervention? Is it my drinking?”
“You’re not taking your birthright seriously.” Dad’s deep voice had a sad tinge to it.
The Society and this mobster life were his legacy. He was afraid it would all fall apart when he passed. “You’re strong as an ox, Dad. I have years before I need to take anything serious.”
“You’re thirty years old. At your age, I was well on my way to taking over from my father.”
I chose not to point out the fact that Dad had stabbed Granddad in the back to push him out of his role as Don. The man sitting across from me looked like a decent man, a concerned father. But he was as ruthless as they came.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re disappointed I haven’t killed you in your sleep and taken over.”
He grunted. “All you have to do is get married.”
Rex sat forward and watched me intently. So that was why Dad had invited Rex to our monthly meeting. He wanted to talk about succession, marriage, and children—lots of children. Dad liked big families. But I would never do that to another human being. The women in the Society tended to die quickly. In our mafia world, the innocent always paid the sins of the wicked.
“I don’t see what one thing has to do with the other.”
“I’m done asking, Santino.” Dad shot to his feet. Ten years ago, the boom in his smoker’s voice would’ve sent me running from the room. “You will find a wife and take your rightful place as the head of this family.”
I opened my mouth to ask, “Or you’ll do what?” but Dad beat me to it. It started with a cough. Then a gurgling sound like he was choking. And then, he collapsed. I heard my own voice calling for Lia, but every sound was muffled by the fast thumping of my heart. Rex got on his phone and walked away from me while I worked on undoing the knot on Dad’s tie. Was he having a heart attack? Dad was in his late sixties. He was technically too young for that. Wasn’t he?
“Come on, old man. You can’t leave me just yet.” I did short compresses on his chest, just to get some air into his lungs or to jump-start his heart. Who the hell knew? This small act felt better than sitting on my heels and watching my only parent die. “Come on.”
Dad was never what one would consider a loving father. He was brutal with his teaching methods. Life was pain. Trust no one. Shoot to kill. I learned that from him. Whatever he was or wasn’t for me though, I needed him alive. Why couldn’t we stay the same? Why did things have to change?
“Santino.” Rex squeezed my shoulder. “Let the paramedics do their job.”
I blinked fast to bring the scene in front of me back into focus. Sure enough, two guys dressed in blue uniforms stood on the other side of Dad, waiting to take him away. I conceded with a nod, and they quickly got to work.
“Did you call his doctor?” I asked Lia.
“Yes, sir. He’s on his way to the hospital. He’ll meet you there.” She stepped back to make room for the other men pulling in a gurney.
Five minutes later, everyone but Rex was gone. After the big commotion, the silence I usually found comforting felt eerily still.
“I’m sorry.” Rex finally spoke.
“For which part?” I met his gaze. “Because Dad might die tonight or because you don’t have a successor like you wanted.”
“Because we still need to talk business.” He downed the rest of his drink. “Then you can go see him.”
“I’m not a doctor. I’m not needed at the hospital. I’m needed here.” I sat on the edge of the sofa and braced my forearms on my knees. “I don’t like it when things change.”
“And yet they have to.”
“What’s going on?”
“The Irish mounted a hostile takeover last night. They want Hell’s Kitchen. They almost had us too.” He unbuttoned his suit jacket and took the chair across from me. “I promised Caterina we’d have peace. This is the fucking opposite of that.”
“Wait. The building that blew up last night. That was us?”
He nodded once. “Rossi was ambushed. He had no choice.”
“The New York police are easy to control. But explosions? That’s candy to the FBI.”
“That’s why we need to handle this in-house.” He sipped from his glass. When he realized it was empty, he made his way to my desk, where Lia had left a bottle and ice for us. “Last thing I need is the FBI in our business. A gang war will definitely get their attention.”
The Irish made a move on Italian territory. That was ballsy or incredibly stupid. Though I couldn’t blame them. They thought they were going against the New York faction. They had no idea the Society was here to back them up. The board, the five original families, controlled every industry, and that sometimes extended beyond this country. So much time had passed since the Society went underground, we were no more than a scary bedtime story to keep intruders at bay. Until they came for us, of course. Then they quickly found out we were more than the monster under the bed.
“The Society has become an old allegory. It’s no surprise the Irish aren’t afraid of us anymore.” I wasn’t opposed to getting my hands dirty.
“I’ve considered becoming more than that. But then we would lose a great advantage—right now the Irish are celebrating their almost victory. They have no idea I’m coming for them.” Rex had a plan.
“If you don’t handle them soon. They’ll assume the Italians are cowards. We can’t have that.” I was itching to punch something. “It just so happens I’m looking for something to keep my mind off things. What do you need?”
“First, we need to make sure we eliminate anything that might look like a pattern, or the beginning of something bigger.” He took a big gulp of whiskey. “I need you to send a message to our Chicago crew. Seems they made a similar move on the Irish on the South side.”
“As retaliation for what happened here?”
“Nah. Two mutually exclusive events. But that’s just it. I don’t need the FBI making that connection, thinking that the Irish and the Italians are starting a national feud. Can your crew manage that?”
“I’ll fly to Chicago myself. Consider it done.” I raised my tumbler to him. Work was what I needed right now. Anything to keep my mind off of family matters. “What about the Irish in Harlem?”
“I have a different kind of war planned for them.”
“I like the sound of that. Count me in.”
“I appreciate that.” He patted my arm, then his smile faded. “I hope you understand that sooner rather than later, you’ll have to step into the role of Don, get married, and do your part.”
“I am doing my part, Rex. I’ll go to Chicago and deliver your message just like you want. But don’t ask me to tether my life to a woman because that will never happen. My sister has three boys of her own. I can train any one of them to follow in my footsteps.”
“What?” He raised his hand to stop my ranting.
“I’m assuming that’s what the marriage requirement is for. Dons need successors, heirs.”
“I never said anything about kids.” He chuckled. “What is this aversion to marriage you have, anyway?” He furrowed his brows as if he were confused by my dissent. “Look at me. I’ve been married to Caterina for almost a year. We’re happy. We’re allowed to be happy.”
“You’ve been thinking with your dick for so long, you can’t see straight anymore. And that’s exactly my point.” I dug my index finger on my temple. “Women mess with your head and your ability to think.”
“Caterina is a smart woman. I’d be a fool if I didn’t listen to what she has to say.”
“See what I mean?” I threw my arms up in exasperation. “I can’t have that. I don’t trust women. And I never will.”