Chapter 2

Giacomo

October

An undisclosed address in Calabria, Italy

The meeting was bullshit.

I had a thousand more important things to do than to sit down with these fucks. But apparently, taking over as the boss now meant doing a lot of shit I hated.

So I was here. But I had news for them-if they hoped to make peace between our clans, they were wasting their time. My plans to take back what was owed to me were already in motion.

Across the table sat three Ravazzanis: Fausto, the oldest and head of the vast criminal empire; his consigliere and cousin, Marco; and the heir, Giulio. Two other men were with them, and I assumed by the way the tall one hovered by Giulio's side that it was his lover, the famous sniper Alessandro Ricci. He was every bit as impressive as the rumors made him out to be.

I should hate those two, seeing as how Giulio and Alessandro killed my brother and my father only four months ago.

Instead, I wanted to shake both their hands.

I loathed my father and brother. Always had. I hoped they were both being ass fucked dry in Hell. Repeatedly.

No, my problem with Ravazzani was business, not personal.

Impatient, I tapped my fingers on the table. Bernardo Virga, the head of the Sicilian Cosa Nostra, il capo di tutti capi, glared at me as if chastising me to stop. Fuck that. He demanded that I attend this, not that I play nice. I motioned with my hand for him to get started.

Introductions first. I shook hands and tried to appear relaxed. This was the part of the job I disliked-meetings and more meetings, talking for hours. I wasn't a diplomat; I was a fighter. I'd rather settle an argument with my fists.

But Virga demanded my presence here, so I had little choice in the matter. Everyone was worried I would retaliate for the murder of my family, and they hoped to pacify me enough to drop the need for revenge.

Like I said, a wasted effort.

I announced the names of my three men quickly, ending with my closest confidant. "This is Francesco Zaniolo, my right hand." I'd known Zani forever, and he was more like a brother to me than my own brother had been.

When it was Ravazzani's turn, he pointed at his son. "And this is my oldest son, Giulio. He runs our 'ndrina in Málaga now."

I nodded, unimpressed, then looked at Ricci. "And this is your ragazzo, no? The famous sniper."

The tall man gave no reaction, just continued to stare at me. His eyes were flat, calm. A soldier ready for battle. I could appreciate this.

It was Giulio who answered. "Yes."

"I am a big fan of your work," I said to Ricci, who merely dipped his head in acknowledgement.

Ravazzani launched in, saying, "My condolences on the death of your father and brother."

Smart to mention this right away. The reminder of my murdered family would've irritated me if I gave a shit about either one of them. I folded my hands on the table. "They were both pricks. I hated them."

The room fell silent. Not getting the reaction he'd obviously hoped for, Ravazzani gestured to Pasquale Borghese, capocrimine and head of the Calabrian 'Ndrangheta. "Let us get started."

Borghese smiled like a kindly grandfather surveying naughty grandchildren. "The ugliness between your families has dragged on far too long. We are here today to settle it."

"Ugliness?" Ravazzani sneered. "You mean how the late Don Buscetta pretended to be my ally while working with Mommo and D'Agostino to take me down? Or how Nino Buscetta sent men around Europe to hunt and kill my son like a dog? Is this the ugliness of which you speak?"

Was he truly acting the martyr? Treating me like a coglione? I didn't always agree with my late father and brother-far from it-but Ravazzani was not blameless.

I hardened my voice. "You have repeatedly cut down our profits from the product coming in from the south. And your men killed my father and my brother."

Don Ravazzani's expression remained unchanged. "This does not make us even. At all."

Virga cleared his throat. "We must settle this discord because it is bad for business."

"We can't have more dead bodies in the streets," Borghese agreed. "Car bombs and shootings. This brings unwanted attention to everyone. The police are agitated over these murders, making arrests. Looking for people to blame."

"That is a shame," Ravazzani said, not sounding sympathetic in the least. His consigliere smirked and I longed to punch each of them in the face.

"It makes problems for me," I said. "Which in turn could make problems for you."

The amusement instantly disappeared on the other side of the table. Don Ravazzani asked softly, "Is this a threat?"

Was he fucking serious? Of course it was a threat. Unlike my late father and brother, I never said anything I didn't mean.

"Signori," Borghese said. "Let us remain calm."

Calm? Did he honestly think this meeting was a good idea? "Why are we here? This is a waste of everyone's time."

"We must settle this," Virga said. "Make peace. Otherwise, we are in the newspapers with the Guardia di Finanza crawling up all our asses."

"And what do you propose?" Ravazzani leaned back in his chair. "Because I am not changing the way I do business."

Meaning he wouldn't cut me into his drug trade, the pezzo di merda. Ravazzani took what used to be a Sicilian staple and made it his own. The Cosa Nostra still controlled the gun trade, but I wanted both. I intended to take everything back.

"Don Virga and I have discussed this," Borghese said. "We would like to join the two families in marriage."

"Fuck no," and "Absolutely not," Ravazzani and I answered at the same time.

At least we agreed on this.

"We are not asking," Borghese said, his voice as brittle as ice. "It is our job to see it settled and this is what we have decided. Neither of you have a choice. There will be a wedding between your two families." He sat back, a slick grin on his face. "And we have just the bride in mind."

Bride . . . Was I the groom? Che cazzo? I didn't want to marry anyone, no matter who gave the order. Fuck heirs, fuck the traditions. I never intended on having a family of my own. I would serve as the boss on my terms, not anyone else's.

"You carry too much anger, Giacomo."

My mother's words when I was a young boy still haunted me, but they were true. A further example of why I'd never carry on the Buscetta line. One of my brother's many bastards could have the crown when I died.

Ravazzani spoke first. "There is no female in my household, save my two-year-old daughter. Since you can't possibly mean her, then I don't know who you are proposing."

"Your wife has two sisters, no?" Virga said. "Unmarried and of age, I believe."

Almost everyone in the room froze. The Mancini twins, younger sisters of Francesca Ravazzani, were well known in our circles. Their mother had been a famous Italian model who married a Canadian mob boss. That sort of thing wasn't easily forgotten by men like us.

But marry a Mancini? Ma dai. "You mean the one shacked up with D'Agostino since last summer?" I asked with a derisive snort. "Fairly certain he won't like it if you marry her off to someone else."

"No," Borghese said. "The other sister. Emma."

"That is off the table," Ravazzani said calmly. "I won't allow it."

Virga continued like Ravazzani hadn't spoken. "Buscetta will marry the Mancini girl and receive some of the Toronto business. Then you will all act like one big happy fucking family, capisce?"

Toronto business? After Ravazzani stole the Colombians from us? Ma dai, what a goddamn insult.

I kept my tone steady, unyielding, as I folded my hands on the table. "I'm not marrying anyone-no matter who gives the order and what business I gain. Ravazzani and I will settle this shit between ourselves, without the need for a wedding."

Borghese and Virga traded a glance, but I couldn't decipher it.

"Finally, some sense." Ravazzani stood and buttoned his suit jacket. "I assume we're finished here. I need to return to Siderno."

I rose, as well. "And I must get back to Palermo."

"We expect this marriage to happen," Borghese said. "Do not disappoint me, Ravazzani."

"The same goes for you, Buscetta." Virga glared at me, his narrow-set eyes like black orbs.

"You ask the impossible," Ravazzani said. "And Buscetta and I both agree this is not happening."

The two old men appeared as if they wanted to say something, but how could they complain? Ravazzani brought in most of the 'Ndrangheta's money and me most of the Cosa Nostra's wealth. We weren't men you could easily push around or threaten, not if you wished to keep your big houses, fancy cars and expensive mistresses.

I walked out first, not wanting to give Ravazzani the satisfaction. Zani and the others trailed me into the hot Calabrian sunshine. "Let's get the fuck out of here," I said as I climbed into our car.