Chapter 8 Episode 8

His gaze flicks to the bloody mess at the front of the warehouse. Men are crying out in pain, facescaked in blood. I spot a couple who are missing limbs. Some are not moving at all. “Hard to say at this point,” he admits. “There were a lot of men in there. We had just taken in adelivery.” I notice the light catching on something stuck to Antonio’s neck. Leaning closer, I see it is a piece ofsilver confetti in the shape of a four-leaf clover. “What the f**k is that?” I growl. Antonio peels it off and flicks it to the ground. “It’s everywhere. They must have packed it with thebomb.” I look around, and for the first time, notice glints of silver all over the place. It peppers the groundaround the warehouse, sticks to the clothes and skin of the men laid on the ground, and I even see acouple pieces floating down from the ash cloud. “Those f*****g Walshes,” I bite out. I am livid. Absolutely shaking with rage. I want to slaughter every last one of them, to stuff theirmouths with so much of their whimsical f*****g confetti that they choke on it. “Sir, with all due respect, you need to leave,” Antonio says. “The cops are going to be down here atany minute, and you have a public image to protect.” I grit my teeth. The vein in my forehead pulses as rage floods my system. I know he is right, and thatthere is nothing I can do here, but I want to help. This attack has made me feel powerless. Weak. I ama don who cannot protect his men. I shake my head and swear. The best I can do is to make plans to retaliate. For now I need to walkaway, to leave this matter in Antonio’s capable hands. I might not like it, but I have to live with it. “Good luck,” I tell Antonio, clapping him on the back. “Call me to report later.” He nods and jogs back toward the building. I head to my car, and David speeds off. The smell ofsmoke still burns in my nostrils, and I know that no matter what happens, I must make Andrew Walshpay. I storm through the double doors of the conference room, sending them slamming back on their hinges.A couple of the men around the long, rectangular table jump in their seats, then clear their throats andshuffle papers in embarrassment. I take my seat, straight-backed, at the head of the table and scan the expectant faces looking back atme. This council is composed of my five capos, Diego, and my trusted consigliere. Usually, Antoniowould be present as well, but he is obviously busy. The only person who doesn’t have a trace of uneasiness on his features is Vito. He looks almostbored, though he is hard to read behind his beard at the best of times. I wish he’d never grown thedamn thing. He looks ridiculous. His light eyes meet mine. “We heard about what happened on the docks,” Vito says. “Have they taken more territory?” “No. Not yet,” I reply. “The attack was designed to weaken us. I expect that another will follow soon,so we need to be prepared for it.” “We can’t lose what little we have left of the docks,” Dom Rozzi pipes up. “We need to fight back.” Since taking control of the organization two years ago, Dom has been a constant. His maincontribution was securing the loyalty of the other capos, a couple of whom were dubious when Iassumed leadership. They soon fell into line, but I am always conscious of the fragility of myfledgling regime. One slip up and I could f**k everything. “Agreed,” I say. “Dom, I’m assigning you to protect the docks with Antonio and his crew. Make sureyour men are patrolling twenty-four-seven. I want it locked down.” I point to Piero Bianchi. “You and your crew are on standby. If Dom or Antonio call, I want you at thedocks in less than ten minutes. Do you understand?” He nods. “Yes, sir.” I hate that I am having to concentrate so much force on such a small area, but we cannot lose the lastof the grip we have left on the docks. Two years ago, we nearly held a monopoly on them, and now we are clinging to the knife’s edge. Things could have been different. If my father had listened to me, none of this would have happened. But he didn’t listen. He incited a war with the Irish and they fought back harder than we could have ever anticipated.Within months, they had wrested majority control of the docks and had shrunk our territoryconsiderably. Since then, they have been trying to drive us out of the city altogether, and I have beenstruggling just to keep them at bay. I know they have help but have never been able to figure out whofrom. It’s no f*****g wonder I can’t sleep at night. “What about the attacks on the businesses?” Diego asks. He adjusts the reading glasses on his noseand looks down at the paper in his hands. “Three restaurants, one bar, and a retail store, allvandalized to varying degrees in the past week.” He slides a paper across, showing a smashedstorefront. Inside, four-leaf clovers have been spray-painted all over the walls. “These businesses are under our protection,” I state. “Ensure that they receive money to cover therepairs and compensate their losses immediately.” My gaze snaps to Mirko Bernandino and his ever-present scowl. “Send a couple of your most personable men down to check in on them and reinforceour presence. Make sure they know that the Bellucis are still in charge and that these Irish attacks willnot be tolerated.” “Yes, sir.” “We still have one strong advantage over the Walshes,” I state. “They are cash-poor, which is part ofthe reason they’re lashing out at us like this. They’re trying to hit us where it hurts and steal a little forthemselves while they’re at it. To beat them, we will need to drain their resources, and I have plans todo so.” The conversation moves onto other business from there, and by the time I notice the hour, the meetinghas gone over schedule, and Vito is tapping his watch discreetly at me. I’m going to be late for mynext appointment if I don’t leave now. “I need to go,” I state, rising to my feet. “Dom, go over everyone’s assignments one last time. Whenyou’re finished, check in with Antonio and take his report.” Dom nods and I leave the room, Vito trailing behind me. “What’s that?” he asks. I stop and look at him. “What?” He reaches out and plucks something from my shoulder—a piece of silver confetti. Conductingbusiness always calms me down. But seeing this disgusting reminder of today’s attack ramps mynerves right back up again. I don’t answer Vito, and he knows better than to ask a question twice. I head up to my room to changeinto my tuxedo, angrily adjusting my cufflinks and combing my hair in the mirror. It is ridiculous that I should have to attend something as dull as a museum opening when I have a kingdom to control.Unfortunately, part of being a billionaire is maintaining a public persona. It is the part of the job I hatethe most. Sometimes, I feel like I don’t even get a second to breathe between running the business and leadingthe Family. On days like today, the transition is abrupt enough to give me whiplash. The only way Ihave been able to manage both sides of my life is to keep them as separate as possible. So, eventhough the Walsh problem has dug its claws into my brain, I wrestle it into a box for now and slam thelid closed. David takes the Rolls Royce to drive me to the gala, and he pulls up to the curb amidst a sea offlashing lights and shouting press. I unfold my long legs from the back seat of the car and stride up thered carpet, ignoring the questions the reporters yell at me. “Gabriel, attending another event solo?” “Hey, Gabe, why no arm candy?” “Gabriel! Gabriel! How does it feel walking in your father’s footsteps?” The last question nearly makes me pause but I keep walking, painting on a smile as I step through themuseum’s front door. I feel dozens of pairs of eyes snap to me, and a few people leaning close towhisper in each other’s ears. If these gaping socialites and self-important yuppies knew half of what Ido on a day-to-day basis, they would cower in fear when I enter a room. I grab a glass of champagne from a passing server and stroll over to the museum director, HelenTonks. It was she who invited me, and who I have to thank for ruining my evening. “Helen,” I say with a congenial smile as I approach. Helen is in her early forties and wears it well. She has high cheekbones and wispy features. Her redhair is coaxed into a chignon and her freckled cheeks pull back in a grin when she sees me. She andher female friend stop talking and both face me.