“You’re being accused of murdering Lucio Pavoni,” Levi said somberly. “People are calling for Emilio to take your place.”
“Emilio is a little busy losing his reelection and getting high,” Anteros said smoothly.
“We are losing what little De Luca support we had,” Little O hedged. Anteros stood up and leaned against the wall, inky strands of hair falling over his eyes.
Before Anteros, Emilio had been a useless, visionless, bag of blood. A skin sack of nothing but thoughts of sex and spending money earned by others. With the help of Rhys, Emilio became a senator. With Rhys dead, Emilio had fallen back into his old habits. Now people wanted that fucker to take Anteros’s job? Anteros was the one who’d turned the Pavoni Family into an empire, made the name into something fearsome. He’d be fucking damned if he lost that because his last name wasn’t Pavoni.
Anteros couldn’t help but think of the complete hypocrisy. The way Lucio had gained the seat of Don in the first place was by killing his father-in-law. He wasn’t surprised, though. Lucio had already been family when he cut the crown, and no matter how many years he spent in the Family, he would always be estraneo.
“Is this legitimate, Boss?” Pretty Boy asked.
“Would it matter?”
“Not to us,” Pretty Boy quickly answered. “I wouldn’t give a fuck if Princess Di herself rose from the grave lookin’ to be Boss.”
“I would care about that,” Little O said. “I will always choose hot zombies.”
Ignoring that inane comment, Anteros continued to think. He had no doubt that they would choose him as their Boss. Hundreds of legitimate Pavonis could come out of the woodwork and they would still choose him. Like Anteros, Pretty Boy and Little O came from shit blood. They saw no reason to pledge fealty to a monarchy they could never hope to influence.
Crazy A was different. If the Pavoni mafia was truly a monarchy, then Crazy A came from noble blood.
“I don’t give a shit,” Crazy A’s cool, callous voice drifted back.
“This needs to be dealt with immediately,” Anteros said. He couldn’t fight a war on two fronts. He thumbed his lip, meeting everyone’s concerned stares.
Emilio would have to be killed.
There was just one problem.
“How do we get to Emilio up in DC?” Little O asked. “We don’t exactly have anyone to spare.” Yeah, that. He was already stretched on all sides. War was not conducive to running a business.
Anteros exhaled and walked to his desk, pressing the call button. A short few minutes later, Nikolai’s shaggy, titan gold curls popped into the room.
“Boss?”
“Call a soldier off the docks,” Anteros said. “Doesn’t matter which.” Anteros wasn’t thrilled about the idea. He needed the docks guarded, especially with all their shipments being hijacked by Lucia.
“Is that the best idea?” Little O asked, as if on cue. “We need the docks guarded.”
“The Institute is threatening to pull out if another shipment is hijacked,” Pretty Boy added.
“A soldier can’t pull off this job,” Crazy A mumbled.
“I’m all ears for a better fucking idea.” The silence thickened as everyone realized there wasn’t one.
“I can do it,” Nikolai said, breaking the quiet. “I’d like to prove myself.”
“You’ve got enough on your hands checking blueprints,” Pretty Boy said. Anteros almost agreed. It was one thing to have the boy double-check blueprints, another thing to give him a hit. He had been much younger than Nikolai when he decided to start proving himself, though, and as far as Anteros was concerned, Nikolai had proven himself the night at the hotel. In his clear, green eyes Anteros saw eagerness, confidence, a willingness to prove himself—all things he’d had at that age, but Anteros didn’t want to make the same mistakes as Lucio. If Nikolai wanted to be in the Family, then he could be in the Family.
“Have it finished by next weekend,” Anteros said.
“Yes, Boss.”
The door closed behind Nikolai and Anteros looked out the two-way painting into his club. Anteros had waited his entire life to be Boss, but maybe he’d had it wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t be Boss of the Pavoni empire, but Boss of his own fucking empire.
Lucia could have the Pavoni Family; when he was through with them, they’d be nothing but ashes.
Six