“The only thing that comes out of Sicily are rumors of a princess,” Emilio replied with a laugh.
“Francesca?” Lucio gasped. “Francesca is that you?”
“What did you say?” The Beast spun around.
“Ignore it. He’s lost his mind,” Emilio muttered. “Everything in there is unrelated. He was talking about Lucia as though she were his wife the other day.” Emilio laughed.
Beast narrowed his eyes. He did not find it funny. Since the Blood War that nearly decimated the entire Pavoni family, there had always been rumors of a Pavoni Princess. As Lucio had no heirs, the princess would come save the Family from ruination.
It was a fairytale and it often got mixed up or rehashed the way fairytales did. To the soldiers, she was a Cinderella figure. The Pavoni Princess would fall in love with them, marry them, and they would become the boss. In the more traditional telling, the Pavoni Princess was a woman who was sent away at birth and did not know she was a Pavoni. She would come back and breed many heirs, thus saving the Family from extinction.
Lately, however, the Pavoni Princess had taken on a pretty different role. She was a warrior and a person capable of destroying the estraneo, or the outsider. The princess fairytale never mentioned the estraneo before, but it didn’t take much to deduce why it was changing and whom it was talking about.
It was no secret to Beast there were those inside the Pavoni family who wished to see him ousted, which was why he was going to have to cement his power. Rubbing the heel of his palm to his forehead, Beast sighed and turned to Emilio. He was wearing a t-shirt with the name of some local band on it, torn up jeans, and sneakers.
“Did we not talk about this?” Beast gestured to the outfit Emilio was wearing. “You can’t continue to dress like that.”
“Chill out. When we start actually doing stuff, I’ll look real nice. I’ll wear suits and shit.”
With a deep breath, Beast brushed out his wool pea coat. When his coat was a nice, matte black, he snapped his left arm forward, grabbing Emilio by the collar of his moth-eaten shirt. “We are doing stuff,” he hissed. Beast released Emilio and he staggered back, throwing his arms and shoulders forward in an attempt to regain composure.
“Isn’t the whole point of this that we’re paying the governor?” Emilio said, giving Beast a bruised look. “Why can’t I just dress how I want?”
Beast glanced at his watch. “I don’t have time to go over this with you again. Meet me at the docks and be wearing one of the suits Nikolai had made for you.”
Emilio rubbed his ear. “It’s a lot happening really fast. Father’s asking me what I’ve been doing and I’ve had to lie and I just don’t know if I’m up for this.” Emilio Alessio de Luca was the son of a Pavoni councilman. That fact alone should have afforded him a high rank in the Family and he should have been able to do and wear whatever the fuck he wanted. There was just one tiny thing though: his mother. The circumstances of his birth were ugly and his name was a constant testament to it.
Emilio Alessio was a bad omen. After the end of the Blood War there should have been two full-blooded and virile Pavoni men ready to continue the bloodline, but instead everyone got one De Luca baby.
No one wanted to work with Emilio. He’d spent an entire life in organized crime watching from the sidelines.
Until Beast.
“Then go,” Beast replied evenly. “I will replace you.” With a disappointed sigh, Beast left the room. It would mean finding someone to kill Emilio, and that would be difficult. Killing someone in the Family had to be done quietly and without leaving a signature. Emilio knew far too much about Beast’s dealings, though, so he had to die. At least he had time to find someone to replace him.
Beast was out of the townhouse, walking down the cool stone steps, when Emilio’s voice stopped him.
“Wait!” Beast turned to see the young man running down the steps to catch him. “I’ll meet you at the docks. I’ll change into a suit.”
Outside of
a warehouse, along the frozen Hudson River, Beast met with Rhys and Emilio. It was where he’d been coming since he was just a soldier, the place he’d turned into his point of operation when he’d risen in the ranks. It was also where he held extravagant underground parties. Unlike The Council, who preferred swanky high-rises in the Financial District for doing business, Beast liked the warehouse.
Emilio changed his clothing, at least. In a bespoke blue pinstripe suit with red tie, he was starting to look the part Beast was molding him to play.
“Africa is all but untouchable,” Rhys said in a clipped British accent. “No vulnerabilities to exploit, no one willing to do business.” With a shaved head that made him all the more intimidating and a goatee outlining firm lips on skin like burnt charcoal, Rhys Potters was the kind of man you wouldn’t want to meet alone in a dark alley. On paper, Rhys was a lawyer, an academic, and a businessman. He held an upper position in the International Monetary Fund, and when Beast first met him, he’d expected him to cower as those before him had. Instead, when Beast approached him, he’d pulled out his gun, surprising Beast with his courage.
Still, Beast tore the gun away and cornered him, ready to pull the trigger of Potter’s own gun, when he’d offered him one last deal instead: he’d let Rhys live if he started informing for him at the IMF. Beast had given the same deal to the man before Rhys, and the man before that, and the man before that.
“I’d rather die a man than live a coward,” Potters had replied, then stepped forward to press the gun to his head. Beast handed Rhys his gun back and offered him a different job. Beast had been looking for the right man to help bring his plans to fruition, plans he’d been sketching since he was just a soldier, and Potters fit the bill. Too many people in Beast’s employ grew up in the life. He needed someone to bridge the gap between worlds.
Potters had declined immediately, but it had taken only a week for him to change his mind. Rhys had gone back to the IMF, but it was like going from black and white to color. He’d seen the men who’d taken Beast’s deal. He’d seen the corruption. He’d seen that his job was no different than the one the Beast offered.
Except in Beast’s job, he could make a hell of a lot more money.
“So, what you’ve been saying for the past five months then,” Beast said curtly. “Thank you for the thrilling update, but this is not worth my time.” Beast moved to get back into his car, shoving Emilio out of the way and causing him to stumble.
“There is one way,” Rhys remarked, drawing Beast’s eyes back. Rhys placed one hand on the roof, his Patek Philippe watch glinting in the gray winter light, and leaned inside. Jaw tight, Beast waited for him. Swallowing, Rhys gripped the hood of the car.