The dance floor is packed with girls grinding on guys they wanna take home for the night, or vice versa. Sirens go off and confetti drops from the ceiling and the crowd goes wild as fake fog envelopes the dance floor, bringing with it a cool shift in the air.
I circle back downstairs, annoyed about the men upstairs using carte blanche to pedal drugs in our house. They are from another syndicate and should know better.
We own many clubs in the city and employ full-time managers, but this is a business that generates a lot of cash. I need to keep an eye on the till and the alcohol pours to make sure we’re not giving away money or product. Graft is everywhere and I should know. My family makes an incredible living off it.
My blood runs hot but I can’t overreact to the mafia underlings with drugs. I send a waiter upstairs with free drinks to see if he can pick up an accent. He returns with the dreaded, but not unexpected news, Albanian.
Fuck!
I storm to my office and look at the security cameras to see if there are others. They know who owns this place and they know they are not welcome here. It’s a brazen move on their part but they are encroaching on territory everywhere. And not just our family—it’s every family in the business.
The cameras show no other suspicious activity in the parking lot or the rest of the club. They could be acting on their own, which is one more reason to not make waves that could escalate into something over nothing. I make a note to keep an eye on it. The Albanians usually don’t come down this way, but I can’t rule them out entirely as a potential problem.
After I take a deep breath and exhale, I leave my office and approach the waitress station.
“Maria, club soda, please.” I need something in my hand, so I don’t punch someone.
“Sure.” The bartender fills a glass with ice and uses the fountain gun to fill it with club soda before garnishing it with a lime.
“Thanks.” I sip the drink and try to distract myself as my eyes scan the club.
Everyone seems to be having a good time, but my night is ruined. The Albanians are cutting into our business, and it needs to stop. Before I know it, they will be taking the place over, which is probably their intent. Or they will bring up crime in the area, so no one comes and then buy the establishment for under market value.
I hope they aren’t spiking drinks with drugs or selling shit that could kill someone and blow back on me. We trust our own clans to a point, but to trust a rival organization? Never.
It could be just guys making their bones, a hazing or a more elaborate setup.
Testing, always testing. I hate uncertainty. I hate rival mafia and gangs that think they can come in here and deal on my turf. Clearly, they don’t know what Dante’s punishments are for their crimes. Let alone the things I am willing to do to send a message.
I empty my glass and set it on the bar with a loudclunk, not realizing the force I used.
“You alright?” Maria asks as she takes the glass.
“Yeah.” That’s always the answer, even if I’m not.
No one will know my mind, it’s the Micheli way.
The break from the surveillance and the cool drink has calmed me down. I enjoy alcohol but I rarely drink it at work, preferring to keep my senses sharp. I can see the exits, and, with my earpiece, I know where my guys are.
There are hundreds of customers here and none of us want the undue attention of the police, so I keep myself in check even though I want to bounce those Albanian losers out.
We’ve remained in control of the criminal element in central Italy by thinking things through and not acting on impulses or emotions. Actions, good or bad, have consequences.
Dante’s genius is knowing when to take risks. We knew it was risky going after Conti earlier this summer. Fucking with Juliet’s father proved to be more dangerous than we could have ever anticipated but the authorities still haven’t figured out what went down the night Conti got whacked on the rooftop of our luxurious five-star hotel. And we planned it that way.
When we all put our heads together with our skill sets, we’re very effective.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out. Dante.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I just got word, Angelo Calabrese took over Conti’s position as don for the Roselli family and other clans.”
“We know anything about him?”
“Not much, can’t be any worse than Gio Conti, in my opinion. I understand that there wasn’t much bloodshed and that everyone is glad Conti is gone. His sons are on board with the changes.”
“So, we can rest easy now?”