VINCENZO
My team reviewed the video footage floor by floor in search of those assholes who broke into my place last night to try to kill me. They couldn't be seen on video until they were already on my floor, which could mean they were staying in one of the flats like tenants to avoid suspicion. They then used the service elevator to my floor after disabling the camera.
I asked why the tech team wasn't alerted when the camera in the service elevator was disabled, and they told me some bullshit about the monitoring software not being compatible with Windows 11. It was a good thing that I wasn't carrying at the time, or we'd have to find a new tech team. I told Lee to get a handle on his men, or we're gonna have some real problems.
This morning I turned on the TV and saw on the news that the son of alleged drug kingpin Salvador Ordonez, eighteen-year-old Patrick Ordonez, a track and field star at his high school, was killed after he borrowed his Daddy's new Bugatti and got himself blown up.
"Salvador Ordonez is the alleged leader of the Seventeenth Street Gang, an off-shoot of MS-13, that originated in Echo Park."
I turn off the screen and sip my espresso while I peruse the global headlines on my tablet. Mrs. Rosetti, who's been taking care of my brothers and me since we were children, places an egg cup in front of me--boiled four minutes, not a second longer– a piece of wheat bread with the barest hint of butter, and sliced fruit.
"You used to make me waffles, scrambled eggs, and bacon!" I survey the spread before me with dread. "How am I supposed to get through a nine-hour workday with this?"
She clicks her tongue and ruffles my hair. "You're no longer my bambino. You're a grown man approaching thirty-five. You have to start watching your fat intake and cholesterol."
I shake my head. "Your crush on Dr. Sanjay Gupta is spiraling out of control. You're a good Italian woman. What do you care about fats and carbs?"
She rolls her eyes and squeezes my shoulder before walking away. "Eat your breakfast, Vincenzo!"
The smile on my face disappears as I contemplate what I heard while I was out with my brother a few hours ago. There's a turf war between the Filipinos and Vietnamese in Arcadia, which is starting to affect the supply chain. Ahn Duoc Nguyen, the son of the departed Long Viet Nguyen, thinks his gang 6TT can take over all of Arcadia because they have foot soldiers without considering that the Filipinos have a strong alliance with the black and Hispanic community in the area. No one can move product faster than the Filipinos. Unfortunately, it's the Vietnamese who manufacture the product, and they're stalling production until the Filipinos cede territory.
I should call Reggie Manalo of the Sigue-Sigue Gang and see if they’re willing to negotiate with 6TT before a bloodbath happens.
"It's way too early for you to look that constipated," remarks my younger brother Antonio as he walks into my dining room. "Wait, why am I here?"
"Did you want me to leave your inebriated ass at a third-rate nightclub in the valley where you very nearly proposed to a hosebeast called Linda?"
He scratches his head in confusion. "No. I mean, why am I not at Dad's?"
I half-heartedly stab a piece of pineapple with my fork. "I was not about to run you home back to PP at four in the morning. That’s almost an hour's drive. What the hell could have been in North Hollywood that you had to go all the way over there for?”
“Had to see a man about a dog,” he mumbles, taking the seat in front of me. “Mrs. Rosetti, can I have my breakfast?”
“Coming, dear!” answers the old woman from the kitchen.
I frown at my brother, who helps himself to my cut fruit. “Dog races are in the south, bro, and you know we don’t mess with that shit.”
“Mama wants a Pembroke Welsh corgi for her birthday, and Vic told me there’s a guy in Sherman Oaks who breeds them pure,” he says around a mouthful of banana. “Still a puppy, though, and not yet weaned from the mother, so I had to leave him there.”
“Why didn't you just send Vic to get it?”
“So he could come back with a rat chihuahua? That man may be brawny, but he ain’t the sharpest knife in the kitchen.” He pulls my bowl of fruit toward him and starts eating it. “Then I got a call from a buddy of mine telling me there’s a new nightclub in Noho and I ought to check it out with him. Turns out it's owned by Sal Moretti.”
“You didn’t tell me it was an S&M joint, you dick. Lee was so surprised he nearly showed emotion. I've never had so many people calling me Daddy in my life gathered in one place."
My brother snorts and laughs. "You do give off a Daddy vibe, bro. Lee, even more. He was a popular guy last night. Had all those twinks chasing after him.”
I finish off my espresso and stand up. “I’ll need you to go down to South Pasadena and see Tyrone Johnson on my behalf. Tell him I sent you. See if you can get ahold of Manny Ortega in Alhambra, too. We’ll need to arrange a parley in Arcadia between 6TT and Sigue-Sigue.”
“Seriously? Why are the Asians fighting? Can’t they all just get along?”
I slap my brother across the back of his head. “Sicilians can’t even get along with Italians, you dumb bastard.” I pick up my suit jacket and put it on. “I gotta get to the office. Get that shit done today, Tony. You said you want more responsibility, so I’m giving it to you.”
“You’re getting more ornery than Carlito, Vince. You need to get laid.”
I look in the mirror to adjust my tie and try not to smirk. “Working on it, piccino. I have a date tonight. Try not to bother Mrs. Rosetti more than you already do, and follow what I tell you. Oh, and get the hell out of my flat.”
My men are waiting for me in the living room, and they all stand in attention as soon I walk in. Lee nods at me. “Ready to go, sir?”