Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 154525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
“We’ll come back to this,” he told Christiano, “another time.”
“Sure, boss.”
Salvatore added nothing.
His seed was planted.
It took but a look at Giorgio after Christiano’s departure, and the way he sucked on the cigar dangling between his thick lips alongside the heavy lines written into his forehead, to know the boss was pissed.
“Now, what’s this about a conversation?” Giorgio barked.
Anthony Carcoli jumped in to speak first. “I don’t know, boss. Big Mike hasn’t called me for anything, and we haven’t had issues on the streets.”
“Nico,” Big Mike stated, quieting the room.
Three things happened, then.
Giorgio’s scowl deepened.
Anthony stared harder at Big Mike.
And Sal wondered if he should start praying again...
“Nico?” two people asked at the same time.
The boss and Carcoli glanced quickly at one another.
“Your son, yes,” Big Mike continued. “See, I’ve had coffee with him every Saturday morning for the last three weeks. I shouldn’t have needed to see his face in at least a month, yet he showed up, needing to chat.”
“I don’t understand,” Giorgio started to say, turning on Salvatore. “I thought you had him handled.”
“He is,” Salvatore replied, even if he didn’t know the reason for Nico’s name coming up at tribute. “Mike hasn’t told me differently. Nico is where he should be when he’s supposed to be there. I don’t even think he’s gotten a speeding ticket since being back.”
That one might be a stretch, though.
“Week one,” Big Mike said, tipping his head sideways as he stared down Carcoli across the table, “Nico took a random thing I said, and ran with it. Apparently, he found it very important to understand exactly what kind of agreement Anthony and I had about his clubs and my dealers. He came to me to confirm the deal, so he understood it properly.”
“Nico Russo is working on your crew?” Anthony asked. “Since when?”
Giorgio cleared his throat. “We all know the deal. I approved it. Carcoli has clubs in your neighborhoods, and he doesn’t pay to run the gambling in the back on your territory. You deal out of any club he owns, and he doesn’t take a cut.”
“Week two,” Big Mike continued, his gaze turning on the boss as he said it, “Nico comes back to me again, but he thinks he’s got a problem.”
“What pro—”
“Or rather, he thinks I do,” Big Mike interrupted Anthony.
“Are we getting to the point anytime soon?” Giorgio demanded.
“Week three, he confirms what he suspected to me. Carcoli has been taking a cut from every sale my dealers make in his clubs and likely has been since the inception of the agreement we made five years ago when he took over after his father died.”
“That’s fucking bullshit,” Anthony hissed. “We don’t take a damn cent, Mike.”
“You’re lying. Nico made a sale. A cut was taken. I sent out five more guys. Cuts were taken. So not only do I have a fellow capo stealing from me, he’s turned associates on both sides into thieves as well.”
“You-you...You’re wrong,” Anthony stammered.
Big Mike shook his head. “No, I don’t think I am.”
“Anthony,” Giorgio began, “this is serious. It’s one thing if your crew is skimming off the top and you don’t know about it, but it’s another thing altogether if you’re aware they’re doing it and you’ve done nothing.”
Anthony remained quiet.
At this point, his only option left.
Giorgio arched an eyebrow, never looking away from the younger of the two capos. “How much would it be, Mike?”
“If I went all the way back?” The older, bigger capo folded his arms over his chest. “Nico ran the numbers with Vauhn. Easily a million a year.”
“A million.”
“A year,” Salvatore echoed the boss’s disbelief.
Anthony’s shoulders lifted and fell with his heavy breaths. “What, did you have that little shit Nico sniffing through my fucking streets?”
“Apparently, there was something to smell,” Big Mike replied blithely. “I can’t help it if the kid has a knack for finding money. Five million made in three weeks isn’t too fucking bad, is it?”
“One week,” Giorgio said suddenly.
Everyone looked his way.
“One week,” he repeated. “That’s all you have to correct this mistake, Anthony, and make an appropriate apology that Big Mike must feel is sufficient to repair his damages. On top of that, you will pay him for his use of territory, he will continue to sell in your clubs without issue, and your dues are up ten percent from today.”
Anthony’s mouth fell open. “You can’t do that!”
Giorgio didn’t blink. “Didn’t I just do exactly that? Be grateful your mother won’t wake up tomorrow with your hands on her doorstep in a white box. It is only Marco’s friendship with you that saved you today. Thank him on your way out and get the fuck out of my face.”
Salvatore openly scoffed as the man stormed from the dining room, leaving his pile of cash as tribute behind. The boss didn’t miss it.