And that’s what brought us here today. A week ago, some columns weren’t adding up and Leo traveled down a rabbit hole to get me everything he could before presenting the problem to me. When he finally did, it was apparent one of Gio’s low-level soldiers had a gambling problem.
Giovanni Benetti was my father and Mob Boss of the Benetti Family. He was close to reaching his sixties, but you couldn’t tell. There were many requirements in being a part of the Benetti Family, taking care of yourself was one of them. Even the family members who have done their time and have moved on into retirement still had to remain fit and healthy in case there was a need to recall them for a war. Some members were more fit and healthy than others, but every member was in good shape.
Gio was also deemed a good-looking man. He stood at six-foot with inky black hair and black eyes. In his prime, he had been built like a seasoned cage fighter, but time and age are hard realities, indeed. Gio has softened, but he was still in better shape than most men half his age.
I was also his spitting image.
Where Sal and Leo were a combination of our mother, Carlita, and our father, I was all Giovanni Benetti. They had Gio’s black hair and body frame, but they had green eyes like our mother, and they had inherited her dimples too. However, you could tell they were Benetti’s, through and through.
But while Gio was the head of the entire Benetti Organization, he wasn’t really. At this point, I’ve pretty much taken over and it was only a matter of time before he was pushed into retirement, and I was Boss. Most of the members have already been taking direction from me and see me as Boss. However, it’s come to my attention recently that the elders are having issues with their transfer of full loyalty because of my age and that I’m not married with heirs. This family was a legacy, and they’d prefer it if I had a family first as a reassurance in securing the legacy.
It would serve the bastards right if I only brought daughters into this world.
But back to the issue at hand. Carlos Romano had a gambling problem, and that was another additional requirement when belonging to the Benetti Family. You could drink, but you mustn’t be an alcoholic. You could partake in any white substance you wanted if you were partying, but you mustn’t be a junkie. You could gamble on the game or horses, but you mustn’t be an addict. You could fuck all the pussy you wanted, but you better wrap it up. If any child was conceived from you sticking your dick in whores, hookers, or strippers, you were going to do right by that child regardless of your relationship with its mother. That stipulation did a lot to keeping our soldiers’ dicks in their pants, but they were still men. And men would always be victims of their need for pussy.
Always.
I was leaning against my father’s desk looking down at Carlos. He was on his knees in front of me, already a blithering mess, begging for forgiveness. I always conducted Benetti business at my father’s house; the Benetti Home. I had several condos and apartments scattered throughout Morgan City, but I rarely handled business at any of them. I was constantly watching my back, so I rarely shared my space with anyone. The only place I was ever truly at peace at was my penthouse at Kratos.
“Luca,” Carlos blubbered, “I…it was a mistake. I…a sickness. You understand, right?” He shook his head. “Please, don’t give me to The Son. Please, I beg of you.”
Me, Ciro, and Phoenix Fiore were known as The Holy Trinity within the family, the city of Morgan City, and pretty much the entire state.
Phoenix was referred as The Holy Ghost because he was the Benetti Family’s number one hit man and has never been detected in the six years he’s been killing for us. He was like an invisible nightmare that you never saw coming unless he showed himself to you. He had thousands of kills to his credit, but we only used him when the murders were high profile and needed to remain unsolved.
Ciro was known as The Son because he was my right-hand man. He was the Benetti’s number one enforcer, but he, along with Phoenix, were also my closest friends. They weren’t my best friends, but they were both equally matched for the runner-up position. Ciro was a bit of a blood thirsty lunatic and people’s fear of him was warranted. He had several locations scattered throughout the city where he took his victims, but he had one that was especially close to his heart that he called his funhouse.
The streets called me The Father, and I gathered it was because everyone knew, one day, I’d be the head of the Benetti Family. I’m not sure how we were dubbed with the titles, but we’d been called The Holy Trinity for years now. Probably because, even though Phoenix was two years younger than me and Ciro, we’d been inseparable as children.
I regarded him. “Lucky for you, Ciro is busy at the moment,” I told him. “Besides, you’re not trash to be handed over to him for a lesson learned.” I narrowed my black eyes. “You were a Benetti. You were held to a higher standard than the average man, Carlos. And while I think a few days with The Son would do you some good, I don’t think you’ll be given that privilege today.” His tearful brown eyes widened.
It was widely known that Ciro always gave his victims a chance at survival. He would fight them one-on-one like a real man, and if you could best him, you were free to go. If you couldn’t, well, then, you spent however long he
